14. Savannah
14
SAVANNAH
Huxley’s absence carves out a silence in my life that lasts an entire week. My father’s presence and the antics of our dogs provide a distracting routine, yet the days stretch on. He’s out on a case in Idaho, near the Canadian border. Our brief phone call was a fleeting connection that has left me yearning. But I understand he needs his space to focus, and the last thing I want is to be a hindrance.
As dusk gives way to another evening without news from Huxley, I console myself with the familiar aroma of Dad’s renowned roast chicken. He forks a couple of tender pieces onto my plate.
“So,” he begins, breaking the stillness, “Ivy Connor has been spreading the word about you? The education minister seems quite keen on expanding the animal therapy activities at the Disability Services.”
“Yeah. I’m chuffed!” I say.
Ivy Connor, former Montana Attorney General and wife of Mark Connor, Hux’s boss, recently visited the center. Having learned that I volunteer there, she came to see how I was doing. Meeting her in person was surreal, especially since Hux and I had discussed her son’s dramatic rooftop rescue that day on the way to the hospital. Ivy does more than offer friendship. She actively champions my services, using her esteemed reputation to secure substantial endorsements.
“And how about that llama farm you mentioned?” Dad asks, his tone slightly skeptical. He’s amused by the idea of what he terms ‘exotic’ creatures roaming the hobby farm Mark has got going. The conversation came up when I was talking with Ivy.
“A different choice, but it intrigues me,” I chuckle. My crew of four-legged friends hasn’t met such fluffy counterparts yet, but I’m confident they’ll be as eager for the adventure as I am if Mark calls on us.
Dad sits back, carving into his chicken thigh. I watch his weathered hands—the very hands that taught me to work the land. Helena has been good to us, but God, how I miss Lakefall Valley.
I ask him, “You fired up about your new gig?”
Thanks to his new prosthetic leg, he’s poised to tackle an urban farming project on the edge of town. They’ve offered him a position akin to that of a foreman, trusting in his experience.
“It’s a start,” he says, then bites into a steaming potato. “Ain’t the same as the open range back at the old Mitchell’s, but I reckon it’s time for your old man to dig in again. And I’m not just talking about planting petunias.”
I grin back. Whatever his role, I’m sure he’s going to be in the thick of it. Once a rancher, always a rancher, no matter where the pasture lies.
Settling in with a plate that reminds me of gatherings after a long day’s work, he looks across the table, curiosity in his creased eyes. “So, you’re gonna head out to Starfire when Huxley rides back into town? ”
“I might, if he asks.” I push the food around my plate. “But first, I need to head back to Lakefall Valley and lay some flowers for Mom. It’s been too long.”
Dad stands, his movements slow as he retrieves a beer from the fridge.
“What do you think, Dad?”
“It’s a good idea. You should go.”
His reply is terse, and I don’t press, seeing the pain that crosses his features. He hasn’t set foot in the valley since we left for Helena, perhaps unable to face the reality that the ranch is no longer ours.
A commotion outside snaps us out of the moment. Ranger and Ruby’s barks ring with an urgency reserved for familiar visitors. Then, a knock on the door.
“Savannah!”
The voice sends a shock of joy through me. It’s bright, bubbly—the unmistakable sound of youthful exuberance from a child reunited with a long-lost playmate.
After swinging the door open, I’m met with the beaming face of little Kayla. “Kayla? What are you doing here?” My gaze darts around, searching for her parents, but I find nothing.
She leaps into my arms. “I missed you so much!” So carefree, there’s no trace of the distress she showed at her mother’s house that day.
The barking continues in the background, and she begs, “Please, let me play with them.”
In her presence, I become a complete softie. My entire being simply crumbles, overwhelmed by the desire to spoil her. I guide her inside, switching on the backyard light.
Ranger and Ruby jump around us in excitement. Kayla’s giggles fill the air, her small arms pulling the dogs into an embrace, squealing out their names.
