Chapter 5
Sadie
We turn onto a long gravel driveway lined with trees.
Beyond the bend, a wide-open field unfolds, blanketed in snow.
Work lights blaze near a broken fence line.
Figures move—shadows and winter coats and the unmistakable energy of a farm emergency.
Headlights carve a tunnel through the dark, reminding me it’s still the same night as the auction—just later, colder, and somehow more real.
Wyatt parks, kills the engine, and turns to me.
“You okay to help?” he asks, as if I’m the one with authority here.
I nod. “Yes.”
He studies my face a second longer, making sure the yes is real. Then he gives a curt nod.
As we cross the field, the icy wind cuts at any exposed skin. Snow crunches under my boots. A cluster of men is knee-deep in the mess—two repairing the fence, one kneeling beside a black and white border collie lying stiff-legged on a blanket in the snow.
I glance at Wyatt. "What’s her name?"
“Maisie.” My feet move before my brain catches up. There’s a med kit open on the blanket beside her, supplies scattered in the snow. I don’t have the right equipment, but instinct overrides fear. Animals have always been my compass when the world spins too fast.
“Hey, Wyatt!” a man calls, his tone bright despite the cold. He’s tall, all denim and flannel, with a grin that could sell hot chocolate to Satan. “Friend of yours?”
Wyatt doesn’t bother answering the joke. “Sadie, this is Tom Sutton. One of the owners of Havenridge. Tom, Sadie is here to help with Maisie.”
I approach the injured dog, dropping to my knees beside her. Maisie whines—a painful, high-pitched sound that punches me in the sternum.
A tear in her right foreleg oozes blood, and the surrounding fur is matted and sticky. Not arterial, thank God, but deep enough to need cleaning, maybe sutures or staples.
“Hi, Maisie,” I coo, kneeling slowly. “That looks like it hurts, baby.”
Tom crouches beside the dog, swiping at his nose with the back of his glove. “She was tryin’ to get the cows back in the pen and caught herself on the broken wire.”
“You’re a brave girl,” I tell her softly.
Maisie trembles, eyes glassy.
“May I?” I ask because consent isn’t just for humans.
Wyatt leans in with a flashlight without needing to be asked. He angles it for the best visibility. Tom holds the dog’s head gently, murmuring nonsense comfort words.
I touch her fur above the wound. Maisie flinches but doesn’t snap. Trusting. Good sign.
My internal checklist kicks in: Stop the bleeding. Assess the damage. Prevent infection. Stabilize the animal for transport.
“I need clean water or saline if you have it,” I say.
Wyatt straightens. “I’ve got a thermos in the truck. Be right back.”
As he jogs off, I examine the wound more closely. “You’re so brave,” I whisper to Maisie. “I’m sorry you’re hurt. We’ll fix you up, okay?”
She licks my wrist weakly, and my heart folds in on itself.
Wyatt returns with a small thermos. “Hot water,” he explains, setting it down. “Not sterile, but clean.”
“Perfect,” I say.
He kneels beside me, close but not crowding, and hands me gauze, scissors, and tape, wordlessly anticipating my next moves.
“You’ve done this before,” he notes quietly. Not a question. An observation.
“A few times,” I say, washing blood away carefully, keeping my tone light. “I did a rotation at several animal shelters. Emergencies were frequent.”
A partial truth, wrapped in enough reality to hold.
Once the bleeding is under control, I wrap the wound snugly with gauze and secure it. The dog sighs, her eyes drooping.
“You’re a miracle,” Tom says, his blue eyes flashing with gratitude. “Maisie is like family. You sure you’re not a vet?”
My heart stutters. Wyatt’s head turns slightly, as if waiting for the answer too.
“Not officially,” I say. “I… didn’t finish.”
Another half-truth. Easier than the real reason: you can’t finish school when you’re dodging threats instead of deadlines.
The men stand, stretching out their cold, stiff limbs.
Tom grins. “Well, Sadie, the goats are gonna love you. And by love, I mean they’ll attempt to eat your clothes and possibly your soul. But y’know. Affection.”
“Goats,” I repeat faintly, because of course there are goats.
“Tom,” Wyatt says, equal parts warning and resigned amusement.
“What?” Tom shrugs. “She should be prepared. Cheese Puff is basically a feral toddler with horns.”
A small, involuntary laugh escapes me. It feels foreign. It feels good.
Wyatt glances at me, as if the sound pulls his attention like gravity. Warmth kindles in his gray eyes this time. Approval? Relief?
I look away quickly, focusing on adjusting the bandage, but heat curls in my stomach like a candle flame refusing to be snuffed out.
Snow thickens around us, the flakes now fat and fast. The wind shifts and becomes colder, sharper. One of the men by the fence line calls Tom’s name. He tips his hat and heads off.
Wyatt subtly scans the tree line, but I catch it. A habit of someone who never assumes safety is guaranteed.
