Chapter 8 Derek #2
But nods are just promises. Trust is what comes after you keep them.
And she’s already paid in full.
“He’s looking for Skylar Bishop,” she whispers. “He knows Huntz left land to his daughter. He thinks if he finds her, he can claim what’s his. He said if I don’t tell him who she is, he’ll start asking around. Pay someone to give her up.”
Her voice breaks.
“Misty’s not safe.”
Her shoulders sag, like holding that secret cost her more than she expected.
Ice slides down my spine.
I hesitate.
The words stick, heavy and unwelcome.
But this is the moment—no more secrets, no more waiting. We’re finally moving forward, one cracked step at a time.
“Might as well go all in,” I say, quieter now.
“I picked up the mail in town today. Court letter came in. They want me to testify in Huntz’s case. It’s being reopened.”
Her body stiffens.
“I think Mike’s behind it,” I continue. “Trying to dig. Build a case. If either of us says the wrong thing…” I swallow, the words bitter on my tongue. “We both go down.”
She presses her hands together until her knuckles blanch.
“They’re reopening it?” she whispers. “Does that mean?—”
“It means someone is stirring the ashes,” I say. “And if they drag us both into a courtroom, it won’t be a coincidence for long.”
Annabelle’s face drains of color like someone flipped a switch.
“I need a minute,” she says. And before I can stop her, before I can even touch her, she rises to her feet and slips out the back door. Late afternoon sun folds around her, but I let her go.
A stab pierces through my chest. Because I should be fixing this. Instead, I’m standing here like a damn spectator, fists full of air, watching the woman I love walk barefoot into a prison she had me build to feel safe.
She disappears into the greenhouse like she’s trying not to exist.
A light bulb glints off the roof, fractured light cutting through the walls like stained glass in a chapel.
And I hate that this is her sanctuary.
That her peace lives in a place with walls she can lock from the inside.
I grab a dish towel, wiping my hands, even though they’re clean. Then reach for the ragged counter rag and swipe crumbs into my palm, just to do something—anything.
But I can’t stop watching the greenhouse.
She’s in there, wrapped in greens and flowers until evening falls, shaking off ghosts like dirt clinging to skin.
The low growl of tires pulls me toward the front porch. George’s old Ford coughs up a trail of dust as it comes to a stop.
I go to meet him out front. Outside, stars blink awake.
He climbs out, and nods once. “Ran into Simon earlier.”
That never means anything good.
“That bastard Mike, filed a vandalism complaint against you. Slashed tires, apparently.” George’s voice is gruff, but not surprised. “Sheriff says his hands are tied. The guy’s got himself a lawyer outta Mill Creek sniffing around about other stuff as well.”
Of course, he does.
The kind of man who hides behind legal briefs and courthouse technicalities, instead of owning a clean fight.
I grind my jaw. “Coward’s armor.”
George shrugs like he’s seen worse, and probably has. He pops open the tailgate and pulls out a crate. “Thought you’d want to see what I found behind the bakery.”
Inside, five tiny puppies squirm against their mother’s side. It’s the stray Annabelle and I spotted this morning.
My soft spot for strays is practically public record. Two rescues already call this place home, and plenty more came before Bear and Kara. Six more? That just means more names to forget in the middle of the night when someone starts howling.
I kneel beside the crate, fingers resting near the mother’s head. Her coat’s matted, ears twitching, but her eyes lock on mine, calm and trusting.
Like Annabelle’s.
Another stray. Another survivor.
Skittish and scarred, but brave enough to curl up beside someone like me and hope for warmth.
And damn it, I want to be worthy of that kind of trust.
“Thanks, George.” I place the crate on my front porch.
He nods, already heading off like it’s just another Tuesday.
I settle the new family in the RV with an old blanket, make sure they’re warm, then head to the greenhouse.
The sky over the valley is a deep indigo bruised with clouds.
Annabelle’s moved to the garden rows, squatting low, hands working the weeds like they insulted her.
There’s a tremble in her fingers, and her back is too straight. Too stiff.
Like she’s holding herself together with sheer will.
