Chapter 9
Sadie
I think I’m dreaming.
Because no one has ever kissed me like this. Like I’m breakable but also precious. Like I’m not just wanted but chosen.
Wyatt’s lips are soft but firm, patient but devastating, and everything about the way he holds me—one hand warm at my neck, the other anchored at my waist—makes me feel held. Not trapped. Not caged. Just… safe.
His scent wraps around me: pine, smoke, and something warm and masculine that makes my instincts hesitate, confused, hopeful.
My fingers curl into his shirt because I need something to hold on to—because he’s already becoming my steady.
I sigh against his mouth, and he answers with the subtlest pull of pressure, like he’s savoring me instead of consuming me. There’s heat there, simmering under the gentleness, but he’s letting me lead. Letting me choose how far this goes.
When I open for him, tentative and trembling, he groans low in his throat and kisses me deeper.
God.
Heat sparks low and fast. My skin flushes. My heart stumbles. My thighs press together on instinct, and I ache in places I’ve only ever felt alone. But this? This is so much more. My entire body is aware of his—how solid he is, how careful, and how quickly I’d let him take all of me if he asked.
But he doesn’t ask.
He just breathes my name like it’s a vow.
When he finally pulls back, my lips feel swollen. My pulse beats high and wild.
The fire crackles, and Maisie sighs in her sleep.
But all I can think is: I want more. More of his kisses. More of his touch. More of him.
A tremor moves through me—want tangled with fear, desire tangled with disbelief.
A knock detonates the moment.
Fear spikes in my ribs, automatic and sharp.
Wyatt is instantly moving—calm, silent, controlled—military instincts switching on like they never left. He gestures for me to stay behind him.
A breath later, tension drains from his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” he says, voice gentled. “It’s Shay.”
Relief hits so fast my knees weaken.
By the time he opens the door to reveal Shay—curvy, flame-haired, freckles glowing in the cold—I’m already moving toward her.
She doesn’t speak. Just opens her arms.
And I walk into them.
Shay holds me tightly. No questions. No expectations. Just the kind of hug that recognizes fear, grief, and survival. We hold on. Quietly.
I don’t sob. Neither does she. But tears happen anyway—soft rather than loud and broken.
When she finally pulls back, she tucks my hair behind my ear. “Welcome to Havenridge. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Havenridge.
For the first time, it feels like more than a name.
Maisie hobbles forward, tail swishing low, and Shay immediately crouches to greet her. “Oh, you sweet girl,” she murmurs, scratching gently behind Maisie’s ears. “You had a rough night, huh?”
Maisie leans into her touch, but when Shay reaches out further, she shifts subtly to position herself between us. Not aggressive. Protective.
Shay glances up at me, something understanding flickering in her gaze. “She’s attached to you already.” She rises slowly. “How’s she doing?”
Wyatt closes the door and stands behind me—close enough to steady, far enough not to corner. Someone at my back, not because they want control, but because they’re guarding the space.
I’ve never had that.
“Vet’s coming out later to check her over,” Wyatt replies. “No sign of infection so far. She’s a little stiff, but holding up.”
Shay nods, still watching the dog with a thoughtful look. “Well, she seems to know exactly where she belongs.”
Her gaze slides to me. “You know… Maisie could stay with you. At least while she heals. That kind of bond is rare.”
Something tightens in my chest. Gratitude and something gentler I’m almost afraid to name. “I’d like that.” I turn to look at Wyatt. “If it’s okay with you.”
He nods. “Whatever you need.”
“That’s settled then.” Shay shrugs out of her coat and sets a bag on the table. “I brought soup. Henry made extra. We figured you two might be holed up with the weather.”
I look at the windows, where snow whispers down the glass, thick and soft.
“You figured right,” Wyatt mutters as he heads for the kitchen. “Hope Henry didn’t go crazy with the spice again.”
Shay smiles, but her eyes are on me. “You okay?”
Two words. And somehow, they hit harder than the kiss.
Because I’m no longer alone.
“I think I am,” I whisper.
Shay nods and gestures to the table. “Sit. I’ll grab bowls.”
