Chapter Twenty-Five
Nate
The house was finally quiet. Or . . . as quiet as it could be after Jo slammed a door hard enough to rearrange the foundation.
My men clustered near the mudroom, peeling off gear, checking weapons, pretending they weren’t rattled by the emotional hurricane that had blown through Silas’s kitchen.
They were good, loyal, disciplined—but they weren’t used to a mission where the “target” was a small, furious woman with too many secrets and more courage than sense.
I cleared my throat. “Alright. House rules.”
They straightened immediately.
“No one goes near her. And no one discloses she’s here.”
Collins snorted. “Sir . . . I mean this respectfully, but isn’t this above our paygrade? Kidnapping a woman?”
The room stilled.
I stepped toward him slowly. “Collins.”
He winced. “Sir?”
“She is a woman in a tough situation. We’re helping her. This is not coercive, and it sure as hell isn’t kidnapping.” I paused. Okay, it had an element of both, but that gray area was not open for discussion. “Is that going to be a problem?”
His spine snapped straight. “No, sir.”
“Excellent.” I clapped his shoulder with just enough pressure to remind him who ran this operation. “Rotate the watch. Nobody speaks to her unless it’s essential.”
They dispersed, and Collins lingered.
“Sir?”
I lowered my voice. “If this goes well, of course everyone will be well compensated.”
“That wasn’t my question, but yeah, I’ll spread the word.”
“Then what?”
He scratched his jaw. “She’s beautiful. Are you sure you’re thinking with your head and not your—”
My eyes narrowed.
He raised his hands. “I’m just saying, sir . . . I’m willing to die for a cause, but I’m not sure about this.”
“I am.”
He nodded, then moved off quickly, leaving me asking myself if I was handling this situation wrong. Should I have called the police? Let them sort this mess out?
Or just let her go with whatever she wanted? I didn’t want any of Silas’ things anyway.
Fuck.
That wasn’t what this was about.
I headed toward Silas’s office, running a hand through my hair. Everything about tonight sat uneasily on my shoulders: the lockdown, Jo’s weapons, the look in her eyes when she realized she’d lost the choice to run.
Whatever she was involved in was none of my business. One fuck didn’t make her my responsibility. So why was I there, potentially becoming an accomplice to God knew what?
I stepped inside Silas’s office and flipped on the lamp. Warm light spilled across his desk, across the old pine floors, and on a folded piece of paper with my name written on it.
I sat down slowly. The chair creaked under me.
She’d written me a letter?
My throat tightened as I unfolded it.
The first line hit immediately.
I never should have said that what we shared was a mistake.
My eyes closed for a moment.
That morning, she had looked at me like she couldn’t decide whether to hit me or kiss me. I’d thought I misread everything—that I’d imagined the softness in her. The wanting.
When had she placed the note here? She hadn’t had the opportunity to since I found her trying to leave. So, she’d written it expecting me to see it after she was gone.
I kept reading.
I’m not sorry for what happened between us. What we shared was real, and it was beautiful.
The words punched straight through my armor.
She cared.
I swallowed hard and read the following line.
The anger you saw this morning wasn’t meant for you. It was frustration at myself—for wanting something I can’t have . . .
I exhaled slowly.
I was what she couldn’t have?
And it scared her enough to run?
I skimmed until another line stopped me cold.
You didn’t hurt me. You were careful and kind in every way that mattered.
My hand tightened around the paper.
She hadn’t needed to tell me that. There was nothing strategic about it. That was Jo offering me something honest.
Then another line cut deeper:
He should have trusted that you would be who you proved to be—a nephew who would have loved him back.
My chest tightened.
Damn Silas.
Damn him for leaving so much unsaid.
I read the final lines slowly.
Please don’t give up on the farm or this town. They both need you.
And finally:
Thank you . . . for reminding me what it feels like to be seen and to be held.
What the hell was I supposed to do with that? I refolded the letter carefully, leaned back in Silas’s chair, and stared up at the ceiling.
“Silas,” I muttered, “you could’ve saved us all a lot of trouble and just asked me to look out for her.”
The room stayed silent. The kind of silence that felt heavy.
“And don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were doing,” I added. “You let her stay here. You trusted her more than you trusted me or Dad.” I shook my head. “And then you made sure I had a reason to come here, knowing I would find her . . . and then what? Believe in her just because you did?”
I sighed. “Protect her because you knew her father? Risk everything for what? A woman with more weapons than she has sense?”
My fingers brushed the folded letter again before I tucked it into my jacket pocket. I stood, straightened, and headed for the door. “A heads up would’ve been nice,” I murmured. “Or any clue regarding how the hell to handle her . . .”