Chapter 9
Juniper
Rhett’s on his porch, a cigarette glowing between his fingers.
The ember flares as he draws, the faint orange cutting through the dark.
When I come to a stop, both me and Honey are heaving.
I slide out of the saddle, my legs shaking so badly I nearly stumble.
His gaze locks on me, unreadable in the shadows, but I feel it burn all the way through me.
“I have nowhere else to go,” I whisper, the words ripping out of me like a confession.
Rhett flicks the cigarette into the dirt, grinding it under his boot. “What happened?”
My throat closes. I shake my head, unable to say it aloud. If I do, it becomes real—that Hilbert tried to claim me and that my parents handed me over.
Rhett’s jaw works, storm-gray eyes narrowing. He steps down off the porch, boots crunching against the gravel until he’s in front of me.
“Juniper.” His voice is demanding without being cruel. “Tell me.”
Tears sting my eyes, hot and humiliating.
“They were going to send me with him.” My voice cracks, barely audible. “My own parents. They told me if I didn’t go with Hilbert, I wasn’t welcome under their roof.”
Rhett stills, chest rising and falling like a man holding back a storm. The muscle in his jaw tics. For a moment, I think he’s going to explode, march straight back into town and tear Hilbert apart with his bare hands.
Instead, he takes another step, close enough I can feel the heat rolling off him. His hand comes up settling against my cheek, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“You’re not going back there.” His voice is final. “Not to them. Not to him. You hear me?”
A sob rips free, and before I can stop myself, I collapse against his chest. My fists twist in his shirt, and for once, he doesn’t gloat. He just holds me and it’s the only thing keeping me from splintering apart.
“Come on,” he murmurs, his hand warm and unyielding at the small of my back as he guides me toward the door.
I’ve been here before back when I dated Caleb.
Back then, the place carried a different air.
His mother’s over-the-top decorating style, her photographs on the walls, the soft smell of cinnamon from a candle burning in the kitchen.
A home. But now everything’s changed. Gone is the warmth, the softness, the sense of family.
In its place is something stripped bare, lean and hard.
The curtains are gone, windows left uncovered to let the night stare in.
The walls are bare wood, no pictures, no softness, only the harsh lines of a man who lives alone.
It suits Rhett.
The house feels like him. Severe, untamed, and unwelcoming to anyone but him. Yet as he shuts the door behind us, I realize I feel safer here than I have in my parents’ home, or in that church where Hilbert waits like a vulture.
My bag slips from my shoulder, hitting the floor with a soft thud. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly small in the wide, shadowed space.
Rhett doesn’t crowd me. He watches, standing a few feet away, his hat still in his hand, his gaze unreadable. The silence stretches until I can’t bear it.
“This isn’t—” My voice cracks, and I start again. “This isn’t where I thought I’d end up.”
His eyes narrow, that storm always simmering. “No, Juniper. But it’s where you belong.”
The words sink deep, heavy as chains. And yet they don’t feel like a prison. Not entirely.
“Come on. You need rest.”
Rhett picks up my bag without asking and starts down the hall.
The floorboards creak under his weight, the sound steady and certain, like he’s already decided for both of us.
I follow him up the stairs to the second floor, my pulse hammering and dread climbing higher with every step.
He stops at the last door, pushes it open with his boot, and tosses my bag onto the dresser.
The room smells faintly of smoke and leather, the air sharp, like everything else about him.
“You’ll stay here,” he says simply.
My stomach drops. “This is your room.”
“That it is.”
“No.” My voice shakes, but I plant my feet. “I’m not staying in here with you. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”
His jaw tics, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t raise his voice. “You’ll sleep in the bed. I’ll take the chair.”
I blink, thrown off balance. I was braced for him to demand more. Instead, he grabs the back of the heavy wooden chair by the window, drags it closer to the bed, and drops into it like a sentry taking up post.
“You don’t need to watch me,” I whisper.
“Yes. I do,” he says, leaning back, arms folded across his chest.
I sit on the edge of the bed, trembling with exhaustion and fury. The sheets smell like him—woodsmoke and soap and something darker that makes my throat tight. Every instinct screams to run, but there’s nowhere else to go. Not after tonight.
When I finally lie down, his silhouette looms in the chair, unmoving. A guard. A warden. A shadow that refuses to leave me.
The house is silent, but I can’t close my eyes.
My body aches with the memory of Hilbert’s smile, with the echo of my father’s voice telling me I wasn’t welcome under his roof.
