Chapter 3
Chapter three
Jasper
Destiny runs to the house as fast as I’ve ever seen her. Like she understands that the weight in my arms isn’t just a woman.
It’s everything.
Her hooves tear through the snow, powerful and sure, muscles bunching beneath me as if she’s trying to outrun the fear that’s rapidly clawing up my spine.
Abigail is pressed tight against my chest, her head tucked beneath my chin, her body terrifyingly still except for the faint, uneven breath ghosting against my throat.
Somehow, she already feels too light.
And it fucking guts me.
It’s as if the cold has already started stealing pieces of her.
“Come on, girl,” I whisper, leaning forward while holding onto Abigail tighter, urging Destiny faster even though I know she’s already giving me everything she’s got. “Come on, Dez.”
The woods blur. Branches whip past, snapping against my shoulders, snow stinging my face raw—but none of it registers. All I feel is her. The wrongness of how limp she is. The terror that if I look down and really see her, something in me will shatter beyond repair.
Her breath catches.
It’s a tiny sound.
Barely there.
Swallowing hard, I press my mouth to her hair, breathing her in like it might anchor her to this world. To me. “Stay with me, Abbie Girl,” I murmur. “You don’t get to go anywhere.”
My mind fractures in two directions.
One half is counting—breaths, seconds, feet to the house.
The other is swimming in violence.
Because somewhere behind us, two Coates brothers are still alive. Miles Keller is still alive.
Still breathing.
Still walking.
And the thought of that makes my hands curl into fists around Abigail’s jacket, rage roaring through me so hot I’m sure it could burn away the cold. I picture them—faces contorted in fear, realizing too late they chose the wrong woman, the wrong ranch, the wrong men.
I want their blood in the snow.
I want—
Abigail exhales, and it slices through my thoughts like a blade.
Because she wins.
She’ll always fucking win.
Destiny crests over a hill in the pasture, and the house finally breaks into view, warm light spilling out against the darkness. Home. Safety. Heat.
“Almost there,” I whisper, my voice cracking despite my best effort. “Just hold on a little longer, okay?”
A minute later, Destiny skids into the yard, breath steaming, sides heaving as she comes to a hard stop. I tighten my hold on Abigail, shifting her higher against my chest before I swing my leg over. I lower us both to the ground carefully, never letting her slip from my hold.
For a moment, I stand there–her in my arms, my forehead pressed to Destiny’s neck forcing one steady breath. “You did so good, Dez,” I murmur. “Good girl.”
She snorts softly, steady as ever.
Then I’m moving.
I adjust my hold on Abigail as I rush toward the house and shove the door open. Heat crashes into us in a wave so sudden it almost steals my breath.
The sight inside stops me cold. If only for a moment.
Christmas frozen in time.
The table still set. Plates waiting to be piled with food. Candles melted low, wax pooled like tears down the sides. Our presents from earlier still resting under the tree. Evidence of laughter, of warmth, of a day that was supposed to end quietly, wrapped in… love.
And the fire.
Still burning.
Still alive.
It calls to me like a beacon of hope.
Crossing the room in long strides, I lower myself carefully to the floor in front of the hearth and sit with my back resting against the coffee table, Abigail nestled between my legs, her back tightly pressed against my chest to keep her upright.
I manage to wiggle my jacket off while still keeping her close, then I reach blindly for the thick wool blanket draped over the couch, wrapping it around us both and trapping our heat inside.
Slow, I remind myself.
Slow warmth. Don’t shock her system.
Mr. Taylor’s voice echoes in my head, calm and relentless, like it always does in moments like this.
“Hypothermia doesn’t look dramatic, boys. That’s what makes it deadly.”
“You’re okay,” I murmur into her hair. “I’m right here. You’re safe. You’re okay.”
Her skin is still too cold. Too pale. But when I press my cheek to her temple, I swear she’s already warmer than she was just a few minutes ago.
I cling to that hope like a lifeline.
A second later, the door slaps open behind us, letting in a burst of cold air and frantic energy.
Lawson, Beau, and Lincoln come in hard and fast, snow-covered and breathing like they quite literally raced against time. I take them all in without meaning to.
Lawson looks as if he’s barely holding himself together. Jaw locked, eyes glassy and red-rimmed.
Beau’s hands are shaking as he tears off his gloves, fear etched deep into his face beneath his beard.
And Lincoln looks focused, controlled—but I know him too well. His eyes are sharp as they scan the woman in my arms. Memorizing every detail just in case it’s the last time.
Lawson takes in the horror likely etched across my face. “She—she still breathing?” he asks, voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” I answer. “It’s shallow. But yeah.”
Beau drags a hand down his face. “Do we go to the hospital?”
Lincoln shakes his head. “It’s too far. Roads are shit anyway.”
“This is better,” I say quietly. “Fire. Blankets. We know what to do.”
They all nod. No arguments. Just a grim, silent agreement.
The three of them toe off their boots, and Lincoln and Lawson shed their jackets.