“How did you get here?” I ask. “It’s eight o’clock at night. ”
“I’m not supposed to say, but Dad’s car is around the corner.”
That sneaky bastard!
Dad exits through the kitchen into the fresh evening air to greet Kayla, his face lighting up with the same delight that brightens my heart.
“How are you, Pop Al?” she chirps, and he kneels to envelop her in a hug.
“I’m fine, Kayla,” he replies, his voice warm but laced with confusion. He exchanges a look with me, silently communicating his bewilderment, trusting I’ve already sought answers from the young girl.
Soon, my suspicions are confirmed when Fabian steps into view. His arrival brings a tension that my father and I try to mask for the sake of being civil in front of a five-year-old girl. Despite our smiles and Kayla’s hug, we know Fabian’s intentions aren’t purely paternal. He’s here for something else.
“I’ll watch Kayla,” Dad offers, giving me a nod.
With a firm hand on my back, Fabian follows me onto the porch.
“What the fuck, Fab?” I push him with my two hands.
The echoes of laughter from the backyard drift around us. He gestures toward the merriment with a note of persuasion in his voice. “Can you walk away from that?”
I cut him off sharply. “Don’t go there!”
“Give us a chance.”
“I don’t give a second chance to a backstabber!”
“Savannah, I told you again and again that I didn’t know about the takeover! I was as blindsided as you were,” he reasons. “We were good together, admit it. If anyone can lead me and Kayla to happiness again, it’s you.”
“Shut your mouth and listen,” I reply. “You and I can never have a second chance. I’m not that girl anymore. Your charms hold no sway over me.”
As if on cue, he flashes the seducing smile that has grown old.
I warn him, “Don’t let me catch you doing it again, or you’ll lose your smile forever.”
He remains undeterred. “Kayla adores you. She hasn’t been well since her mother left,” he divulges the troubles plaguing his family. “Juliet’s drinking got out of control. She’s in rehab now, but our relationship is over.”
I truly feel for Kayla, but I will not be manipulated into a role I haven’t chosen. “I’m not a band-aid, Fab! March your ass away and never look back.”
“You don’t want to see Kayla again?”
“Stop using her as your pawn!”
Fabian’s a flawed man, yet I acknowledge he’s a loving father. As for Juliet, my distrust for her has only deepened with her struggles. So, I sincerely hope Kayla will continue to live with Fabian. I want to remain a part of the girl’s life, but solely as a guardian angel, nothing beyond that.
Fabian takes a deep breath, apparently about to drop some major persuasion on me. “If you’re back in my life, I’ll do everything in my power to get your land back, Savannah. A lot has happened. The both of us have tasted defeats, but it’s not too late,” he tries to strike a deal, as if speaking of righting wrongs. “My business is going well in Bozeman. Even better than when I was still managing your ranch.”
“Stop right there, asshole. You’re bargaining with what’s left of my hopes now?”
“It doesn’t have to be just a dream, Savannah.”
I stand my ground. “No. And don’t you dare drag Kayla into this!”
“She’ll beg to differ,” he presses .
But I am adamant. Kayla’s friendship means the world to me, but I refuse to take the place of her mother. “I’m her friend, not a substitute for what she’s missing.”
Fabian’s demeanor shifts, his desperation on display as he reaches out, attempting to pull me close.
I push him back, my warning clear. “Leave, now. I won’t be responsible for my actions if you don’t.”
“Please, Savannah. I still love you.” His confession comes with a desperate grasp, his hands locking onto me as if to claim a love that no longer exists.
My nerves are as taut as a drawn bow, ready to snap into action. I’m moments away from defending myself, my foot poised for a well-aimed kick, when a voice cuts through the thickening night, firm and commanding.
“The lady said leave,” Huxley announces. His intervention is succinct, his presence alone speaking volumes.
A rush of relief floods through me mingled with a twinge of annoyance. Here he is again, stepping into the role of my protector, especially in front of Fabian, the last person I want to witness this.
