Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Soft sunlight filtered through dusty pine-framed windows, casting amber patches across weathered wooden floors. Jewel's consciousness drifted upward like fog lifting from a valley, her body warm and unexpectedly comfortable against something solid and radiating heat. Her cheek rested against the solid plane of a man's naked chest, the steady rise and fall beneath her an anchor in the disorienting haze of coming awake.
Chase.
Her stomach fluttered at their closeness, his arm wrapped around her back as she lay plastered to his side. A blanket lay draped between them, tangling her legs and making her overly warm in the little cabin. No wonder she'd slept so well.
Their clothes remained layered between them, a protective barrier preventing anything more than innocent proximity. She still wore her jeans and t-shirt, and a glance down his bare chest showed jeans covering his lower half.
Her mind grappled with the fragmented memories of the night before, the fog of sleep still clinging stubbornly to her thoughts. Sunlight streamed through the curtain gaps, casting golden patterns on the wooden beams above.
She didn't remember leaving the clinic or what had happened to the dog. Despite not having a license, he must have driven them here to his place of refuge, this old cabin of his grandparents' that they'd played in so many times as kids. He'd taken care of her, tucked her in, not taken advantage even though she secretly wanted him to.
Jewel's breath caught, trapped between gratitude and an ache that shouldn't be there—the yearning for more than just shared dreams and borrowed heat.
Her gaze traced the contours of his face—the shadows defining his jaw, the long lashes and delicate shadows of his cheekbones. A faint scar near his temple caught her attention, a remnant of some long-forgotten childhood adventure. His brown hair fell forward, exactly as it had when they were kids, before high school transformed everything.
Back then, he'd grown his hair to his shoulders like every other teenage boy trying to prove something. Now, he was different. Broader. Stronger. No longer the skinny, bony teenager who'd once been the annoying little brother who'd tried to follow them around the ranch.
He wasn't the same boy, but she wasn't the same girl either.
So what was she doing here, wishing there were less layers separating them? Nothing had happened. He'd been a good friend to see her somewhere safe to sleep.
A strange flutter of disappointment rippled through her abdomen, surprising and unwelcome. Why should she feel let down? She was a responsible mother, a professional veterinarian who'd spent fifteen years carefully constructing a life of independence. A life without complications. Without men.
Without Chase.
But now that she was here, in his arms, she ached to wake up like this more. Or rather, she wanted to wake up like this but with less layers between them.
The cabin felt smaller suddenly, the walls closing in with memories and unspoken possibilities. Her organized life—the one she'd built entirely on her own—seemed impossibly fragile in this moment.
One touch. One look from Chase could unravel everything.
Her breath caught in her throat, a mix of vulnerability and unexpected longing hanging in the still morning air.
Her fingertips instinctively traced a barely perceptible line on the blanket, hovering just above where it met his chest. Close enough to feel his warmth, far enough to maintain distance.
"You think loudly," Chase mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "I can hear your thoughts spinning already."
Jewel froze. Caught. She licked her lips but didn't look up into his eyes or move from the shelter of his arm. "Um, mom bladder. Need to pee."
He hummed, the sound making his chest vibrate and sending a tingle through her body. "Bathroom's through the door behind you."
She slipped from beneath the blanket, slowly leaving him, disappointment spreading again. Her bare feet shuffled across the wooden floor, exploring the unfamiliar cabin. Each step felt like a deliberate escape, searching for something—anything—to ground herself.
The bathroom was rustic, yet still had both a bathtub and a large shower. A vintage mirror hung slightly askew, reflecting her disheveled appearance. Jewel splashed cold water on her face, gripping the porcelain sink. Her reflection stared back—tired eyes, tousled hair, a woman caught between who she was and who she might have been.
When she emerged, Chase was propped up against the headboard, ankles crossed, those hazel eyes—always too perceptive—tracking her every movement.
"Come back to bed," he said, his voice a lazy invitation that made her heart race as he patted the comforter next to him. Comfort. Warmth. Safety. Everything she'd been missing, wrapped up in such simple words.
Her body wanted to—God, how it wanted to—but her mind screamed caution. She shook her head, stepping past the bed. One foot. Then another. Escape was her only strategy.
Chase's hand shot out, lightning-quick, catching her wrist. His touch burned—electric, familiar, dangerous. Her head whipped back to look at him, and the seriousness in his eyes showed his concern.