“Guess what?” I call, keeping my tone light as I approach. “George found the pregnant dog.”
She looks up, and something flickers. That dull glaze lifts for just a second, replaced by something brighter.
“She had five puppies,” I add. “All safe in the RV. And as it turns out, not quite as spider-infested as I may have led you to believe.”
She tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite stick. “Imagine that.”
I crouch beside her, close enough to smell the faint trace of vanilla on her skin.
“Can’t blame a guy for wanting to keep you close.”
She stands without answering. “Can I see them?”
She’s halfway to the RV before I nod, her braid swinging behind her like punctuation.
Dammit.
She belongs here.
Not in fear. Not in hiding. Not walking around like someone’s waiting to drag her away again.
I head inside and grab the emergency bottle of whiskey, because if this doesn’t qualify, I don’t know what does. The first sip burns like punishment. The second, like surrender.
By the time I join her in the RV, she’s kneeling beside the crate, tucking the blanket tighter around the puppies. The mother dog rests her chin on Annabelle’s thigh like she knows she’s safe now.
The sight of her here, in this space, with me, touching something so helpless, stabs deep. Primal. Raw.
A high-pitched yelp cuts through the air, followed by a puddle on the RV step.
Annabelle scrambles with a laugh, reaching to catch the tiny offender. “Oh my god, this one has zero bladder control.”
“Fits right in.” I lean against the doorframe. “Kara peed on my pillow last week. Pack initiation. Don’t worry. The pillow’s in a landfill now.”
She looks up.
“I called some of the neighbors. Found homes for three already. Mrs. Henderson wants two.”
A grin tugs at my mouth as the pup lets out a tiny sigh and burrows deeper into her dress. “Guess that means you’ll have to stick around longer than May Day. Help them adjust to their new kingdom.”
Her eyes meet mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll stick around a while longer.”
Forever, I want to say.
“RV’s clean,” I add, casually. “Sheets, too. Figured it deserved a fresh start like the rest of us. But if you’re feeling nostalgic…” I let the pause hang, let the grin finish what I don’t say, “...we could always make some old memories new again.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks, deep and honest pink.
“I like the RV,” she murmurs, half defiant, half shy. “Always liked it. You damn well know how special this place is.”
I chuckle and push off the doorframe, holding out my hand. “Come on. It’s late, and you need to eat.”
She hesitates, then threads her fingers through mine, and follows me inside the house.
I throw together a quick grilled cheese and leftover tomato soup from the fridge, nothing fancy, but warm and filling.
She eats in silence, the kind that feels more like recovery than retreat.
And when I ask if she wants to take the last of the whiskey out back, she simply nods.
We end up in the hammock out back, tucked beneath two apple trees under a starlit sky.
Bear snores softly underneath us. Kara’s busy digging another crater by the oak like she’s got a vendetta against landscaping.
Annabelle’s in my arms, her head resting against my chest— right where it was always meant to be.
The world goes quiet here. All the noise in my head, the sharp edges of memory and fear, are gone.
She exhales, slow and warm against my shirt. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For not pushing… About everything.”
“You mean about our marriage?” I ask lightly. “I mean, it is our year.”
She chuckles. Low. Close. “That too.”
Her palm settles over my chest, where my heart beats hardest. She doesn’t move it. I don’t breathe. Not even when she shifts slightly, and her thigh brushes mine. Not until the space between us shrinks to almost nothing and her breath grazes my neck.
One more inch and we’ll be across a line we can’t uncross.
But she doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” I skim my fingers down her arm, brushing the soft skin beneath her sleeve. “By the way, Marvey said you didn’t seem too keen on the job.”
She sighs. “I don’t want to go back to nursing. I want to bake. It makes me feel…useful. Safe.”
“Then bake.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll eat anything you make. Even those fiber-packed muffins you pretend are dessert.”
That earns me a real smile. It’s small, but real.
“And I’ll marry you,” she says quietly. “As soon as I can.”
The words land like a prayer and a punch all at once. Not a kiss.
Not a wall.
And definitely a promise.