Fabian releases a scoff. “Why all the pretense? Just say you’re not interested because you’ve got a new man!”
I hold my silence, allowing the moment to unfold without my words.
Huxley draws closer, his proximity a silent assertion of support. Sensing the shift in power, Fabian withdraws.
“Kayla, we’re leaving,” Fabian calls out sternly.
“But Dad, I’m playing!” Kayla’s protest is heartfelt, piercing me, but I don’t let my emotions show.
“Now, Kayla!”
Reluctantly, she bids me goodbye with a hug that feels like a promise of better times. “Can I come back to play again?”
I offer her a smile that I hope looks more reassuring than I feel. “We’ll figure out a time,” I reply, my commitment intentionally vague.
Her eyes dance with gleeful accusation. “You still owe me those M&M pancakes, Savannah!” she declares, pulling a face that sets off a laugh deep within me.
“I haven’t forgotten. They’re yours next time,” I promise.
Kayla gives me a firm nod, her childlike trust intact, then turns to Huxley with a gaze filled with silent inquiry. Registering his subtle, encouraging smile, she offers a shy wave—a quiet salute of recognition—before turning to follow her father without another word.
With the drama momentarily paused, I turn to Huxley. “You’re back.”
He shrugs, a quiet admission in his stance. “I couldn’t just stand by. You don’t need that kind of hassle.”
He looks drained, likely from the drive from up north, a journey of no small distance. “Come on in,” I invite, stepping aside to welcome him back into our home. “Hungry? We’ve got plenty of roast chicken left. Dinner was interrupted, but there’s more than enough to go around.”
His smile is a tired curve of gratitude as I lead him to the dining room, where the remnants of the evening meal await.
“Al,” Huxley nods in my father’s direction.
“Huxley!” Dad’s voice booms with welcome, his face creasing into a wide grin. My old man isn’t just fond of Hux. He adores him. He doesn’t greet other men like that, ever! “You know, the suit’s growing on me,” he chuckles, giving Huxley’s shoulder a friendly pat. “Come, join us.”
Huxley slips out of his jacket and slides into a chair, his fatigue momentarily forgotten.
Seeing our guest wondering about the half-eaten meals, Dad explains, “Couldn’t resist Kayla’s call. Dropped everything when we heard her. ”
“I’d do exactly the same,” Hux murmurs, easing his tie free, and in that simple gesture, he embodies a partner returning home after a long day.
Dad heaps a generous portion onto Huxley’s plate. “Say when,” he says, poised to douse the meal with gravy.
“I might forget to say that until you’ve emptied that jug,” Huxley replies, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Then all the way it is,” Dad declares, his voice full of cheer as he obliges with a healthy pour.
The meal unfolds as Hux fills us in on his mission. He and his new Red Mark partner, Chase Samson, found a missing boy safe and sound. It turns out he was lost in the vast wilderness after thinking he’d have a quick hike. With no one to report him missing for days, the case dragged on. But it was a happy ending, nonetheless.
“So Chase is your new partner? What happened to your previous one?” I probe.
“Jack, Jack Kelleher. He’s taken leave. He and his wife just had a baby.”
“How wonderful!” I say, my heart lifting, reflecting the joy of new life.
For a moment, the conversation lulls, and we find ourselves adrift in a sea of unspoken thoughts about beginnings and family, the clinking of cutlery against plates the only sound that fills the room.
Dad continues the conversation, “Red Mark agents seem like a tight group.”
“Without question,” Huxley replies. “We’re a tight-knit brotherhood, with no room for anyone who doesn’t hold their weight.”
“No room for assholes then?” Dad quips.
“Absolutely not,” Hux affirms .
Post-dinner, over glasses of rich port, Dad announces his retreat. “I’m turning in.”
“Night, Dad,” I call after him.
“Leave the dishes. I’ll tackle them in the morning,” he offers, already halfway out of the room.
