Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Beau
Iseem to notice it before anyone else does.
The quiet.
Abigail’s been good at pretending all day—smiling when someone looks at her, nodding when Lawson talks strategy, laughing softly when Jasper cracks a joke at Lincoln’s expense. But the sound is thinner now. More fragile. Like, if anyone presses too hard, she’ll splinter.
At first, I tell myself it’s physical. She’s still healing. Still sore. Still recovering from the mental toll Christmas night took on her.
That would be reason enough.
But then there’s the look she gets sometimes. The one that reminds me too much of myself at seventeen, sitting on the edge of my bed, convinced the world would be better if I took up less space in it.
That’s the one that scares me.
She eats dinner, but barely. Just pushes the food around her plate more than she actually brings it to her mouth. Lincoln notices her reluctance, so he casually offers her another roll. Another bite. Another glass of water.
Once dinner is over, she finally works up the courage to ask if she can go to the barn to see the horses—especially Griffin—and every one of us tenses. Lawson’s already shaking his head before the words are fully out of her mouth.
“You’re not going out there alone,” he says.
“I didn’t say I was,” she replies.
“I’ll go,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine, something unreadable flickering there. Relief, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.
Lucy appears at her side like she was summoned, pressing tight to Abigail’s leg as we pull on our jackets before I grab the gun by the door.
The cold has sharpened outside, the kind that sneaks through and settles deep into your bones.
And even though I live for the crisp air, I find myself flinching at the nip.
Abigail barely seems to notice it.
The walk across the driveway is quiet. Snow crunches beneath our boots, the barn looming ahead like a familiar promise. Light spills from the cracks beneath the doors and through the windows, warm and golden against the dark.
The moment we step inside, something shifts.
The barn smells like hay and leather, like animals and home. It always has. I’ve walked into this space a thousand times over the years, half asleep, half distracted, thinking about which animal needs to be tended to on which day or fence lines or feed schedules.
Hell, one time I even stumbled in here after one too many beers at The Busted Barrel and passed out in an empty stall.
This place has always been my anchor. My constant.
But tonight—
Tonight, it all looks different.
Because she’s here with me.
Abigail moves through the barn like she belongs to it now, like it recognizes her.
She murmurs to the horses as she passes, fingers trailing along stall doors, her voice low and gentle.
Griffin lifts his head the moment she approaches, his dark eyes softening as he nudges into the touch of his favorite person.
She laughs quietly, the sound light and surprised, and something inside me gives way as I lean against a post and just watch.
I’ve stood in this exact spot more times than I can recount. Same boards. Same lantern light. Same quiet creaks and shifting hooves.
And yet—
With her here, the barn feels fuller. Warmer. Like the walls themselves knew she was the missing piece.
She turns, catching me staring at her, and her brows lift. “What?”
“You’ve been quiet,” I say.
She looks down, suddenly shy, and that alone tells me everything I need to know.
Leaning the rifle against one of the stall doors, I close the distance between us before pulling her into my arms. She immediately sinks into my touch. Her forehead presses against my chest, and her breath hitches like she’s been holding it in for far too long.
“Tell me,” I whisper.
The silence stretches.
“I—I don’t want to be a burden,” she finally says.
The words land like a punch to the ribs, and my jaw tightens. But I let her finish.
“I know it’s irrational,” she continues, voice thin. “I know none of you see me that way, or you’d never have even let me stay here. But… I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt. And I don’t want you to have to do terrible things because of me. I don’t want to be the reason—”
I tilt her face up gently. “I need you to hear me when I say what I’m about to tell you.”
She nods.
“When I was a kid,” I begin, “I thought I was poison. That the reason everything around me was shit because of me. I was told time and time again by someone who was supposed to love me that everything bad that happened in her life was my fault. It happened over and over again, until… until she died. And somehow, even though I knew drugs were the real reason I lost my mother, I believed that was my fault too.”
Tears shine in her eyes, but I don’t stop.
