Cag #2
I lead her through the shadows of the barn.
The air here is cooler, smelling of dry hay and ancient wood.
We pass the stalls where the horses are settling in for the night.
They huff soft breaths, their large eyes watching us.
I don't stop until we reach the back of the barn, near the forge where Kenny works.
The ladder to the loft is steep, but I guide her up, my hand firm on the small of her back.
The loft is my sanctuary. It’s filled with the smell of saddle oil and old wood.
There’s a narrow cot in the corner, covered in a heavy wool blanket.
A small table holds my whittling tools and a stack of wood.
This is where I go when the world gets too loud, when the ghosts of my failed wedding start to haunt me.
I shut the door and lock it. The sound of the bolt sliding home is the most satisfying thing I’ve heard in years.
Juliette stands in the center of the room, looking around. She looks like a ghost in the dim light, her white dress glowing. "It’s... it’s beautiful," she says.
I walk toward her. I can't help it. I’m like a moth to a flame. "It’s just a room."
"No," she says, turning to face me. "It’s yours. I can feel it."
She reaches out, her hand hovering over the scar on my jaw. I don't flinch. I want her to touch it. I want her to know every mark on my body. Her fingers graze the rough skin, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me.
"How did you get this?" she asks.
"A calf-rope," I say. "Ten years ago. I was stupid. I didn't let go when I should have."
"And now?"
"Now I know what's worth holding on to," I say.
I step into her space, my chest brushing against the bodice of her dress.
I can hear her heart racing. It’s a frantic, beautiful sound.
She’s looking at my mouth, her lips parted.
I want to ruin her. I want to strip that dress off her and show her what it’s like to be wanted by a man who doesn't care about her bank account or her father’s name.
But I wait. Tension still sits beneath the hope in her eyes, and her hands remain twisted in the ruined silk. She’s been handled her whole life. She’s been told where to go and who to marry. She’s been treated like a piece of fine art to be traded.
Not here.
On Pine Ridge, she’s just a woman. And I’m just a man.
"You should get some sleep," I say, the words tasting like ash. I want to keep her awake. I want to talk to her until the sun comes up. I want to know everything about her. "It’s been a long day."
"Will you stay?" she asks. She grabs my sleeve, her fingers digging into the denim. "Please. Don't leave me alone."
My resolve crumbles. I couldn't leave her if the barn was on fire. "I’m staying. I’m not going anywhere."
I guide her to the cot. She sits on the edge, the silk of her skirt spreading out like a cloud.
I sit on the floor beside her, leaning my back against the frame.
I reach for the half-finished hawk and my knife.
It’s the only way I can stay sane, the only way I can keep from climbing onto that cot and claiming her right now.
I set the blade against one unfinished wing. Thin curls of cottonwood fall to the floor as I work, taking away everything that doesn’t belong.
‘What are you making?’ she asks softly.
‘A hawk.’
‘How long have you been working on it?’
My knife pauses against the grain.
‘Long enough.’
She watches me for another moment, but she doesn’t push. Somehow, that makes me want to tell her everything.
She watches my hands. She doesn't say anything else. After a while, I hear her breathing change. It slows down, becoming deep and rhythmic. She’s asleep.
I stop carving. I turn around and look at her. She’s curled up on the cot, her head resting on my pillow. The moonlight is streaming through the small window, lighting up her face. She looks peaceful. For the first time since I saw her, the tension has left her shoulders.
She’s here. In my room. Under my protection.
I reach out and touch the hem of her dress. It’s filthy now, stained with grease and dirt from my truck. It’s ruined. Just like her old life.
I look at the hawk in my hand. One wing is beginning to take shape, but the other still bears the rough marks of every time I put the knife down and walked away.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I make another cut. And the next one, and whatever comes after.
Because she’s mine. And I’m never letting her go.
The weight of the situation starts to settle in as the hours tick by.
I can hear the distant sound of a coyote howling in the hills.
The ranch is quiet, but it’s a tense silence.
I know Andy is still awake. I know he’s probably sitting on the porch with a rifle, watching the road.
He’s protecting the family. And I’m protecting her.
My mind spirals. I think about Conrad Marchand.
I’ve seen his face in the papers. He’s a man who looks like he’s never been told no.
He’s got billions of dollars and a fleet of lawyers.
He could make our lives a living hell. He could sue us for kidnapping.
He could use his influence to shut down our water supply tomorrow.
But then I look at Juliette. I see the way her hand is tucked under her chin. I remember the way she looked when she said she didn't want to be a transaction.
She’s worth the war.
If Marchand wants her back, he’s going to have to come through me. He’s going to have to step onto Pine Ridge and try to take her. And he’ll find out real quick that a Kramer doesn't back down when someone tries to take what’s his.
I think about the woman who left me at the altar.
I wonder if she ever felt the way Juliette does.
I wonder if she was just as scared, or if she just didn't love me enough. It doesn't matter anymore. That pain, that hollow ache that’s been my constant companion for three years, is fading. It’s being replaced by something sharper. Something that wants to claim.
Possession.
It’s not a clean emotion. It’s dirty and jagged and it demands everything. It’s the feeling of a wolf guarding its mate. It’s the instinct that says this is the one.
I don't believe in fate. I don't believe in "the one." I believe in work. I believe in the land. I believe in the family I was born into. But looking at Juliette, I feel a shift in the universe. Like a gear finally clicked into place.
I reach for her hand, the one dangling off the side of the cot. I take it in mine. Her fingers are cool. I press a kiss to her knuckles, the sensation of her skin against my lips making my breath hitch.
“Here,” I whisper into the darkness, pressing my lips to her knuckles. “You’re safe with me.”
I spend the rest of the night sitting on the floor, holding her hand and working the knife through the cottonwood. I don't sleep. I don't want to. I want to savor every second of her being here. I want to memorize the way she smells and the way she sighs in her sleep.
When the first light of dawn starts to creep over the horizon, I finally stand up. My legs are stiff, my back aching. I stretch, my joints popping.
Juliette stirs. She opens her eyes, blinking against the light. She looks disoriented for a second, her gaze darting around the room. Then she sees me.
She smiles.
It’s a small, shy thing, but it hits me like a physical blow to the chest. My heart stutters. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
"Good morning," she says, her voice thick with sleep.
"Morning," I say. I clear my throat, trying to find my voice. "How do you feel?"
"Safe," she says.
She says it with so much conviction that it humbles me. She trusts me. She has no reason to, but she does.
"Hungry?" I ask.
"Starving."
"Stay here. I’ll go get some food from the main house. I’ll bring it back."
"Cag?" she calls out as I reach the door.
I turn back. "Yeah?"
"Thank you."
I nod, unable to find the words. I step out of the loft and down the ladder. The morning air is crisp, the dew clinging to the grass. The ranch is waking up. I can hear the cows lowing in the distance.
I walk toward the main house, my head held high. I know what I’m doing now. I’m not just a foreman anymore. I’m a man with something to lose. For three years that felt like a weakness. This morning it feels like a reason to stand my ground.
The kitchen is empty when I enter, but breakfast is waiting beneath a clean towel on the counter. Bacon, eggs, toast. Enough food to keep a ranch running through the end of the world.
Good.
I don’t have the words for questions yet.