45. Huxley
Rodolfo is adjusting to life in Helena quite well, though he does have his moments of rebellion. Luckily, between Savannah and me, managing his spirited episodes hasn’t been too much of a challenge. Given his natural curiosity, one of the trickier parts of his adaptation has been discussing my work. Returning to my duties at Red Mark means I need to tread carefully when explaining the what, why and how of my job. But with Mark and Sam showing me the ropes—both seasoned family men themselves—I’m learning to master the balance between discretion and clarity.
Today, though, we’re back at Starfire.
Rodolfo’s eyes flare as if his dreams are coming true, seeing the rugged scenery and cattle, along with the cowboys working at our ranch, including Micah, my brother.
He loves playing cowboy, riding with Micah in the expansive fields dotted with grazing cattle. His earnest attempts to mimic Micah’s every move, from the way he adjusts his hat to his relaxed stride, are endearing, though he still has miles to go before he can truly fill those boots. The boy’s appetite is insatiable, fueled by long days in the open air. At this rate, his transformation into a seasoned ranch hand like Micah seems just a matter of time.
As I watch them from the porch, I catch the laughter and shouts of their playful teaching amid the rustling of the aspens.
Our pregnancy has entered its second trimester, and each day brings a new layer to our shared joy.
Savannah sits on the porch, her hands resting on the swell of her belly, eyes closed in a moment of peaceful respite. I can’t resist joining her, my hand finding its place over hers. She smiles as I massage her belly lightly, telling me how much it soothes her morning sickness.
“It’s like the baby knows you’re there,” she murmurs.
“And I won’t want to be anywhere else,” I say, admiring her body, slightly obsessed with her bump. She’s more than just sexy curves. She’s luminous, stunning, and natural.
I rise and extend my hand to her. “Take a walk with me?”
She grasps my hand, exaggerating her struggle to get up. Little by little, I pull her to her feet and steal a kiss.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she says.
We stride toward the stable, the chatter and laughter from Rodolfo and Micah getting louder. Rodolfo is in the midst of a lesson, hanging onto every word Micah says about riding. Ranger and Ruby, our loyal dogs, weave excitedly around them, their presence supportive and watchful. I can’t help but chuckle. The boy has that typical youthful reverence for anyone but his own folks.
“He’ll learn soon enough who has the best advice,” I murmur to Savannah, who only smiles in agreement, her eyes warm with affection for our makeshift family.
In the stable, anticipation gleams in Misty’s eyes. Savannah reaches out, her touch gentle on Misty’s muzzle. After I forced her to run away that night, the mare came back to the ranch the next morning, standing in front of the front gates as if waiting for us.
“Sorry, Misty, I’m not allowed to ride until the baby arrives,” she explains. “We’ll walk together, okay?” she promises the creature who’s been more than just a horse to us.
“I’ll take you herding tomorrow,” I assure Misty, rubbing her neck. “We’ll go for miles. But today, I need your help in carrying these.” I secure our picnic supplies onto her back, making sure everything is balanced and easy for her.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Savannah’s voice is almost a whisper as she seeks Misty’s consent in their silent language of mutual respect and understanding.
Misty paws at the ground, snorting happily as if in agreement. Her tail flicks as Sav guides her out of the stable.
We set off along a path that winds its way toward a secluded patch of sage field. The air is filled with the earthy scent of wildflowers. Even here, in this tranquil escape, my instincts as a protector sharpen—I watch over Savannah with a hawk’s vigilance, noting how the afternoon light catches in her hair, the way her hand rests over her belly.
She eases her posture, gracefully leaning toward me—her special way of acknowledging she likes my protection.
As we reach a fork in the trail, I glance toward where the old foreman’s quarters once stood. Nothing but the promise of new foundations disrupts the landscape. Micah had gone ahead with the demolition.
“Talk to me, Hux,” Savannah encourages.
“I’m fine, baby,” I reassure her, giving her hand a calming pat. “I’m not haunted by ghosts anymore. Honest.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“And you? Have you managed to ‘dress up’ your angry wish about the Mitchell Ranch?” I say calmly, knowing moments of honesty are never scarce between us .
“Well, the short answer is no,” she concedes. “Fabian’s set on buying the land, mostly for Kayla’s sake. But even if he rebuilds, it won’t be the same. Mitchell Ranch as it was is gone, and I’ve come to terms with that.”
“I’m sorry, Sav.”
“Don’t be. I’m keeping all the good memories and replacing the bad with this,” she says, spinning with her arms open, face gazing at the expanse of Starfire.
