Chapter 7
Wyatt
Old habits die hard. My body still comes online like it’s waiting for an op to drop. But this morning, it’s different. The cabin is quiet. Warm. Peaceful. There’s another heartbeat in the room. Someone else is breathing in this space. And it feels right.
Last night comes back in pieces: the auction. Sadie on my couch. A woman still half in survival mode and cautiously choosing to stay.
I shower, pull on jeans and a clean thermal, then head down the hall. Frost halos the windows; the silence feels like it’s holding its breath.
Sadie is still curled on the couch, one arm draped protectively over Maisie, who obviously joined her during the night.
Her face is half-buried in the duvet, the curve of her neck exposed, her raven hair mussed from sleep.
Vulnerable. Beautiful in a way that sneaks up on a man who’s seen too much ugly.
I tear my gaze away.
Coffee first.
I move slowly through the cabin. Start coffee. Brew tea. It’s routine, but today it feels like a way to anchor the world in place for someone else. Wild how fast the mission changes. Yesterday, it was protecting my solitude. Today, it’s don’t make a sound that might startle her.
Sadie emerges from the duvet, the flannel shirt slipping off one creamy shoulder, the sleeves covering her hands. She scans the room fast—door, windows, me. Her fight-or-flight instinct is etched into her bones.
“Morning,” I say softly.
“Didn’t know where I was for a minute,” she murmurs sleepily.
“You’re safe,” I say gently. “You’re here.”
She nods, clutching the duvet tighter.
“I made tea,” I offer. “Figured you’d need something warm.”
She takes the mug with both hands, breathing in the steam as if she needs it to ground her. “Thank you.”
“Food?” I ask.
“A little.”
I make oatmeal—simple and easy on the stomach—and set a bowl in front of her at the table. I sit at the far end of the table to give her space. She eats slowly, but when she looks up, her eyes are clearer.
“This is good.”
“Basic fuel. I don’t do fancy.”
“I can make pretty decent biscuits,” she says, then smiles like it surprises even her. “I’ll bake some for you.”
I almost forget how to breathe. Her smile hits me hard. Her blue eyes shine, and her plump lips tuck in at the corners, creating dimples.
I didn’t know I still remembered how to want something that simple.
Once she’s finished her breakfast, Sadie carefully folds the duvet and blanket from the couch.
Then, she checks on Maisie’s bandage—still clean, no seep-through.
Maisie’s tail gives a slow thump as she blinks up at her.
Sadie lets out a breath that sounds more like a laugh, scratching her ears with her sleeve-covered fingers.
I didn’t know a room could warm from the inside out just because a woman smiled at a dog.
“She likes you,” I say. “Animals know who’s safe.”
She freezes a fraction at “safe.” Then slowly absorbs it.
Her shoulders drop half an inch. A win.
When I stand to check the fire, Sadie drifts to the bookshelf and runs a finger along the spines like she’s greeting old friends: field guides, a battered paperback of The Things They Carried, a dog-eared copy of A Guide to Rocky Mountain Lichens.
She lifts it and looks at me. “You really keep a book about lichens?”
“It’s riveting,” I say. “Page-turner.”
Her genuine laugh goes straight to the part of my chest I haven’t let anyone near in years.
“Okay, Mr. Lichen,” she says, propping her hip against the shelf, “why did you bid on me?”
I don’t expect the direct question.
She never circles a subject; she aims for center mass. I need to move carefully and stay patient. She’s still half-wild with self-protection, ready to bolt at the first hint of a trap.
I sit on the couch, elbows on my knees. “Like I said. Favor to Shay. Tank and Tex came for moral support.”
“Tank and Tex? The men who were with you last night?”
I nod. “Sawyer, Jackson, and I served together. After everything went to hell… we came here to the ranch, though Sawyer’s cabin is up the mountain a little way. He likes his solitude.”
She processes that quietly, her thumb brushing the edge of the book in her hand. “So the women, they…” She hesitates. “The women they went home with—they’re safe?”
The question is quiet. She’s not just asking for them. She’s asking for herself. For every part of her that’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I stand, slow and steady, moving to lean against the opposite side of the bookshelf so I’m not crowding her.
“Yeah. They’re good men. Sawyer talks tough, but he’s got a soft spot a mile wide.
And Jackson… he’s been carrying his own ghosts for a long time.
They wouldn’t have bid if they weren’t ready to show up for someone the right way. ”
Sadie’s eyes search mine as if she’s looking for cracks. She’s not one to take words at face value—she reads beneath them, weighs tone and posture like someone who’s learned to survive on instincts.
“They’re safe,” I repeat. “And they’ll keep those women safe.”
Her throat works around a swallow. “I believe you.”
Those two words hit me harder than the bullets that almost killed me. Because she’s not just saying it about Tank and Tex anymore. She’s saying it about me.
She’s letting me into the same category.
And coming from a woman like Sadie—a woman who watches every door, tracks every movement, studies the edges of a man before she lets herself breathe near him—that trust is sacred.
Her eyes stay on mine a breath longer, and in that silence, something else shifts between us.
Trust.
She doesn’t say the word, but something fragile moves between us anyway—woven into the softer edge of her voice, the way her shoulders unclench, the almost-imperceptible lean in my direction.
“So, you saved me as a favor,” she says, her mouth curling in a wry little smile. She tries to make it a joke, but her eyes betray her—tiny fracture lines of disappointment she’s too proud to show fully.
I shake my head. “You didn’t look like someone waiting to be saved. You looked like someone who learned to survive alone.” I nod at the dog. “But when Maisie needed help, you didn’t think twice. That’s who you are. Someone who steps toward pain, even when it isn’t yours.”
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. She just… lets it land. Her fingers twitch at her sides as if they want to reach out but don’t know how yet.
“I don’t know what you’re running from,” I murmur. “And I won’t ask. Not until you want to tell me.”
A flicker of emotion crosses her face. Relief. Fear. Maybe both.
“But I’ll tell you this,” I go on. “Whatever it is, it’s not stronger than you. And it sure as hell won’t reach you while you’re under my roof.”
Her gaze drops to the floor, then lifts slowly. Her blue eyes are soft and wide, shining not with tears, but something more dangerous.
Hope.
Sadie looks like someone preparing to re-open a wound as she moves past me to sit on the couch. She sits on the edge, hands laced together, like she’s bracing for impact.
She takes a breath that stutters on the way out. “I want to tell you what happened.”