Chapter 19 Saint
Saint
The house feels different when we walk through the door.
Not physically. It’s the same structure we moved into the other night, the same rooms and hallways and windows looking out over Bishop land.
Deep down, I know the shift in energy has nothing to do with the house.
Maybe it’s the weight of what happened at the church.
Perhaps it’s the fact that my panties are currently in Calder’s pocket and I can still feel the ghost of his mouth on me.
Or maybe it’s just that every hour I spend in this place with him means he sinks his hooks a little deeper into my skin.
I don’t know. What I do know is that each of those things is changing me, making me see Calder in a different light.
Calder tosses his keys on the kitchen counter. “You want lunch?”
“I’m not hungry.” My voice sounds strange.
He studies me for a moment, and I can see him weighing whether to push.
Then he nods. “I need to check on some things at the upper pasture. Fence line that probably got damaged in last week’s storm.
Check the one we were working on the other day to see if the ranch hands finished it up.
You going to be okay here alone for a few hours? ”
He heads into the office and returns a black phone in his hand, but I’m still focused on the word alone.
Alone. It should feel like freedom, but instead, it makes anxiety spike in my chest. What if Roman shows up? What if—
“Hey.” Calder crosses to me, tips my chin up with his fingers. “You’re safe here. Roman won’t come to this house without me present. That would be admitting he gives a shit about you, and he’d never do that.”
“What about your brothers?”
“Sawyer’s in town meeting with the accountant. Levi’s helping with the horses. Kade...” He pauses. “Kade,” he grits out, “knows better than to bother you when I’m not here.”
The territorial edge in his voice should irritate me more than it does.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be fine.” It’s a lie, but one of us has to start believing that.
He searches my face, looking for cracks. Then he leans down and kisses me, soft and unhurried, tasting faintly of me. When he pulls back, there’s something almost tender in his ice-blue eyes.
“Lock the doors if it makes you feel better. I’ll have my phone.” He extends the one he’s holding. “This one is for you. It’s all set up and unlocked. You’ll have to set the code, and my number is already programmed. Call me if you need me.”
Then he’s gone, truck engine rumbling to life outside, gravel crunching under tires as he drives away.
I stand in the kitchen for a long moment, listening to the silence.
Staring at the sleek—expensive—device in my hand.
Should I call someone? Who? The only people I really ever talked to before were my dad and Allie.
And I am ashamed to admit I don’t know either of their numbers off the top of my head.
The house settles around me, floorboards creaking, wind testing the windows. Just me and the weight of everything that’s happened. I should do something productive.
Clean. Unpack the few belongings Calder brought from the cabin, including my mother’s quilt. Go over what they had stocked here when we showed up. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from circling the drain of panic.
Instead, I find myself in the living room, staring at the bookshelf lining one wall.
Most of the leather-bound books look old and probably belonged to Calder’s grandfather or great-grandfather.
Ranch management guides. Montana history.
A few weathered novels. I pull out a copy of Wuthering Heights.
The spine is cracked, proof that someone in this family has read the book multiple times.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
I’m just returning the book to its shelf when I hear the knock.
Every muscle in my body goes tense. Calder wouldn’t knock. My father wouldn’t know where this house is. Who else could it be? One of the brothers? Roman?
Another knock, softer this time. Almost hesitant.
I move to the front door slowly, my heart hammering. There’s no peephole, so I crack it open just enough to see who’s on the porch.
Elena Bishop stands there, Calder’s mother, looking nothing like the broken woman I barely caught a glimpse of after the rodeo at the main house.
She’s dressed in expensive jeans and a cream-colored sweater; her gray hair pulled back in that severe bun.
That’s not what stops me, though. It’s her eyes.
They’re the same icy blue as Calder’s, except where his are sharp and calculating, hers are distant and haunted.
“Mrs. Bishop,” I say, unsure what else to call her. Mother-in-law feels too real.
“Elena, please.” Her voice is soft, cultured. Like she came from somewhere better before Roman Bishop got his hands on her. “May I come in?”
