Chapter 11
Eleven
JASON
Jason’s eyes shot open, and pain stabbed through his skull. He groaned softly, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead as if that would somehow ease the exhaustion clawing at him. His body felt leaden, his muscles stiff from yesterday’s brutal workload—not just the physical labor but the emotional gut punch that had leveled him.
That darn ring.
Even now, the memory of it sent a fresh wave of something sharp and raw through his chest. It had caught his eye as he dragged the rake through Bluebell’s stall, a glint of metal half-buried in the damp, pungent mess. At first, he’d thought it was just a bit of loose change, maybe a nickel or a dime—something worthless.
But when he reached down and pried it free, his breath had locked in his throat.
His mother’s ring.
The delicate band, once pristine and treasured, was now misshapen, trampled beyond recognition. Time and neglect had done their worst. The metal twisted, the small stone dulled and caked with filth.
It was a gut-wrenching metaphor for his family, for himself.
Once whole. Now… broken.
Jason had stared at it for what felt like an eternity, the weight of it far heavier than it should have been. His mother’s ring—lost for so long—had been here, buried in the filth as if it had been waiting for him to find it.
Luke had been the first to speak, his voice hoarse. “It was just laying there in Bluebell’s crap?” He exhaled sharply. “Isn’t that the biggest load of… well… crap .”
Jason had barely managed a nod before his throat locked up.
Matthew had faltered, then wiped roughly at his eyes. “Screw this,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I’m getting a beer. Anyone else?”
“Beer me,” Jason had mumbled, his gaze never leaving the ruined ring in his palm.
Luke had simply raised a hand. “Same. The stalls can wait. This calls for a mental break.”
Jason had agreed, but even as they’d retreated from the barn, he hadn’t been able to let go of the thought running through his mind—the question that gnawed at him with quiet, relentless intensity.
What did it mean?
Was it just a coincidence? A sign from above? Or was it some kind of cruel reminder that no matter how hard he tried to move forward, he was always going to be knee-deep in the past, stuck in the filth of things that should’ve been left buried?
Luke had tried to reassure him. “Maybe you can get it repaired… you know , for Caitlin.”
Jason had shaken his head. “Things aren’t like that…” yet , he’d protested tacking on the last word mentally, but even to his own ears, the words had sounded weak.
Because maybe… just maybe… they were.
Maybe some things could be restored.
Maybe some things weren’t as lost as they seemed.
And now—waking up with a weight pinning his arm—he sucked in a sharp breath as a new realization, a new sensation hit him.
Caitlin.
She stayed.
The coral-colored bathrobe was the first thing he saw—an eyesore against the muted morning light, but one that had never looked softer than it did now, draped around the woman who had held him through the night.
She was curled up beside him, her body a warm presence against his, her hand resting lightly over his chest.
Jason barely breathed, unwilling to shatter the moment.
He had always seen Caitlin as strong, fiercely independent, someone who kept herself carefully guarded, but here—like this—she looked so achingly soft. Her face was peaceful, the delicate rise and fall of her chest the only movement as she slept. Her dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, her entire being wrapped in quiet vulnerability.
And he couldn’t stop staring.
Something in his chest clenched—something that had been locked up for too darn long.
Caitlin had stayed – for him.
She had seen him break down, seen him at his lowest, and instead of running, she had chosen to be here. She had chosen him.
Jason swallowed hard.
He had spent his entire life giving—to his family, to this farm, to this darn town. He had never asked for anything in return, never taken for himself. But this?
This felt like something he wanted to hold onto.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted, brushing his lips against the tip of her nose. A quiet, reverent kiss. Then, unable to resist, he pressed another against her lips, softer this time, barely a whisper of contact.
She stirred.
Her breath caught, her body tensing as she woke, and he felt her stiffen beneath his touch.
“Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You’re safe.”
Her eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep. “Jason…”
“Stay,” he urged softly. “Stay here for a moment, hold me, and then I’ll make us some breakfast. Some coffee.”
He saw the hesitation flicker across her face, the war waging behind her tired eyes. “I should go,” she whispered. “I’m parked out front, and anyone driving from Yonder to Ember Creek will see my car if they look down the driveway.”
“So?” he shrugged.
“So, that’s how rumors get started,” she countered pointedly.
Jason exhaled, running his fingers down the curve of her cheek. “I want people to know we’re a couple.”
Her eyes widened slightly, startled by his bluntness.
“I want to tell people we’re dating,” he continued. “And if we’re not a couple yet in your mind, just know that we are in mine.”
Caitlin’s lips parted, her expression torn between disbelief and something softer. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“I mean, once word gets out…”
“Then everyone will know that I’m dating Caitlin Barnes and that it’s serious between us.”
He chuckled, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, feeling the way her skin heated beneath his touch.
Her throat bobbed. “Are you sure?”
Jason met her gaze, unwavering. In her eyes, he saw something raw, something fragile—hope, fear, longing. It made his heart twist in his chest.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, closing the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a slow, deliberate kiss.
