Chapter 22
chapter
twenty-two
Caleb moved to the next run, then the next. His adrenaline was still pumping and his thoughts racing.
Millie hovered close, arms folded tight as she watched him. “Do you have cameras out here?”
Caleb paused by one of the runs and shook his head. “A few. Not enough. And two of them have been down for months.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Broken?”
“Old. Weather got to them. We’ve been patching things as we can.” He straightened and rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re trying to save money for replacements, but it’s expensive.”
“It sounds like what you need is a big donor.”
Her words landed heavy on him. Caleb let out a breath and looked back toward the house, lights glowing warm and unaware.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to that. If you know someone, feel free to send them our way.” He paused, then shook his head as something flickered in his chest. “Actually, scratch that. No one should know you’re here.”
“You know, that’s not a terrible idea,” she told him. “I’m really good at what I do—at finding money for causes. I could look around, see what I can find. And I can do it anonymously. No one has to know it’s me.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I wouldn’t mind. In fact, it would help me feel more useful.”
He studied her face. “Are you sure there’s nothing that would trigger someone and let them know it’s you?”
She nodded. “There’s nothing. I mean it. Believe me, I don’t want to be found. I wouldn’t do it if I thought the trail would lead back to me.”
He didn’t say anything a moment. Then he nodded. “Maybe. Let me think about it. I just want to make sure every I is dotted and every T crossed.”
Footsteps sounded behind them.
He turned and saw Max step inside, his jacket zipped and his eyes alert.
“I’ll take the night shift,” Max said. “No point pretending any of us are sleeping now.”
“I appreciate it.” Caleb had already known someone would need to keep watch. They couldn’t take any chances, not when the threats were becoming more and more obvious.
“I’ll walk the fence every half hour. Radio on.”
“Report anything that seems off.”
“Will do.” Max didn’t linger. He turned and disappeared back outside.
Caleb motioned toward the door. “Let’s get back to the house.”
Millie walked beside him, quiet now. But Caleb knew her. Knew her thoughts were still racing.
They stepped back inside, and he locked the door behind them.
Warmth wrapped around him, but it didn’t settle the way it usually did.
For some reason, the house now felt smaller. Thinner. Like the walls had lost some of their weight.
For the past year, Refuge Cove had been the place where fear stopped at the threshold.
Tonight, standing with the woman he’d once loved, Caleb had the uncomfortable realization that something had followed them inside.
For the first time since they’d started this shelter, Refuge Cove didn’t feel like much of a refuge at all.
Millie stood in the kitchen for a second after they stepped inside, her arms folded tight across her chest and adrenaline still humming beneath her skin.
Her hands shook when she reached for Biscuit and rubbed his head. “Good job keeping guard inside the house tonight, boy.”
He wagged his nub, pleased at her approval.
Caleb paced into the living room, straight to the gas fireplace. He flipped it on, and flames filled the enclosure. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck then looked at her.
“You’re cold,” he said. “Come sit by the fire a minute to warm up.”
Millie hesitated but finally moved closer. Some warmth did sound really nice.
She sat on the edge of a beige ottoman and let the flames heat her skin.
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Caleb turned toward the kitchen. “You look like you could use something warm.”
The simple normalcy of it—the suggestion that they pause instead of brace—slipped past her defenses. She nodded, unable to resist the moment.
By the time Caleb came back, steam curled from a mug in his hands. He passed it to her without ceremony, then took the chair beside her. Hamilton lay at his feet, looking like the picture of dignity.
The fire crackled low. Biscuit settled beside her with a huff, finally easing.
“You did good out there.” Caleb’s voice sounded low, almost husky.
“I just helped with the dogs.” Her words sounded thin to her own ears.
“That matters.” He didn’t look away. “You mattered, just like you always have.”
Something tight and fragile shifted in her chest. For years, Garrick had made it clear she was no one without him. That she was useless.
Hearing someone say that she was still important made something twist in her chest.
Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she held them back.
Not here. Not now.
She and Caleb sat there a moment, not talking. The house creaked. Somewhere above them, a door closed softly.
Caleb leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. “Millie, I need you to know that your safety is my top priority. Always. Tonight could’ve gone worse. I don’t ever want you putting yourself in the line of fire.”
“I wasn’t reckless.” She braced herself to be scolded, her shoulders tensing.
“I know.” His gaze held hers, steady and intent. “But I’m still worried.”
“I don’t want you worrying about me. I can worry about myself.”
“We’re all stronger when we look out for each other.”
“There is no ‘each other,’ Caleb.” Her voice cracked. “The only person I have watching out for me is me.”
“Millie . . .” His voice sounded strained, like he wanted to argue with her but couldn’t.
How could he? Her words were true—and he had to know that.
Support systems were great—if you had one. But if you didn’t, then all you could do was make the best of things. There was no need to mourn what couldn’t be or to hope a White Knight would come riding in to save you.
Caleb reached out, and his hand settled at the center of her back. He didn’t grip her or pull her closer. His hand was just there—warm, solid, grounding.
Millie inhaled sharply.
Before her mind caught up, she leaned into his touch. For a second, everything else faded—the fear, the noise, the relentless weight of the night.
Everything felt like it used to.
She felt safe. Seen. Chosen.
No longer alone.
Caleb felt it too. She knew that much. His hand stayed a fraction longer than necessary, thumb moving once, barely there.
Then reality rushed back in.
Caleb had broken her heart once.
She wouldn’t survive if he did it again.
She eased away, reminding herself that she needed to protect her emotions—and heart—at all costs. Letting her defenses down or allowing herself to forget what Caleb had done would only make her weak.
And being weak was something she couldn’t afford.