"Gemma said you have Lyme disease," he said. Not a question. A statement that hung in the air between them. "That's why you moved here. Sit, talk with me."
Her breath caught, trapped somewhere between her lungs and her throat. The weight of his hand—warm, steady, anchoring—made her tremble. She sank onto the bed's edge, facing him, vulnerability flooding her defenses. She was so tired of hiding things, of keeping secrets.
"It started about a year and a half ago," Jewel heard herself say, her voice thin and distant. "I thought it was just another flu, but nothing made sense."
Chase's thumb traced slow, hypnotic circles on her wrist. Each sweep sent shivers racing up her spine, challenging her, taunting her.
"The symptoms were weird," she continued, breaking eye contact. "Constant exhaustion, but not normal tired. Bone-deep fatigue. Some days I could barely lift Destini's backpack. Shaking. Unpredictable chills that would sweep through me like arctic winds. Migraines that left me curled up in a ball unable to move."
She described the medical maze—five different doctors, each dismissing her symptoms. Blood tests that revealed nothing. Weeks blurring into months of increasing weakness. One specialist after another, until finally—a diagnosis. Lyme disease. A tiny tick, smaller than a freckle, had rewritten her entire existence.
"I've changed everything," Jewel said, a thin edge of desperation in her voice. "Diet. Sleep. Supplements. Reduced stress. I'm trying to reset my body, to find some version of normal again."
Chase listened, his hand never left her wrist, that steady connection a silent promise of support. "Is it working? Are you getting better?"
Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she let him pull her further onto the bed until she was curled up against him once more. "Yeah." She sighed, her lashes fluttering as comfort seeped under her skin and into her soul.
"I'm getting better. Slowly, definitely not fast enough, but I have been feeling better, stronger. But work… God, work became impossible." The bitterness crept into her tone, sharp as broken glass. She couldn't deny it or stop it from coming out. His hand stroked her back and arm slowly, and she breathed in whatever body spray that clung to his chest.
"How so?" he prompted softly, kissing the top of her head. Tears pricked her eyes at his sweet, caring kindness. Just holding her and listening was so… anathema of everything she'd known these past few years.
"They benched me. Me—a field veterinarian who's spent her entire career working directly with ranch animals—stuck behind a desk. Endless paperwork. Regular clinic shifts. No more ranch calls, no more hands-on work, no more being outside."
Her jaw clenched. The professional identity she'd built, the career she'd fought so hard to create, had been systematically dismantled by her own body's rebellion.
"So you moved home where you could work like normal. Makes sense. What did your dad say about it?"
She winced and sat up, avoiding his gaze as she picked at a spot on her jeans. "He doesn't know. Only Gemma. I was afraid he'd bench me too, if he found out." Her fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating from her shoulders.
A finger under her chin slowly lifted her head so she'd look at him. Chase's hazel eyes studied her, reading between the lines. Something flickered in his gaze—understanding, maybe, or something deeper.
"Does Destini know?" he asked quietly.
The question landed like a physical blow. Jewel's shoulders dropped, all fight draining out of her. Her breath escaped in a ragged sigh that seemed to carry years of unspoken burden. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken complications.
"She knows I'm sick," Jewel said softly, her fingers tracing an absent pattern on her pants. "The diet changes, the early bedtimes, the supplements—she's seen all of that. But she doesn't know why we're really here in Crimson Creek."
A bitter laugh caught in her throat. "Not that she's even moved here yet."
Before she could process his movement, Chase's arms were around her as he dragged her onto his lap. Solid, warm, and familiar in a way that made her heart ache with memories she'd spent years trying to forget.
"I want to help," he murmured into her hair. "I want to take care of you. Of both of you."
The intimacy of the moment shattered something inside her. She couldn't give in to whatever was growing between them. A knife twisted in her gut, and Jewel pulled back sharply, her laugh cutting like a knife. "Help take care of us?"
Her body was wound tight, a coiled spring of pain and defiance. One hand pressed against his chest, creating distance. Distance she needed. Distance that had protected her for fifteen years.
His eyes blazed with fire, warring with his confusion at her reaction, but he let her go as she scrambled off his lap and the bed.