She melted.
And gosh, it was the best darn thing he’d ever felt.
When he finally pulled back, she was breathless, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining with something unspoken.
“I want us seen together,” he said, smiling against her lips. “Holding hands. Kissing. All of it. I’ll get you a Baird Farm shirt if you want it.”
A surprised laugh bubbled out of her, and he grinned at the sound, at the way she arched playfully against him.
“I’d love a Baird Farm shirt of my own to wear proudly around town.”
“Done.”
Her smile was shy, beautiful, and something he would always treasure in his heart, mind, and soul.
“Did you know that your man is an incredible cook?” he teased her, his smile widening as hers did the same at his words.
“When it comes to smoking a brisket—yes.”
“In all things, Catnip,” he corrected, pushing himself up and stretching, his muscles flexing beneath the strain.
She sat up slowly, smoothing her hair back in a way that made him want to pull her right back into his arms. He wanted to unfasten that robe, ditch those cotton pajamas, and hold her in his arms for days, weeks, months, years… and he swallowed at the sudden thoughts in his head.
“Especially,” he added, his voice cracking slightly, “when he makes breakfast for the most gorgeous woman in the world.”
Caitlin scoffed. “Where’s she hiding?”
Jason rolled his eyes, tugging her hand and pulling her to a standing position, drawing his arms around her, pulling her closer. “In my arms, silly. I’m talking about you.”
“I’m not gorgeous.”
“You are to me.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice low, steady. “And that’s all that matters.”
* * *
Jason leaned against the counter, listening to the quiet sounds of Caitlin moving around in the bathroom. He’d given her space, but his mind was already drifting to the idea of her here, in his home, beyond just this morning. He shook off the thought and turned to the task at hand—breakfast. Coffee first, because even though he could function without it, he’d learned that some people, namely Caitlin, did not operate on the same level of morning efficiency.
The carafe slid smoothly under the coffee maker, the rich aroma of freshly ground beans filling the air. He had plans today—to show her around the house, get her thoughts, maybe even hear her say she liked it. He wanted that. He wanted to show off the work he’d done, the details he’d put into making this place more than just a house. The honeysuckle bushes were one of those touches. Planted along the back of the property, just beyond the deck, they would keep the bees from bothering anyone who wanted to sit out there with a cold drink in the evening. And maybe, just maybe, she’d sit out there with him one day, watching the sunset, talking about things that didn’t have to be rushed.
His gaze shifted to the spot where he’d planted one particular bush, right where he’d once spotted the bobcat kittens. His fingers flexed instinctively, the memory of pain lacing through his palm. That old wound had taken its sweet time to heal, leaving behind a jagged mark on the meat of his thumb. His abdomen bore a similar reminder—a scar from claws that had nearly done more damage than he cared to admit. Stupid. Reckless. He should’ve been mauled beyond repair, but instincts had overridden logic. Caitlin and Matthew had been there. He’d seen the fear in her eyes, and there had been no hesitation. Not then. Not now.
If she ever looked at him like that again, with terror widening those beautiful eyes, he knew—without question—he’d do the same darn thing. Without thought. Without regret. He’d throw himself into harm’s way, consequences be darned.
The thought settled deep in his chest, leaving him unsettled yet sure. He reached into the fridge, grabbed the open can of pineapple, and let the routine of cooking distract him. Two rings into the skillet, a cherry nestled in the center of each, a dusting of brown sugar, and a pat of butter melting into golden pools—each movement deliberate, steady. The smell of caramelizing fruit mixed with the scent of coffee, filling the kitchen with a warmth that had nothing to do with his cooking.
He heard her before she spoke, the soft scuff of her bare feet on the hardwood.
“What smells so good?” Her voice held a trace of hesitation, a nervous edge that made him glance up.
“Me,” he answered without missing a beat, throwing her a wink that made her lips twitch. “Well, maybe it’s me, and the coffee, and breakfast—but mostly me.”
She laughed, the sound like the first sip of whiskey after a long day—smooth, warm, hitting him deep in his chest.
“Okay, ‘ Me ,’” she teased, her smile teasing the corners of her lips as she stepped forward gingerly. “Where can a girl get a cup of coffee?”
He reached for the cabinet, opening it with a casual air. “Right here—but you have to pay the kitchen troll.”
She arched a brow. “Oh?”
“Yep.” He turned toward her, leaning his hip against the counter, arms crossing over his broad chest. “Only deals in kisses, too. Real hard-nosed guy, not much room for negotiation.”
“Whatever will I do?” she mused, feigning distress, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.
“You’ll just have to kiss him.”
Her lips pursed like she was weighing her options. “But do I have to?”
His grin widened. “Uh, yeah. You absolutely have to.”
And then, just like that, she closed the space between them, sliding her arms around his shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her warmth pressed into him, and before he could crack another joke, her lips brushed against his—a teasing whisper of a kiss that sent fire straight through him.
