Chapter 28
twenty-eight
Ghost was hovering. Again. He knew it, yet he couldn’t stop himself.
He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching Naomi as she attempted to button her flannel shirt with fingers that still trembled slightly.
Three days since he’d found her in that clearing, three days of barely letting her out of his sight, and he still couldn’t shake the cold dread that settled in his gut whenever she winced or stumbled.
“I can do it myself,” she said without looking up, somehow sensing his presence despite his silence. “Just like I told you five minutes ago when you tried to help me with my socks.”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Your ribs are still bruised.”
“And they’ll stay bruised whether you watch me get dressed or not.” She finished the last button and shot him a look that was half irritation, half something softer he couldn’t quite name. “I’m not an invalid, Owen.”
The sound of his real name on her lips still threw him off balance. Nobody called him that anymore. Nobody except her.
“The doctor said—”
“I know what the doctor said.” She cut him off, pushing herself to her feet with a grimace she tried to hide. “Rest. Hydrate. Don’t lift anything heavy. I’ve been following orders.”
“You’re pushing too hard.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m getting dressed. That’s hardly running a marathon.”
He knew she was right. Knew he was being unreasonable, overprotective to the point of smothering her.
She combed her fingers through her damp hair, wincing slightly when she hit a tangle. He took a step forward, but she threw out a hand, stopping him.
“Owen.” She waited until he met her gaze. “I need you to back off. And you need to go do whatever it is you do around here when you’re not playing nursemaid.”
He had been neglecting his responsibilities at the Ridge for days, but Walker hadn’t said a word about it—just nodded in that quiet way of his when Ghost had called to say he’d be staying with Naomi until she recovered.
But the thought of walking away, even for a few hours, made his chest tighten. “What if—”
“Greta is coming over, so I won’t be alone.” She took his face between her hands and very lightly kissed his lips before pushing him toward the door. “Now go do your chores before I commit a felony. Like second-degree murder. I don’t want to see that scowl again until sundown, got it?”
He’d been about to remind her that she’d woken up screaming last night, but the look in her eyes had stopped him cold.
Fury.
Hence the nickname that fit her so well.
So that was how he found himself standing on his own front porch, the cabin door still vibrating from Naomi slamming it in his face.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had thrown him out of a room.
Probably never. Most people were too intimidated to try, and those who weren’t usually ended up regretting it.
The worst part was that Jax, River, and Bear were right there in Jax’s yard, witnessing his unceremonious ejection.
Oliver Harmon ran wild circles around the adults, trailed by Echo and King.
Cinder sat in her bed on the Hub’s porch, right where he’d left her hours ago, watching the chaos with a calm air of superiority, her front paws crossed.
The regal tilt of her long nose said she’d never stoop to such antics.
Perfect. Just what he needed. Small talk.
For years, these old cabins had sat empty, windows blank and dark, nothing out here but foxes and wind and Ghost’s own restless brain. He’d liked it that way. Now there were people everywhere. Noise, mess, needs he wasn’t equipped to meet.
And Naomi, the one person he didn’t mind in his space. And she was shutting him out.
He scowled at the cabin door.
River didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he leaned against the split-rail fence, arms crossed over his chest. “Trouble in paradise?”
Ghost ignored him, jaw clenched as he descended the porch steps.
He was wound tight after three days of barely sleeping, of watching Naomi for any sign of distress, of changing bandages and making sure she took her meds on time.
Three days of keeping his hands to himself when all he wanted was to pull her close and make sure she was real, that she was safe, and that no one could take her from him again.
His fingers curled into his palms, the nails biting into his skin. The pain helped ground him. Centered him when everything inside felt like it was spinning out of control.
“Let me guess. She finally got tired of you hovering like a helicopter parent?”
Ghost shot him a look that would have silenced most men. But not River fucking Beckett. The man had no sense of self-preservation. “I wasn’t hovering.”
“Right,” River drawled. “And I don’t have a criminal record.”
River snorted.
“I don’t hover.”
“Riiight,” River drawled and started toward the barn as Boone shouted his name. “And I don’t have a criminal record.”
Ghost turned away, intending to stalk off to wherever River wasn’t going to be, but a small voice called out, and he froze mid-stride. Of course, it had to be the one person in the world he couldn’t ignore.
Oliver.
“Ghost! Ghost!”
