Cag #2
She nods, unable to speak, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I can feel her starting to peak, the tremors beginning in her thighs and radiating upward. I don't stop. I push her harder, my thumb finding the perfect spot, the perfect rhythm.
She screams my name into the night, her body jerking as the orgasm takes her.
It’s violent and beautiful. She clings to me, her breath hitching and her heart hammering against mine.
I hold her, my own body shaking with the effort of not joining her.
I’m leaking precum, the front of my jeans soaked, my cock thumping with a rhythm that matches the cooling engine of the truck.
I wait until the tremors subside, until her breathing slows and she sags against me. I don't let her go. I can't. If I let her go, the reality of the situation—the water, the war, the father who will stop at nothing to get her back—will come crashing back in.
I tuck a stray hair behind her ear, my hand trembling just a little.
"Here," I murmur, holding her steady. "Stay with me."
She looks up at me, a small, dazed smile playing on her lips. "I've never... I didn't know it could be like that."
"It’s only going to get better," I promise, meaning every word.
I smooth her dress back down over her thighs, though my hands don’t want to leave her. The cotton is wrinkled now, marked by my grip, but it’s still hers. Something she chose. I’ll make sure she never has to wear another thing designed to turn her into somebody else’s property.
The sound of footsteps on the gravel makes me stiffen, my arm going around Juliette's waist in a protective clamp.
I turn my head to see Andy standing by the gate, his silhouette dark against the house lights.
He doesn't say anything at first. He just stands there, his hat pulled low, looking at the two of us.
"The upstream flow is dropping fast, Cag," Andy says. "If it stays cut, the western quarter will start suffering within days."
"I know," I reply, my grip on Juliette tightening.
"You ready to protect her without abandoning the ranch?" Andy asks. There’s no judgment in his voice, just a heavy, bone-deep weariness. He’s the ranch boss. He carries the weight of all of us.
I look down at Juliette. She’s looking at Andy, her chin held high, her eyes reflecting the flickering lights of the yard. She isn't cowering. She isn't asking for an out. She’s standing with me.
"She's worth everything," I say.
Andy nods once, a sharp, decisive movement. "Then we haul water and we find the paper that proves the creek was always ours. And we get ready for when her old man sends more than just a surveyor."
He turns and walks back toward the house, his boots crunching on the gravel. I watch him go, the weight of the situation settling on my shoulders. We’re in for a nasty, dirty fight that could cost us the land our family has bled for through generations.
But as I look back at Juliette, I know I’ll stand between her and anyone who comes to take her.
"Come on," I whisper, guiding her toward the tack room. "Let's get you inside."
"Cag?" she says as we reach the door.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For seeing me. Not the dress. Not the name. Just me."
I stop, my hand on the latch. I look at her—really look at her. The girl who ran from a life of gold-plated cages to stand in the dust with a scarred cowboy.
"There’s nothing else I’d rather see," I say.
I lead her up the ladder, the air thick with saddle oil, dry hay, and old wood. This is my sanctuary. This is where I’ve hidden from the world for three years, carving half-finished promises into pieces of wood.
I sit her on the edge of the cot, her cotton dress wrinkled and dusty from the day. I want to peel it off her. I want her skin against mine without a single barrier between us. But exhaustion has dragged shadows beneath her eyes, and the possessive animal inside me will have to wait.
"Sleep," I say.
She looks toward the armchair in the corner. "Where will you be?"
"Right here."
"All night?"
"Every second."
She studies me as though she’s searching for the lie. She won’t find one.
Juliette crawls beneath the blankets without another argument. I pull them over her, tucking the heavy wool around her shoulders. My hand lingers against her forehead, and her eyes flutter shut beneath my touch.
"You’re safe," I tell her.
The words come out carved and final.
"Cag?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't stop carving that hawk."
I freeze, my eyes going to the dashboard of my truck in my mind's eye. "How did you know about that?"
"I saw it when I climbed in. It’s beautiful. You should finish it."
I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat. "Maybe I will."
I walk over to the chair and sit down, my eyes fixed on the door. I’m tired. My body aches with a tension that sleep won't fix. But as I listen to the steady rhythm of Juliette’s breathing, the anger and the fear start to recede, replaced by a cold, hard determination.
Black Aspen can take our water. They can threaten our land. They can try to buy the world.
But they aren't taking her.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my whittling knife and a fresh piece of cottonwood I picked up earlier. I look at the wood, feeling the grain under my thumb. For the first time in three years, I know exactly what I’m going to make.
I’m going to make a magnolia.
And I’m going to finish it.