Wyatt pours tea and coffee. Shay unpacks containers and spoons with the familiarity of someone who belongs in this kitchen.
I want that. That ease. That belonging. That possibility.
Wyatt hands me a mug. “I need to check on a few things outside,” he says. “I’ll leave you ladies to talk.”
He slips into his coat and disappears into the white.
Shay drops into the seat across from me, tying her hair into a messy knot. “Heads up, I’m slightly feral from baby spit and no sleep.”
My head snaps up. “Wait—baby?”
Her grin turns warm and soft. “Max. Almost three months.”
“You’re a mom?” My mouth falls open. “I mean, I knew you were married, but—”
“But I haven’t been here long?” Shay laughs. “Yeah. It all happened fast. Henry and I… it just clicked.”
Something eases in my chest. So much of this place seems built on instincts and timing and people choosing each other in moments that matter.
“Henry didn’t talk much at first,” Shay admits. “Broody. Overprotective. Prone to glowering.”
I grin. “Sounds familiar.”
Shay snorts. “Men like them don’t love halfway.”
The words hit something deep.
After a moment, I say it—the thing I didn’t expect to tell anyone. “I wasn’t supposed to survive.”
Shay goes still. She doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t push. Just offers her hand across the table.
I place mine in hers. “I stayed invisible for so long,” I whisper. “Because if I didn’t matter, maybe no one would hurt me.”
“And now?” she asks softly.
“I don’t know what to do with people who are kind.”
Shay squeezes my hand. “Start small. A meal. A joke. A shared chore. A place to set your mug next to theirs. It adds up.”
“Adds up to what?”
“To home.”
My throat tightens. “Wyatt hasn’t pushed.”
“He won’t,” she says simply. “Not until you’re ready.”
I nod, remembering our kiss. “But he wants me.”
“Oh, honey,” Shay murmurs, eyes softening, “I think that man already has you. He just doesn’t know how to keep you safe without holding on too tight.”
Heat pricks behind my eyes. Because she’s right.
Shay squeezes my hand, thumb brushing the back of it once, gently. “Wyatt’s steady,” she says softly. “Steady is a rarity. Steady is a gift.”
I swallow hard. Steady is something I learned not to believe in.
She watches me, reading the shift in my expression like she used to read test questions back in school—always quietly ahead of the curve.
“You can trust him,” she says. “You’re not alone in this anymore.”
Her words land like a weight and a lifeline at once.
My gaze drifts to the window, where the snow thickens again, swirling in the wind like the world is being reset. Start over, it whispers. Try again.
I want to. I want to try.
Maisie sighs at my feet, thumping her tail against the floor, and something inside me loosens another fraction. It feels like the cabin itself is exhaling, inviting me to do the same.
“Everything feels… too good,” I admit. “Like if I breathe too deeply, it’ll disappear.”
Shay leans in a little. “Sadie, listen to me.” Her voice is soft but firm. “Good doesn’t disappear. People do. Fear does. Danger does. But good?” She smiles. “Good digs in.”
“I’m not sure if I know how to stay anywhere.”
“You do,” she counters. “You stayed with your father when he was dying. You stayed in school because it was the right thing for you. And you stayed with a wounded dog last night without thinking twice.”
She tips her head, eyes warm. “You stay when it matters.”
No one has ever reframed my survival as something strong instead of something shameful.
I tense as I hear footsteps crunching in the snow outside.
Shay glances at the window. “It’s okay. It’s only Wyatt,” she murmurs.
Sure enough, the door opens, and he steps inside, wind scattering snow from his coat. His eyes sweep the room like it’s a habit before landing on me.
They soften.
Every time he looks at me like that, something warm unfurls inside my chest, something that terrifies me and calms me at the same time.
He glances at Shay. “Everything good?”
Shay smiles. “Everything’s good.”
“Vet’s here,” Wyatt says, keeping his gaze on me. “Told him to wait in the car. He needs to check on Maisie.”
For a second, my gut clenches. Another man. Another stranger in a space that’s just starting to feel like mine.
But then Shay’s hand squeezes mine again, grounding me.