Would it be rude of me to decline her visit? I’m sure. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but something about the way she’s standing there, almost fragile despite her rigid posture, makes me step back, and without thinking it through, I gesture for her to come in.
“Of course.”
She enters like she’s walking into a stranger’s home, not a house on property her family owns. Her gaze sweeps over the living room, kitchen, and beyond before returning to me.
“I wanted to welcome you properly. The other night was... not ideal circumstances for a first meeting.”
Not ideal. That’s one way to describe watching Roman beat Calder half to death and slap me hard enough to leave a bruise that’s still vivid against my cheek.
“Would you like some coffee?” I ask, falling back on the politeness my mother had drilled into me. “Or tea?”
“Coffee would be lovely.”
I move to the kitchen, and Elena follows at a respectful distance.
She settles onto one of the stools at the counter while I measure the grounds, put them into the coffee maker, add water, and hit brew.
Having Calder’s mother here feels dangerous in a way I can’t quite name.
Like I’m doing something wrong, without really doing something wrong.
“This was always my favorite house on the property,” Elena shares.
“Small. Private. With enough distance from the main house. I’m pretty sure one of Roman’s mistresses lived here for a time.
” The casual mention of infidelity shouldn’t surprise me.
This is the Bishop family, after all. Doesn’t mean I would ever be okay with Calder doing such a thing.
“Calder said he thought we’d be more comfortable here.”
“He was right. The main house...” I see her fingers twist together in her lap. “It’s suffocating at times. All those years of violence soaked into the walls. Even with Roman contained in his wing, you can feel it everywhere you go. Like a shadow following you from room to room.”
Contained. Like he’s a wild animal they’ve managed to cage, but that occasionally escapes every once in a while. The coffee maker beeps, signaling the brew is complete. I pull down two mugs from the cabinet, trying to figure out why Elena Bishop is really here.
Is it a strategic move? It’s more than just to welcome me. That much is obvious.
“How do you take it?” I ask.
“Black.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I pour the coffee into a mug and slide it across the counter to her. I choose to lean against the opposite counter, cradling my mug in my hands. We drink in silence for a moment, two women trapped in the same family for different reasons.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell I’m doing here?” she finally says.
“I mean, the thought crossed my mind.”
She sets her mug down carefully, her gaze penetrating. “I’m here because I want to warn you about tomorrow night.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. “The branding.”
“Yes.” Her gaze drops to her legs, where I know the Bishop brand no doubt sits if Roman’s boasting was correct.
“Roman mentioned it the other night, but he didn’t explain what it actually entails.
And Calder...” She pauses. “Calder probably doesn’t want to think about it.
He’s very good at compartmentalizing the parts of this family he hates. ”
She’s got that right. I squeeze the mug a little tighter. “Will you tell me? What happens? Explain the process to me.”
“Did Calder tell you anything?” Elena asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I planned to ask him about it tonight.”
Elena is quiet for a long moment, staring into her coffee like she can read the future in its dark surface.
When she speaks again, her voice is carefully neutral.
“Okay. The ceremony takes place in the main barn. All the brothers will be present. Roman presides over it. You’ll be.
..” She swallows. “They’ll secure you. To make sure you don’t move while they press the iron into your skin.
It’s important that the brand is clean. You don’t want it to blur because then they have to do it again.
” First, they’ll secure me, then they’ll brand me, and if I move too much, they’ll do it again.
It’s a miracle I don’t vomit all over the floor right now.
“How long does it take?” I don’t know why I ask that question. Branding another human shouldn’t even be a thing.
“The actual branding? A few seconds. Roman will heat the iron in front of you first. Let you watch it turn orange, then white. Build the anticipation up so you know what’s coming.
” She traces the rim of the mug with her fingers.
“Whatever you do, try your best to keep your fear hidden. Roman enjoys it more than he should.”
Of course he does. I’m not surprised. “What happens after?”
“After, you’ll be in considerable pain. They’ll bandage it, but there is always the risk of infection. Healing can take weeks, and the scar is ugly for a long time.”
I set my mug down before I drop it. “If you’re trying to scare me—”