Jason stilled. His hands found her back, splaying wide as if to anchor himself, as if this moment might slip through his fingers like smoke. The scent of her, a mix of citrus and something uniquely Caitlin, curled around him, pulling him under. He wasn’t sure if he sighed or if she did, but the sound filled the space between them, soft and content.
This .
This was what home was supposed to feel like.
Not just a place, not just four walls and a roof. Home was her laughter echoing in the kitchen, the way she fit against him without hesitation. She brought something here, something he hadn’t even realized was missing until now.
And darn, if that didn’t scare him just a little.
His fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, holding on like a man who had just realized he’d been drowning without even knowing it. He didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want this to be a fleeting moment that faded with the morning. Because if this—whatever this was—slipped through his grasp, he had a feeling it would leave a hole he wouldn’t know how to fill.
And then she laughed, pulling back just enough to grin up at him.
“Do you smell smoke?”
Jason blinked, momentarily dazed.
Then—“Crap! The pancakes.”
She spun toward the stove as he rushed to flip the golden-brown disaster.
“‘ Pancakes’ ? There’s only one in the pan,” she pointed out, the smirk in her voice unmistakable.
“It’s two, it’s two,” he defended, wielding the spatula like a man on a mission. He let out a breath when the flip was successful. “Phew. Not burnt too badly yet—and we have the other side to cook.”
He turned back to her, his lips curling in a slow smile as he tugged her into his arms once more.
“Think the kitchen troll deserves another kiss for saving breakfast?”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t resist when he dipped his head, stealing another taste of home.
* * *
Jason had never cared much for houses, not beyond their basic function of keeping a man warm and dry. But walking through these rooms with Caitlin, talking about walls and windows and ceiling heights—it felt different. The space wasn’t just walls and beams anymore. It was becoming something else entirely. Something alive.
They moved together, step by step, his voice low as he told her his plans for each room. She listened intently, her fingers brushing along the old doorframes, her head tilting thoughtfully when she considered a suggestion. He found himself hanging on her every word, committing each syllable to memory like his soul was taking dictation.
“The ceilings are lovely,” she murmured, glancing up at them, her voice filled with that soft, admiring lilt that did dangerous things to his chest. “And with the height, you could put a chair rail and use it to make it feel so cozy…”
His lips quirked. “That’s a great idea.”
It was a great idea. And the fact that she saw what he did—felt what he felt about this house—made something tighten in his gut.
They opened each door upstairs, revealing rooms bathed in soft, golden afternoon light. The house smelled like dust and old wood, but there was a warmth here, something lingering in the bones of the place that whispered of possibility. Of home .
When they stepped into the next room, Caitlin gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
“Ohhhh, Jason, this one is stunning—especially with the view of the farm out the window in the distance,” she breathed, and his heart thudded wildly in response.
He didn’t look at the window. He looked at her.
She stood by the glass, framed in the soft light, her eyes glowing with something unspoken. Something that squeezed his chest so hard he had to clear his throat to shake it off.
“What if you made this the master?” she said, turning to him, eyes bright. “Put the bed on this wall so you could see the view... and...”
“Yes.”
The word left him before she’d even finished; because she was right. Of course, she was right. He’d already imagined it—this room, his room. Their room. His bed was currently on the floor in one of the old sitting rooms, but someday, he would want privacy and something different. The thought hit him so hard he had to shove his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.
She hesitated as they stepped into the next space. This one was smaller and cozier. She swept her gaze around, chewing on her lower lip.
“This room is a little smaller than the other,” she said slowly, her voice just a touch softer now. “But you could make the other room down the hall a nursery… or an office.”
A pause.
A heartbeat.
She looked away, but not before he caught it—the flicker of something deep, something raw in her eyes.
Good .
Because if she was feeling this—this thing between them—then maybe he wasn’t the only one standing on the edge of something terrifyingly wonderful.
Jason swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His gaze flickered to the walls, but all he saw was the picture forming in his mind—Caitlin curled up in that master bedroom, reading late into the night. A tiny, chubby-cheeked baby in this very room, reaching for him, calling him Daddy .
The thought rocked him so hard that he had to brace himself against the doorway.
Marriage had never been something he gave much thought to until he walked his sister down the aisle. It was always this vague, distant thing, a possibility for someone else—not him. But lately? Lately, things have been shifting. His world was shifting. And ever since he’d found his mother’s ring in the barn, the idea had taken root.
A sign.
Maybe that’s what it was.
Maybe his parents were watching over him, nudging him toward something he hadn’t been brave enough to want before. Maybe it was his turn for happiness.
But if he ever took that step—if he ever gave Caitlin his name, his future, his heart—he had to be sure . It wasn’t just companionship, breathtaking kisses, sweet moments, and all those wonderful smiles. It was more – so much more, because she deserved the world.
She deserved everything .
And even though he didn’t think he was anywhere near good enough for her, he sure as heck would spend the rest of his life making sure she never noticed.