"Just because you think Destini might be yours doesn't mean you get to swoop in and play savior," Jewel said, her voice low and controlled. "I've put myself through vet school. I've raised her alone for fifteen years. I've managed everything—my career, her life, my health. I'll get through this Lyme thing too. It'll just take time."
Her words were a shield, sharp-edged and unyielding, but underneath, a tremor of vulnerability threatened to crack her armor.
Chase swung his legs over the edge of the bed, frustration burning in his hazel eyes. He stood, making his shoulders seem even more broad and muscled as he rounded the edge of the bed.
"Do you really think I only want to take care of you because of Destini?" His voice rose, a mixture of anger and something deeper. Something that made her pulse quicken. "Give yourself—and me—some credit, Jewel. Whatever we had back then—it's still here. I still want you."
The words hung between them, charged and electric as he stopped a few feet from her. Fifteen years of separation, of unspoken history, of carefully constructed walls—all trembling on the edge of something vast and potentially devastating.
Jewel felt her breath catch. Felt the ground shifting beneath her feet.
She backed up, her movement jerky and defensive. Her hands came up, palms out, as if to physically push back against his words. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, we can't."
"Why not? Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you don't crave this as much as I do, because our kiss yesterday says otherwise," he demanded, waving a hand back and forth between them as his eyes blazed with challenge.
Her own eyes betrayed her, trailing down his body despite her mind's desperate attempt to look away. His bare chest was a landscape of muscle and shadow, skin bronzed and taut. Scars she didn't recognize mapped a history she hadn't been part of. And when he moved, those jeans riding low on his hips, she couldn't help the slow, involuntary sweep of her gaze.
The bulge there was impossible to ignore.
Her breath caught—part desire, part panic. Fifteen years of carefully constructed walls were crumbling, and she wasn't sure she was ready for the avalanche.
She snorted, a defensive mechanism born of years of self-preservation. "Fine, let's say I believe you because there's no hiding that monster."
Her eyes flicked meaningfully downward, then back up to his face, a challenge burning in her gaze. "It doesn't change the fact that you don't really want me for me. This is some inflated sense of justice or responsibility. Penance for fixing the mistakes of your past."
Her retreat was raw, instinctive—like a wounded animal seeking distance. But Chase wasn't letting her go. Not this time.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he asked, hands going wide.
"I'm not a debt you need to repay, Chase," she added, her voice cracking on the last word, revealing the vulnerability beneath her bravado.
He moved then—a predatory prowl that ate up the space between them that made her gasp and practically run toward her boots by the door. Each step he took was deliberate, loaded with intention.
"I haven't even met Destini yet," Chase said, his voice a rough-edged weapon. "What's between you and me has nothing to do with her."
The proximity in this one-room cabin was suffocating. She could feel the heat radiating off his body as he neared, smell the cedar and leather that was uniquely him. Years melted away, and suddenly they were teenagers again—raw, passionate, on the precipice of something explosive.
She jerked on her boots and threw open the door, trembling. Not from fear. From something far more dangerous. Want, desire—not just sexual but a deep, soul-stirring need to belong at his side, to seek comfort and safety in his arms, to build a trust and love together that would defy the ages.
"You're the only woman I've ever wanted, Jewel," he continued, his voice following her outside.
"It hasn't changed in all these years. Don't deny the truth again. You don't have the excuse of dating Hunter to keep us apart now. Are you really going to use Destini as an excuse now, or Lyme? Why won't you admit that what we have is real?"
She gasped—a sharp, terrified sound that seemed to escape before she could catch it. Her body moved without conscious thought, pure instinct driving her away from his intense hazel gaze.
Her hands shook as she stomped to the truck, fingers slipping on the handle before she finally gripped it and eased inside. The engine roared to life, an animal's defiant growl matching the wild beating of her heart.
Dirt sprayed behind her tires as she peeled away, the truck fishtailing slightly before finding purchase on the rough dirt road.
She allowed herself one look in the rearview mirror. Chase stood perfectly still, a shadow-etched silhouette against the cabin's weathered wood. Just jeans. Bare chest. Those eyes—watching. Always watching.
What the hell just happened?
Her breath came in ragged gasps. Not from the sprint to the truck. From his words. " The only woman I've ever wanted. "
Fifteen years. Fifteen years of silence. Of separation. Of her raising Destini alone. And now… this.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles went white.
Want. Need. Two very different things. She knew that better than anyone.
Didn't she?