I’ve wanted this— her —for so long, it feels like a dream I’m not allowed to keep.
If she marries me, the inheritance clause kicks in. The loan disappears. The land becomes mine.
And the subpoena? Gone. Spousal privilege wraps around us like armor. They can’t force me to speak. Not about Huntz. Not about anything.
I shift beneath her and ease her upward, sliding my arm around her waist to pull her higher on the hammock so I can see her face.
She rises with me, settling against my side as the hammock sways gently.
A warm breeze stirs the night air, rustling the apple blossoms overhead.
A few petals break loose, drifting like confetti, one catching in her hair.
She doesn’t notice. She just looks at me, open and waiting.
My voice stays steady. “Because you want to?”
She nods.
“If I marry you,” she whispers, “you can’t testify. That subpoena? It dies the moment we say I do. Mike can scream into the wind, but without us… he has nothing.”
I don’t ask how Mike figured it out. I have my suspicions it was through Annabelle’s journal. What I need now is a plan. Locks to change. Cameras to install. Lawyers to call. Hell, a goddamn wall of steel if it comes to that.
And if marrying her gives her peace and protects her?
I’ll be down on one knee by sunrise.
But even as she smiles, something sharp catches behind my ribs.
This isn’t just about the land. Or the race. Or beating Mike at his own twisted game.
I want her to marry me because she wants forever.
Not because of court dates, inheritance clauses, or whispered promises made under delicious duress.
I want her beside me because it’s us .
Because she chooses me .
Her gaze holds mine, and something subtle shifts in the air between us. The fight in her softens. The fear dims. And what’s left?
Looks a whole damn lot like trust.
We lie back in the hammock again. The night wraps around us in gentle heat, warm and quiet.
Somewhere in the grass, one of the dogs stirs, then settles again with a soft huff.
Annabelle shifts closer, burrowing into my chest like she’s folding herself into something solid.
Into me. My arm tightens instinctively around her, and for a second, the courtrooms, threats, and bruises, fade.
“You don’t have to ask if I want to marry you,” she says, voice quiet but steady. “You already know that I do. But I also don’t want you racing. And—we had a deal.” She winks, and for the first time all day, her smile reaches all the way to her eyes.
It damn near floors me.
I grin. “You mean the deal you made before the pie contest you forced me to sabotage? The one we sealed between your thighs that night?”
She groans, but it’s almost a laugh.
“Yeah, Honeycrisp,” I murmur, dragging my knuckles across her jaw. “You owe me big.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Damn right,” I reply, then lean in, voice dropping. “You listen to me. I’d never force you into anything. But those demons you’re running from? They’re mine now, too. And we fight them together.”
She leans into my touch like it’s instinct. Like I’m home.
“You’re safe now,” I whisper. “And I’m not letting you face any of this alone.”
She nods, small and sure.
“We should talk to Caroline,” I say. “She’s sharp. If anyone can fast-track a restraining order, it’s her. And if Mike’s got a lawyer, we need one who knows how to play dirtier.”
Annabelle snorts softly. “Caroline definitely knows her way around the courthouse. And she seems to have turned things around with Emma.”
“I think she’ll burn down the courthouse in heels if it means making things right with Emma and keeping you safe.”
That earns me another smile. Faint. But real.
“Let’s do it.”
I tuck her in closer, the hammock rocking gently beneath us. I anchor myself to her warmth, to the sound of her breathing, to the weight of her head against my chest.
She’s here.
And for now, that’s enough.
My phone dings with a message from Blake.
Last year’s runner-up just dropped out.
My heart kicks once, hard and hopeful, and instantly guilty.
I’ve got a shot now. A real one.
My phone rings this time and Eric’s name lights up the screen.
“My brother at this hour?” Annabelle whispers.
I answer before the next ring. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“It’s happening,” he says, breath tight. “Emma’s contractions are five minutes apart. We’re heading to the hospital.”
I close my eyes, hand gripping the phone.
Because, of course.
The calm never lasts.
“On our way,” I say.
And just like that, the world speeds up again.
But I’ve got her. And I’m not letting go.