Lincoln sets the alarm for the security system we had installed in the big house, the guest house, and the barn after the break-in, while Lawson grabs the loaded rifle we now keep by the door.
The three of them move toward us—unbridled worry etched across each of their faces.
They settle around her, close enough that I can feel their presence, like we’re all forming some kind of barrier around her.
Time stretches for what feels like an eternity.
The fire crackles.
And then—
She shivers.
A full-body tremor. Violent enough to make my heart stutter.
“Yes,” Lincoln breathes, brushing his hand against her cheek. “That’s good. That’s really good.”
Eventually, color begins to bloom faintly in her cheeks, and the four of us all let out a collective, ragged breath.
“Hey,” I say softly, brushing a damp curl from her face. “That’s it, Red. Come back to us.”
Her lashes flutter.
Once.
Then again.
“Jas,” she murmurs.
The sound of my name is almost my undoing.
I force a smile, thumb stroking her cheek, as a lone tear slips free and rolls down my own. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Her mouth moves again. One word.
“Kat…”
The four of us still, and I feel it immediately. The shift. Lawson’s head snaps to attention. Beau frowns. Lincoln’s gaze sharpens.
“What did she say?” Beau asks.
“I—I don’t know,” I answer honestly. Because there’s no way I heard her right.
But before any of us can push further, Abigail slips back into sleep, her breathing steadier now as small shivers wrack her body. Lincoln moves without hesitation, gently scooping her up. “I’ll take her upstairs. Put some warmer clothes on her and tuck her into bed.”
We nod and watch him disappear up the steps, the weight of the moment pressing down hard once he’s gone.
We sit there on the living room floor in the glow of the fire, none of us moving. My hands are curled into fists, my body humming with leftover adrenaline, rage, and fear that hasn't figured out where to go yet.
Lawson’s the first to move.
Getting up, he steps toward the hearth slowly, deliberately, like a man who’s already decided how this ends. He doesn’t look at us right away. Instead, he reaches for the poker beside the fireplace and nudges a log deeper into the flames, sending an array of sparks up the chimney.
Then he turns.
His face is carved from stone. Whatever he felt out there—whatever it cost him—it’s buried now, locked down deep inside, desperate to disappear and focus on what’s next.
What’s done is done, and none of us will ever question him over it.
“They crossed our land,” he says calmly. Too calmly. “They took her. They ran.” Neither Beau nor I interrupts him. “They don’t get to disappear back into the fucking hole they crawled out of and pretend this didn’t happen.”
Beau swallows hard next to me, and Lawson’s gaze flicks in my direction. Sharp. Assessing. Like he’s checking to make sure the fire burning in my chest matches his own.
“They won’t go back to their place now,” Lawson continues.
“Keller is hiding them somewhere. They’ll be together.
Caleb’s a runner. Always has been. But there’s no chance he’ll go anywhere without Grayson now.
Not after he saw—” Lawson’s jaw clenches as he closes his eyes for a split second.
“Not after he saw what happened to Ethan.”
Lincoln’s voice drifts down the stairs, quiet but steady. “Speaking of which. What are we going to do with him?”
Lawson looks to his brother, then between Beau and me. All of us giving him the same reassuring look. One that says “we’re in this with you.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice—not because he’s unsure, but because this part isn’t meant for even the walls to hear. “I’ll take him up Stillwater Ridge first thing in the morning,” Lawson says.
My stomach tightens—not in fear, but in understanding.
Stillwater Ridge isn’t just a rise in the land.
It’s a brutal cut through the back end of the property, where the trees thin and the earth gives way to nothing but sharp rocks and an endless drop.
A place Mr. Taylor repeatedly warned us about growing up as a group of always-adventuring teenage boys.
“Stay off the ridge in the winter,” he said. “Snow hides its edges. One wrong step and you won’t just fall—you’ll disappear.”
I picture the Ridge in my mind—the way the land just… ends. How sound seems to fade away when you stand near it. How even the wind seems to avoid that place.
Lawson’s voice is steady when he finishes. “No one will ever find him down there.”
“I’ll go with you,” I say without question.
“Jas—”
“No. I’m going with you. The four of us are in this together.”
Law nods once before inhaling a deep breath. “We need to let the rest of them think they got away.”
My pulse kicks.
Lawson’s eyes meet mine again. And I see it now. The promise. The threat. “We don’t rush. We don’t make noise. We don’t give Miles Keller one more opportunity to get the upper hand on us.”
Beau’s jaw tightens. “And what do we do in the meantime?”
Lawson’s mouth curves. Not into a smile. But something much, much colder.
“We find out where they are. And until we do, we make it crystal fucking clear who we are and what we can do.”
The fire crackles between us while the snow outside keeps falling, erasing tracks and the evidence from the night, softening the land, doing its best to pretend this night never happened.
But inside, the plan is already in motion.
And as the four of us figure out exactly what the steps are, above us—wrapped in blankets, breathing steadily in Lincoln’s bed—Abigail sleeps.
Safe.
Ours.