“After my mom died when I was in high school, I was left with her boyfriend at the time. Nobody thought to look out for me. Nobody thought to put me in a better home. Nobody thought of me at all. I was in trouble… he was trouble. Despite my being seventeen, Ray—that was his name—beat the shit out of me whenever he had the chance. Spent all his money on booze and drugs, never botherin’ to get me food or pay bills.
I was broken, beaten, hungry, and dirty.
Everyone could see it, but nobody cared. Nobody except…”
“Them,” she says softly.
“Lincoln was in the same class as me. He knew I needed help and told Lawson all about me. Hell, even Jasper, who was nothing more than a scrawny fourteen-year-old, tagged along to help me.” My lips pull up at the corners, despite the traumatic memory.
“Anyway… Lincoln, Lawson, and Jasper followed me home one day from school. All it took was one look at the place I was living in, and Lawson knew I needed out. He didn’t give it a second thought.
He just knocked on the front door and demanded I come with him. ”
I watch as a small tear rolls down Abigail’s cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb.
“But Ray… well, I guess he thought that I was his property. That if someone could take care of me better than he ever could, it would make him look weak. A fight broke out, and the next thing I knew, Lawson’s fist slammed into the side of Ray’s head.
Hit him so hard he fell over and hit his temple on the edge of the counter.
He died right then and there.” A gasp slips past Abigail’s lips.
“What Lawson did, what they were all prepared to do, even Jasper, it would’ve ruined their lives had Mr. Taylor and Frank—Mr. Taylor’s right-hand man at the time—not shown up and helped, well, take care of Ray. ”
“Is he… is he in the same place Ethan is?” she asks quietly.
“He is,” I answer. “I’m telling you this because, despite what I allow myself to believe every once in a while, I know they didn’t do what they did because they thought I was some burden they had to take care of.
They did it because they’re the kind of people who keep people safe.
They protect what’s theirs and do what has to be done, no matter the cost. And now, so am I.
We’re willing to do all of this because that’s what love looks like. ”
I cup her face in my hands, thumbs brushing her rosy cheeks.
“And Abigail?” I whisper. “We would have had to deal with the Coates brothers and Miles Keller eventually. But… you… You are worth more than every fence post, every acre, and every sunrise and sunset that rises and falls beyond those mountains. None of it compares to you or what we would do for you.”
You are not a burden, Abigail Adams. You’re not something we carry—you’re something we choose. Today, tomorrow, and every day after.”
Her breath shudders.
“I love you,” I say, the words spilling out before I have a chance to rethink them.
Abigail’s eyes widen—just for a second—before she smiles. Soft. Certain. Tears rolling down her cheeks.
“You do?”
I huff a laugh. “It’s impossible not to.”
A choked sob slips past her lips. Like the mere idea of someone loving the woman she is today is a dream she wasn’t ever sure she’d have.
“I love you too.”
Our kiss is inevitable.
It starts gentle, reverent. But it doesn’t stay that way for long. Her hands curl into my jacket. Mine tighten at her waist. The world narrows down to the way she fits against me and the way her lips feel against mine.
I swallow one of her delicious moans, and that’s all it takes for me to remember. Pulling back, I rest my forehead against hers. “We should stop,” I murmur. “You’re still sore.”
She shakes her head, eyes dark and steady. “You love me?”
“More than anything,” I answer without hesitation.
“Then love me, Beau. Please.”
Something in me snaps.
“Fuck it,” I breathe.
I kiss her again—harder this time. She moves with me willingly as I back her up until her shoulders meet a wooden post between two stalls. The barn creeks softly around us, horses shifting, breathing, bearing witness as I give this woman everything I have to give.
My past.
My present.
My future.
Because Abigail Adams isn’t a burden.
She’s my greatest weakness. My deepest desire. My reminder that everything that happened to me wasn’t for nothing, because it led me right here. To her.
She’s no burden.
She’s mine.