And through it all, Rhett watches. He doesn’t touch me.
Doesn’t speak. By the time dawn bleeds pale light through the bare window, I haven’t slept a minute.
But the worst part is, some twisted part of me doesn’t feel afraid.
It feels safe. And that terrifies me most of all.
The rooster’s crow splits the gray morning, loud enough to make me flinch. My eyes ache, my body stiff from lying tense and unmoving all night. I hadn’t closed them for more than a minute at a time, every breath reminding me Rhett was still there, watching from his chair.
“Time to get up,” he says.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t sleep.”
“You will tonight,” he says simply, pushing to his feet.
I push upright, clutching the blanket to my chest like it could shield me from him.
“What exactly am I supposed to do?”
“You’ll come with me to the barn. Horses need working and fences need mending.”
I laugh, sharp and bitter. “So I’m your prisoner and your ranch hand now?”
Rhett turns, eyes meeting mine across the room.
“You’re alive, Juniper. And safe. That’s more than you’d be if you stayed with them. Don’t forget it.”
The words cut because I know he’s right. Still, heat flares in my chest, anger tangled with something darker. I swing my legs off the bed, forcing myself to stand.
“Fine,” I say, voice shaking with defiance. “But don’t think for a second this means I belong here.”
His gaze lingers on me, unreadable, before he turns and heads for the door. “You’ll see.”
By the time I drag myself into the kitchen after changing into jeans and a t-shirt, Rhett already has a skillet on the stove.
The smell of bacon and coffee hits me, warm and heavy, too homey for the man cooking it.
He doesn’t look up when I hover in the doorway, arms folded like I can keep myself small.
“Sit.”
I bite back the urge to argue, but my stomach betrays me with a growl. I slip into the chair at the table, stiff-backed, hands folded in my lap. He sets a plate in front of me a few minutes later—eggs, bacon, toast, simple but hot.
“You didn’t have to—”
“Eat. You’ll need it.”
I want to resist out of spite, but the first bite reminds me how little I consumed yesterday.
Each bite is fuel, steadying me. But his presence across the table steals any comfort.
I glance across the table. His elbows are braced, forearms corded with muscle, watching me like he’s memorizing every move.
When I push the plate away, he nods once. “Barn.”
The morning air is crisp, smelling of hay and dust. Honey perks up when she sees me, ears flicking, breath warm against my palm. My chest tightens. I owe Rhett nothing, but I owe her everything.
“You’ll start with the colts,” Rhett says, opening the gate. “They’re green, need steady hands. Don’t flinch when they test you.”
“I don’t know if I can—”
“You can.” His voice is final with no room for weakness. “And you will.”
The first colt shies as I step into the pen, eyes rolling white, muscles tense. My pulse echoes its panic, but Rhett is suddenly behind me, close enough that the heat of him sears through my shirt. His hand settles over mine on the rope, steadying, anchoring.
“Breathe, Juniper,” he murmurs. “He feels your fear. Don’t give it to him.”
I try. My chest rises slow, shaky, but steadier with his voice at my ear. The colt’s snorts even out, just a fraction, as if Rhett’s steadiness flows through me into the animal.
I hate that it works.
And when Rhett’s hand doesn’t move from mine, when his body doesn’t step back, I hate how much I don’t want him to.
The colt tosses its head, the rope jerking against my palm. I stumble a step, pulse skittering.
“Too loose,” Rhett says, and before I can correct myself, his hand closes over mine, hot and rough.
I stiffen. “I can do it.”
“You can’t,” he says simply, sliding in behind me. His chest brushes my shoulder blade, solid and immovable. His other hand comes up to grip the rope higher, his arm caging me without effort. “Not yet. Watch.”
His voice is low, steady, vibrating against my spine. The colt shifts nervously, but Rhett doesn’t flinch. He tightens our grip together, his strength guiding mine, his breath warm against my temple.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, angling my wrist with his. “You give him too much slack, he’ll take it all. You keep him short, firm, he’ll learn who’s leading.”
My throat locks. His words aren’t about the horse, at least not entirely.
The colt jerks again, and my instinct is to let go, to retreat, but Rhett doesn’t allow it. His fingers press harder over mine, unyielding.
“No. Hold. You let go, you teach him he can scare you off.”
“I don’t—” My voice cracks, breathless.
“Yes, you do.” His mouth is close to my ear now, each word molten. “You stand your ground. You don’t let him win. You hear me?”