“You’re shivering,” he says. “Let’s get you warm.”
“I’m okay—”
“You’re freezing,” he corrects gently. “That jacket’s good, but you’ve been on the snow too long.”
He’s right. My fingers are numb.
Wyatt pauses as two men approach through the drifting snow. They’re both tall and broad-shouldered, moving with the easy familiarity of men who’ve worked the same land together for years.
One is older, gray-eyed, steady as granite. The other is slightly younger, rougher around the edges, with a long scar running from the edge of his eye to the corner of his mouth. His eyes are the same startling blue as Tom’s, sharp even in the dim light.
They stop beside us, boots crunching on the packed snow.
The older of the two men gives Wyatt a nod, then shifts his gaze to me. “I’m Henry Sutton.” He tips his hat. His tone is quiet but threaded with authority, as if he doesn’t need volume to command respect. “And this is my brother Angus.”
Angus nods, eyes sweeping over Maisie before flicking to me. “Ma’am,” he says, voice roughened by wind and wear. Not unfriendly, but a man who seems more comfortable assessing threats than making small talk.
Henry’s voice softens as he looks back at me. “You must be Sadie.” No pressure. No prying. Just a simple offering of connection. “Glad you made it.”
I swallow, the words sticking in my throat. So he knows. But he doesn’t look at me like I’m broken. He looks like a man who’s seen enough to understand what it takes to start over. Angus, too, though his gaze is more guarded.
Henry glances toward the distant trucks as their taillights vanish into the snow-hushed dark. “And it looks like two more found a reason to stick around tonight,” he adds dryly. “Tank and Tex just left with their girls like they’ve got something worth protecting.”
Angus huffs something that might be a laugh. “Tex looked like he got hit by a freight train.”
Henry shakes his head. “This place was supposed to be a haven for veterans, but I swear to God, it’s starting to look like Cupid moved into the bunkhouse.”
Wyatt grunts, but I don’t miss the flicker of something warm behind his eyes.
Henry squats beside Maisie, brushing a gloved hand lightly along the dog’s trembling flank. The collie blinks up at him, her breathing slower and steadier now.
“Damn good wrap job,” he murmurs, clearly impressed. “You saved her a lot of pain tonight.”
Angus leans in enough to see the bandage. “Clean work,” he says quietly. High praise from a man who seems like he rarely speaks more than necessary.
Henry looks up at me, eyes soft but serious. “Thank you, Sadie.”
The words land heavier than they should. Maybe because they’re sincere. Maybe because I’m not used to people thanking me for anything but disappearing quietly.
“I think I should be the one thanking you,” I say solemnly. “And Maisie is a tough girl. I’m glad I could help.”
Henry rises, giving Wyatt a meaningful look. “Can you take her to the main ranch house? Set her up in the laundry room. She’ll be warm there.”
Before Wyatt can reply, I speak up.
“I… could do it.”
All three men turn toward me.
I swallow. “I mean, if it’s okay with you, Wyatt? I’d like to stay with her tonight. Monitor the bandage. Make sure she’s not in too much pain.”
My cheeks heat instantly. I don’t know why I said it out loud. I just know I don’t want to hand her off. Not yet.
Wyatt studies me for a moment before he nods. “Okay. We’ll take her back to my cabin.”
Henry’s mouth tips into something wry as he straightens and brushes snow from his gloves.
“Sounds like she’s in good hands.” He turns to Wyatt.
“I’ll send the vet to your place in the morning.
In the meantime, painkillers are in the cabinet at the ranch house.
Same key as before. Should help if she stiffens up overnight. ”
He casts a glance between the two of us, voice pitched light enough to keep it casual. “Maisie’ll probably be in love with her by morning.”
Wyatt says nothing. But the look in his eyes when he glances at me warms me from the inside out.
“Welcome to Havenridge, Sadie,” Henry adds before he and Angus stride back toward the other men. Even from here, it’s easy to see how the men on this ranch lean on each other like a living wall.
And it already feels like I belong in their circle of protection.
Wyatt lifts Maisie, pacing alongside me like a windbreak as we walk back to the truck. He places the dog on the backseat and wraps a blanket around her.
When we’re inside with the heater blasting, he turns to me.
“You did good, Sadie.”
I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my borrowed coat, letting warmth prick life back into them. He’s given me more praise in the hour I’ve known him than my father did my whole life. “She was the brave one.”
“You were steady, even though you were scared.”
I stiffen.
“It’s not a weakness,” he says gently.
The way he says it makes my throat tighten. I look out the window, watching snow blur the world into white noise. Being seen is terrifying. Being seen gently is... disturbing.
The shadows of my past stretch long behind me. And yet… sitting here in this truck, wrapped in Wyatt’s jacket, warmth sinking into my bones…
For the first time in months, survival doesn’t feel like the only goal.
For a heartbeat, I wonder what it would feel like to stay.