Chapter 6
SIX
GAGE
The fox kit is eating on its own. At last.
I watch from a few feet away as the tiny red-furred creature licks canned food off a shallow dish, then toddles back to its bed, curling into a sleepy ball under the glow of the heat lamp. I make a few notes in the logbook, and rise with a groan that pulls at every sore muscle in my back.
I’ve been on my feet since before dawn—cleaning enclosures, changing bandages, arguing with the feed supplier about delivery schedules, fielding a call about an injured owl behind the general store. A normal day.
So why the hell do I keep checking my phone?
It’s not like she said she’d call or text while she was at work. Again. It’s not like she owes me anything. The last thing asked for was a photo of Whiskey. So I took one of him, curled in the flannel I’d “accidentally” left on the couch.
Which I definitely didn’t leave there on purpose so the cat would have something that smelled like me.
I scrub a hand down my face and tell myself this has nothing to do with her.
Except it does.
I showed up at the bar last night like some kind of bouncer. When I saw fucking Ben leaning into her space and heard the tone in his voice—it was like something snapped inside of me.
No one gets to talk to her like that.
That should’ve been my first warning sign.
Because she’s not mine.
I tell myself that a lot.
With nothing else today, I stomp back to my cabin and pace the floors like the restless man I’ve become.
The door creaks open.
I don’t look up. “You’re here late.”
Jesse drops onto a chair like he owns it. “You’re lucky I came at all. I was elbow-deep in a cow birth this morning.”
“You’re a sheriff’s deputy. Not a vet.”
“Tell that to Maybelle. She winked at me.”
I almost smile. Almost. Jesse’s good at that—dragging me out of my own head. Even when I’d rather stay there.
“Let me guess,” I say, grabbing two beers from the fridge. “You’re here to nag me.”
“Not nag,” he says, popping the top. “I’m here to offer light encouragement. Brotherly support. Whatever you want to call it.”
“How about being an ass?”
“I heard about the bar last night.”
My jaw ticks. “It’s a small town.”
“And I heard Tessa held her own.”
“She did.” I open my own beer. “That didn’t mean I was gonna let that piece of shit talk to her like that.”
He studies me over his bottle. “You like her.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I barely know her.”
“You let her cat sleep on your favorite chair.”
“I fed him once.”
“You gave him the good tuna.”
I don’t answer. He smirks.
“You’re soft.”
“Get out.”
“You’re thinking about her again.”
I glare at him. “Shut up.”
Jesse drains the last of his beer and pushes to his feet. “Come to poker night. You can lose to me and pretend you’re still aloof and mysterious.”
“I’m not mysterious.”
“Then come prove it.”
I don’t answer, and he doesn’t push. He just claps me on the shoulder on his way out.
The cabin door clicks shut behind him.
I’m alone again.
But it doesn’t feel like it used to.
I glance at the couch. Whiskey’s sprawled in a tight, smug circle on the flannel. The one that smells like me.
He cracks one eye, judging.
I shake my head and head outside, needing air.
The night is crisp. Quiet. The kind that hums just beneath the surface, like the woods themselves are holding their breath. I walk the edge of the tree line. Past the fence. Down to the pond.
And she’s there.
Tessa.
Sitting on the bench beside the old willow, arms wrapped around her knees, a blanket draped across her shoulders. Her hair is down, loose and wild, and she’s wearing my sweatshirt like it belongs to her.
Something in my chest pulls tight.
She looks up as I approach. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smile either. Just watches me like she’s been expecting me.
“I just got home from work,” she says. “I thought I’d take a moment to catch my breath.”
I nod. “Me too.”
She studies me curiously. “Do you always walk the woods at night?”
“Only when I can’t sleep.”
“Same.”
I sit beside her, not touching but close enough to feel the heat of her body. The stars above are scattered and bold. The pond is still.
“I didn’t do a very good job of thanking you last night,” she says. “Thank you for being there and having my back.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I want to.”
I nod, but don’t speak. I can feel her looking at me, feel the air between us thicken with unsaid things.
“I didn’t mean to kiss you,” she says after a beat.
I glance at her.
She clarifies, softer: “I mean, I did, but... I didn’t plan to do it.”
“I didn’t plan to kiss you either.”
We sit in the weight of that for a moment.
I clear my throat. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”
She turns to look at me, eyes searching mine. “Do you still?”
My breath hitches.
Her hand brushes mine on the bench—fingertips first, then her palm, sliding slow. Warm. Intentional.
I turn toward her.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
She leans in at the same time I do, and this time—when our mouths meet—it’s slower. Surer. It’s less about proving a point, or whatever the hell it was we were doing last night. It’s about savoring the moment.
Her hands slide up my chest, gripping the flannel tight. My fingers curve around her waist, dragging her closer. I can feel the heat of her through the blanket, feel her breath catch as I kiss her deeper.
This isn’t soft.
It’s not polite.
It’s as if years of quiet tension and a few days of long looks and unspoken what-ifs collapsing into something real.
Her body twists toward mine. I pull her into my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her thighs straddle me, the blanket scarf falls to the grass.
Her fingers push into my hair. My hands grip her hips, anchor her there, pressing her into me.
She gasps into my mouth as I kiss down the line of her jaw, my hands sliding under the sweatshirt. Her skin is warm and soft, her breath shaky.
“Gage,” she whispers.
The sound of my name on her lips does something brutal to me. I pull her closer. I want to tear these clothes off of her and lay claim to her. It’s the most primal desire I’ve ever had.
It’s that thought that stops me.
I bury my face in her neck.
She doesn’t move.
She clings to me.
At last, I release a breath. “I don’t want to mess this up.”
“You won’t.”
“I could.”
“We both could.” She leans back to cup my cheeks. “But it’s a risk we both have to be willing to take.”