He braced instinctively. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t want the kid close, not now, not with his nerves flayed raw and his head on overdrive.
Oliver slammed to a stop in front of him, clutching something in his hand. “I drew you and Cinder.” He thrust a crumpled page at him.
His heart did something stupid in his chest. He took the paper, expecting a crude stick figure drawing.
What he got was… surprisingly good. Cinder’s eyes were the right color, that deep whiskey brown.
Oliver nailed his favorite black T-shirt, his short hair, and his charcoal-gray cowboy hat.
The kid had even included the tattoos on his arms and the occasional cigar he indulged in.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“Thanks,” he managed, voice rough.
Oliver beamed like he’d just won a medal. “You like it?”
“It’s… accurate.”
“He likes it!” Oliver shouted, all but bouncing on his feet. The kid was like a wind-up toy, and Ghost didn’t know how Jax and Nessie kept up with him.
Jax and Bear crossed the road, their dogs following. Cinder let out a huff of disdain and went inside through the dog door. He wanted more than anything to follow her, but Naomi had looked like she meant her threat of murder if he set foot back inside before sundown.
Before he could answer, Greta’s Jeep pulled to a stop beside his truck in a cloud of dust. She jumped out, all long legs and determined energy, her strawberry blonde braid swinging as she gathered a bag of groceries from the passenger seat.
“Why are you still here? Whatever Nomi threatened you with, she wasn’t kidding. So, shoo!”
Jesus, the woman was the human equivalent of high voltage—loud, bright, and allergic to standing still. Being in her presence felt like he was standing too close to a spotlight, and he didn’t like it.
“Woman says ‘shoo,’ you don’t argue,” Bear said.
Greta eyed him as she approached.
“Look at that. Sasquatch actually speaks.”
“What’s Sasquatch?” Oliver asked, and Jax swore softly under his breath, no doubt picturing the kid’s next hyper-fixation.
“It’s a really big, hairy animal that lives in the woods and doesn’t like people,” Greta said. “Sometimes it’s called Bigfoot.”
Oliver’s eyes went wide. “Does it eat people?”
“Only the annoying ones,” Bear rumbled, eyes narrowing on Greta.
Oliver tilted his head back to stare up at Bear with wide-eyed fascination. “Are you a Sasquatch?”
Bear didn’t blink. “If I was, I couldn’t tell you. It’s against Sasquatch code.”
Oliver opened his mouth, probably to ask what Sasquatch ate for breakfast, but Jax swooped in and snagged the kid by the hood before he could fully launch into his new obsession. “Go in and see if your mom needs help, bud. I have chores to do.”
“Aww! But Ghost just came outside for the first time in forever, and I wanna show him the secret handshake we made up!”
Christ. There was a handshake now?
Ghost tried to sidestep toward the door, but Oliver was quick for someone with shoelaces flapping. “Wait! Gotta do the handshake, you promised.”
He didn’t remember promising, but the kid was looking up at him like it was a sacred oath, so Ghost gritted his teeth and let Oliver take his hand.
The handshake was elaborate. Too many steps, too much flair. Halfway through, Ghost lost the thread, but Oliver nudged him with a grin and guided him through the rest. Slap, fist bump, finger snap, elbow tap. At the end, Oliver beamed like Ghost had just performed on Broadway.
“There,” Oliver declared, “now you’re part of the club. Only people who know the handshake are allowed.”
Ghost wasn’t sure what the club was or why he’d just gotten drafted, but the pride radiating off the kid was almost claustrophobic.
“Great,” he said. He tried to sound like he meant it. Didn’t want to be the guy who crushed a kid’s spirit for no reason.
Boone’s voice cut through the moment. “Hey! Less socializing, more working. Oliver, go see if your mom needs help. Ghost, I need a hand with the new intake. Got a couple of dogs that need evaluation.”
Ghost was grateful for the interruption. He tucked Oliver’s drawing carefully into his back pocket, giving the kid a nod that sent him running back to his house with a grin that could have powered the entire ranch.
“New intake?” Ghost asked as he fell into step beside Boone. Anything to avoid going back to the Hub and facing Naomi’s wrath, or worse, her disappointment.
“Three rescues from a hoarding situation down in Missoula,” Boone said, his weathered face grim. “X and River are each taking one, but the third one’s gonna need special handling. Jax might need your help with him.”
That was Boone-speak for the dog was a mess—aggressive, terrified, or both.