I bear-hug her, resting my chin on the curve of her neck. “Thatta girl.”
Together, we walk deeper into the field, surrounded by the vibrant, wild beauty of the open meadow.
The afternoon unfolds with a serene simplicity. We spread out on the blanket, indulging in Micah’s legendary meat pie, the crust flaky and golden, alongside a collection of sweet treats thoughtfully prepared by my mom. The conversation is light, filled with laughter, and the contented quiet of two people who know each other’s hearts.
After lunch, we lie back, hands linked, watching the clouds drift lazily above us. Savannah’s head rests against my shoulder, her hair tickling my cheek. “I can lie here forever,” she murmurs, her voice a contented sigh carried away by the breeze.
“Do you want to live here?” I ask, the question hanging between us like the floating wisps above.
“Well, maybe in the future,” she replies pragmatically, her gaze still fixed on the sky. “I still have my dad in Helena and my work, I guess.”
And I still have Red Mark. I know I have a lot more of me that I’d like to give, and retiring from my job is not on my agenda anytime soon.
My hand tightens around hers. “Although you need to take it easy on your work, okay? You know your limits. I get it. But I’m going to say it even though you’re going to give me a hard time for it.” My voice is filled with the weight of my concern and love.
Eyes gleaming with affection, she coos and gives me a quick kiss.
The moment feels suspended in time, perfect and precious. “Oh, I almost forgot!” I announce with feigned surprise, though every detail of this moment has been meticulously planned. With a mix of nerves and excitement, I gradually rise, pulling away from our cozy embrace on the picnic blanket. A disapproving grumble escapes her lips as I move.
“Wait. Before you kill me!” I try to calm my racing heart with a bit of humor.
I reach into the picnic basket, my fingers weaving through the remnants of our lunch to find the small velvet box hidden at the bottom. It’s more than just a ring inside. It’s a promise, a lifetime.
I kneel before her, the cool grass pressing against my knees.
“Savannah Mitchell, when we met, something magical happened in the sky. And no, it wasn’t a comet,” I say, my voice trembling as much as my hands that now hold hers. “It was meant to be, nonetheless. You’re my everything, and I love you. Will you marry me?” This time, the words flow, feeling monumental yet as natural as breathing.
Her eyes widen, a sharp intake of breath caught between surprise and joy, transforming into a radiant, tearful smile. “Huxley Cometti. You’re my ‘Hugs,’ and I would be so proud to call you my husband.”
With a joyous tremor in my hand, I slip the ring onto her finger, its brilliance mirroring the sparkle of emotion in her eyes. My heart races as I take in her beauty. My God, she’s more breathtaking than ever. I still can’t believe this extraordinary woman is mine.
We embrace, our arms and hearts entwined, as the sagebrush sea around us stands a witness. The rest of the world falls away, leaving only the certainty of our future, as enduring as the ground we’re standing on. Our kiss is deep and liberating, knowing we’ll face whatever life throws at us—together.
“I wish I could marry you right now,” I confess, our lips brushing. “My wife.”
“Husband,” she murmurs. “Or should I say Huxband?”
I chuckle, rubbing the tip of my nose against hers. “Cute. But husband sounds more official,” I clarify.
“I have no problem with official.” She steals a peck on my lips, contented yet brimming with charm.
We give each other some space, appreciating one another. The air between us is perfumed with her lavender scent, mingling with the fresh meadow breeze. This moment feels a world apart from our initial encounter at a stranger’s farm, where she withheld her hand, wary of her earthy scent. Yet, no matter the fragrance she carries, she remains my Savannah.
“‘Love is taking a few steps backward, maybe even more, to give way to the happiness of the person you love.’ Who said that?” I ask with a playful challenge in my eyes.
“Maya Angelou?” she guesses, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Uh-uh.” I shake my head, my smile growing.
“Michelle Obama?” she tries again.
With a chuckle, I lean in, whispering as if it were a sweet secret, “Oh, Sav… it’s Winnie the Pooh.”
Her laughter rings out, pure and delightful. It’s the sound of home, of a happiness that will never grow old.
I used to think redemption was only for fools, a ghost that men like me could chase but never truly grasp. But with Savannah, I’m more than redeemed—I’m reborn. Her love unraveled me in the most beautiful way, cracking me open to new breaths of life. Now, I’m a free man—a loved man. And I intend to dedicate that love and freedom to her, showing our children the incredible things that one’s full heart can bring.
Thank you for reading Her Redeemed Protector .