“No need, we’ve got this,” I reply, my words slipping out before I can catch them, ‘we’ implying Huxley’s inclusion in the domestic fold rather than as our guest. He doesn’t balk at the assumption.
Together, we clear the table in comfortable silence.
“It was good of you to come by,” I say, the suds from the dishwater creating a miniature barrier between us.
“To be honest, I wasn’t ready to head back to an empty place,” he confesses, his voice open.
My mind ignites with reactions that sparkle like Christmas lights, and I offer impulsively, “Why don’t you stay the night?”
Hesitation flickers across his features. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s?—”
I backtrack slightly, trying to temper my forwardness. “I meant the couch is available,” I clarify, although that wasn’t my initial implication.
There’s a pause before he finds his voice again. “Actually, I was… I’ve been meaning to ask you out.”
My pulse races, though I try to maintain a semblance of calm. My answer is swift, nonetheless. “I’d really like that.”
“Yeah?” His surprise is genuine.
I laugh, light and easy. “Rancher to rancher, let’s keep it simple.”
His laughter joins mine, and I find his fingers wrapping around my palm, engulfing it. His touch is so warm it’s as if I’m wearing a woolen glove. What do they say about men with long fingers?
Clearly, my man-starved brain fails to keep it simple .
But this is no ordinary lover’s touch. There’s a sincerity in it that speaks louder than words. He guides his hand to the small of my back, pulling me in and then keeping me in place. Our eyes lock, and something unspoken and electric passes between us. In his gentlemanly style, he dips his head, meeting my lips so I don’t have to do anything but receive his gift.
The contact undoes me, prompting me to do more than welcome him. I’m on the offense, channeling my passion through every press and twirl, and he responds to me by matching my intensity, letting his need show.
As it grows wilder, the kiss is a revelation. How had I ever thought I could be content before this? How could I have managed without the astonishing warmth of this man, who feels less like a miracle and more like coming home?
“You sure about the couch?” he murmurs. Our lips have barely left each other.
“I’m…” My voice trails off, the words caught in the sudden intensity of the moment. “Let’s… talk upstairs,” I manage to say, my gaze locked on his.
He nods, and we both make our way toward the stairs, the wooden steps creaking beneath our feet. Each thud seems to serve as a slow and steady countdown to surrender.
Finally, we reach the top, and the hallway is bathed in the faint glow of the nightlight, a detail that had never caught my notice before. Pausing at the door to my bedroom, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I turn to face Huxley, searching his eyes and seeing a reflection of my own tangled emotions.
With a step forward, he closes the distance between us, and we are separated only by a whisper. My back presses against the solid wood of my door. I have nowhere to escape as Huxley kisses me once more. It’s a collision charged with impatience and adoration, leaving me feeling treasured and alive. The sight, smell, and sound of this stunningly handsome man, who is impeccable inside and out, awakens a sense of urgency that surpasses any I’ve felt before.
My hand fumbles behind my back, turning the doorknob.
The atmosphere has shifted along with our entry, and it’s not because of the absence of light. My knees brush against the bed’s edge, but we remain standing. Unbuttoning my shirt, I reveal the swell of my breasts spilling out from my bra. It’s been an eternity since I last experienced the touch of a man. I have even forgotten how to become wet from his touch. But with Hux, even the slightest grind of his body against mine turns me on like a flowing tap.
As I brace myself for his advance, Huxley’s grip on me relents, his fingers drifting from the small of my back to cup my chin. His eyes seem to search mine for an answer to a silent question. It’s too dark to be sure, but my gut tightens, fearing that it might be regret I see flickering there.
“Sav…” His voice is a husky murmur, his touch tentative.
Disappointment wells up within me, settling heavily in the hollow of my chest, suggesting the end of our night might be drawing near. My heart responds, pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage, a rebellion against the idea of letting go of this moment.
But have I made a mistake? Misinterpreting the tension between us as something more than it was?