Wyatt doesn’t push, doesn’t assume.
He waits.
The choice is mine.
“I’m okay,” I say, standing slowly. “Let him in.”
Wyatt nods once and steps back outside. Shay rises beside me, brushing a hand over Maisie’s head as she lifts it from the blanket.
When the vet enters, he’s friendly and no-nonsense—Dr. Ewan Blake, according to the patch on his coat. Snow-dusted boots, kind eyes, soft voice. He greets us with a nod, then crouches beside Maisie and starts his exam with quiet efficiency.
I hover close, fingers flexing.
“She’s lucky,” he murmurs as he checks her leg. “Whoever wrapped this did a damn good job.”
My chest lifts a little. “That was me.”
Dr. Blake glances up, eyebrows raised. “Yeah? You got experience?”
“Vet school,” I admit, a little shyly. “Had to stop… but I was in my third year.”
He smiles, genuine and thoughtful. “Well, if you ever decide to pick it back up, let me know. I could use the help around here.”
That softens something in me. Maybe this place doesn’t just want me safe. Maybe it wants me useful too.
Dr. Blake preps the injection, speaking gently to Maisie as he administers the shot. She flinches, but doesn’t panic—her gaze stays locked on mine.
“Good girl,” I whisper, rubbing her ear.
Maisie gives a quiet woof and licks my hand before flopping back down with a dramatic sigh, like she’s survived the worst of it.
Dr. Blake chuckles. “Looks like she’s picked her person.”
The weight of those words settles around me.
Chosen. Trusted.
“You’ve got this,” he adds, rising and brushing snow from his knees. “Call me if anything changes.”
After he’s gone, Wyatt closes the door behind him with a soft click, but he doesn’t move farther into the room. He watches me, like he’s checking if I’m still okay. Not smothering, just... aware.
I meet his gaze, straighter now. Taller, somehow. “Thanks for waiting to ask.”
“I said we’d do this your way,” he says quietly, holding my gaze.
“I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is,” Shay says, her mouth twitching with a knowing smile as she waves a hand between us.
My face flames hotter than the fire. “Shay—”
She grins. “What? I’m just saying. Whatever it is, it’s mutual.”
Wyatt coughs once into his fist, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward like he wants to smile and won’t let himself.
Shay hugs me again before shrugging back into her coat. “You know where to find me,” she says softly. “Anytime. For anything.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
She gives Wyatt a wink as she walks past. “Don’t screw it up, Saint.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mutters.
When she leaves, the cabin settles into a quieter kind of warmth. The fire crackles. The generator hums. Maisie shifts in her sleep.
Wyatt shrugs out of his coat and steps closer, slow and careful, like he’s approaching something fragile.
Quiet stretches between us, but it’s not awkward. It feels like a bridge being built plank by plank.
He gestures to the couch. “Sit with me?”
I do.
He settles beside me, close enough for warmth but far enough for choice. My body remembers the kiss—we both do—but he doesn’t push.
“I checked the perimeter,” he says. “Tracks on the ridge road were from a ranch truck. Not unknown.”
Relief loosens something in my spine. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Keeping you safe isn’t a favor. It’s…” He hesitates, searching for a word he hasn’t used in years. “Instinct,” he finishes.
The firelight flickers across his jaw, his cheekbones, his steady eyes that look at me like I’m something to protect, not something to run from.
“Wyatt?” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know what happens next.”
“Neither do I,” he says softly. “But whatever it is… we don’t have to rush.”
But then he tilts his head, and his voice gains a new weight. “Unless you want to.”
Heat slides through me, low and insistent.
I look at him—really look—and the truth rises before I can stop it.
“I want…” My voice falters. “I want more. Of you.”
Wyatt’s jaw tightens, breath hitching. But he doesn’t reach for me. He waits.
God, the restraint of it wrecks me.
So I lean into him, slow and deliberate, and rest my head against his shoulder. His breath leaves him in a quiet rush, and then his arm lifts, tentative at first, settling around my back.
I melt into him.
“Okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “We’ll take it from here.”
No demand. No pressure.
Just a promise wrapped inside a man who keeps them.