43. Faith
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Faith
Sleep finds me the way a storm finds a field.
Not gently. Not politely. It doesn’t ask if I’m ready or if I’ve processed the last…
however many days it’s been. It just rolls over me the second the truck is moving, and the city is shrinking in the rearview mirror, and my body finally believes, on a cellular level, that no one is about to yank me back by the elbow.
I don’t remember deciding to close my eyes.
I just remember Dallas’s hand on my thigh and Boone driving the truck like a moving shield, and Nash’s voice cracking jokes, and then the lights outside turning into long soft streaks.
And then I’m gone.
When I wake up, my cheek is pressed to Dallas’s chest, and his jacket smells like winter and soap and a faint hint of hay.
My fingers are curled into the fabric of his shirt like I’m still afraid he’ll disappear if I let go.
Somewhere above me, his heart is beating slow and solid, a metronome for a world that doesn’t feel slippery anymore.
I blink, disoriented, the kind of disorientation that comes from sleeping hard after holding yourself braced for too long.
The cab is dim with late evening light. The sky outside the windshield is a pale wash of winter blue, the sun sliding low. Snow drifts past in soft flurries, caught in the wind. I can hear the hum of the tires on the highway and the faint rattle of something in the cup holder.
Dallas’s arm is around me, careful but firm, his hand resting on my shoulder like he doesn’t trust the world yet either.
He glances down when I shift.
“You awake?” he asks quietly.
My throat is dry. My voice comes out like a whisper. “Did I… fall asleep on you?”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
Mortification tries to spark to life out of habit. Oh no, sorry, I shouldn’t have…
But the shame reflex hits a wall and dissolves on impact, because Dallas isn’t tense. He isn’t annoyed. He isn’t making a joke that feels like a jab.
He’s just… there.
And I realize I slept. Like, actually slept. Not the twitchy kind where you wake up every hour with your heart racing. Real sleep.
My eyes sting.
I turn my head and look out the window. The city skyline is far behind us now, replaced by the stretch of road, pine trees dusted with snow, open land that looks like it can breathe. The farther we get, the easier it is to inhale.
But my brain is still doing that thing where it tries to rewind and check for hidden traps.
What if they come after us?
What if my father calls the police in Buckhorn and says I was kidnapped?
What if Evan shows up with lawyers and restraining orders and a camera crew and that same calm smile that hides a knife?
My stomach tightens.
Dallas must feel it, because he shifts slightly, tightening his hold without squeezing too hard.
“You okay?”
I stare at the passing trees and try to tell the truth without falling apart.
“I keep waiting for someone to stop us,” I admit. “Like… like there’s going to be a checkpoint, and someone’s going to tap the window and say, ‘Ma’am, you forgot your cage.’”
Dallas’s jaw clenches. “Ain’t happening.”
I swallow, because I want to believe him so badly it scares me.
And then, like the universe wants to remind me that tenderness can still exist, Dallas’s phone buzzes in the console.
He glances down at the screen and then at me.
“It’s your mama,” he says gently. “You want me to—”
“Yes,” I blurt, and then wince at how desperate it sounds. “I mean… yes. Please. I need to hear her.”
Dallas taps the answer button and puts it on speaker.
“Hello?” Mom’s voice comes through, tight with worry. “Dallas?”
“Ma’am,” Dallas says. “It’s me. Faith is here.”
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end.
“Faith?” Mom breaks. “Sweetheart?”
My throat closes around her name. “Mom.”
The sound that comes out of her next isn’t a word. It’s a sob she tries to swallow and fails.
“Oh, baby,” she whispers.
Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m… I’m okay. I’m with Dallas. I’m safe.”
“Are you hurt?” she asks, rapid fire now, panic trying to claw its way back in. “Did he… did your father…”
“No,” I say quickly. “No. I’m not hurt. Just tired. But I’m safe.”
There’s a pause, a breath, the sound of Mom trying to calm herself.
“He called Charlotte,” she says softly. “Told her you’d gone back. That you missed Evan.”
My stomach twists. “He lied.”
“I know,” Mom says immediately. “I knew. I just… needed to hear your voice.”
I press my forehead against Dallas’s shoulder, like I can physically anchor myself to both of them at once.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“No,” Mom says sharply, and the edge of it is love. “Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize to me for escaping.”
My chest breaks open. “I’m coming home.”
“You are home,” Mom corrects, and I can hear her trying to smile through tears. “Where are you staying tonight?”
I glance at Dallas, and his eyes flick to mine.
I should say my mom’s house. That’s the logical answer. That’s the safe answer.
But the thought of closing a door and being alone makes my stomach seize. The thought of leaving Dallas’s side after everything my body has endured feels like stepping away from a life raft.
“I… I think I want to stay at the ranch,” I admit. “With Dallas.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Mom turns warm in a way that almost destroys me. “Okay.”
The sky turns from pale blue to bruised purple. The trees thicken. The road narrows. And then, finally, the familiar sign appears like a secret:
BUCKHORN.
My chest tightens, but this time the tightness is different.
When we turn onto the ranch road, my body goes rigid anyway, because some part of me still expects this to be a trick. Like the road will end in a glass conference room, and Marilyn will be there with her pen and her smile.
But instead, there’s snow piled along the fence posts, the porch light glowing in the distance, and the dark silhouette of the barn against the winter sky.
Dallas opens his door and steps out into the cold. The night air rushes in as he offers his hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I take it.
The second my boots hit the ground, I’m surrounded by the McCoy brothers. We move toward the porch when Maggie McCoy steps out like an avenging angel in a cardigan.
Her eyes land on me, and her expression softens. She walks down the steps, straight to me, and before I can panic about boundaries or etiquette or whether I’ve earned this, she pulls me into her arms.
“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, and her voice is rough like she’s been holding herself together with grit. “You’re home.”
My throat closes. I can’t talk. I just cling to her like I’m five again.
Dallas’s hand stays on my back, steadying me without stealing the moment.
Maggie pulls back and cups my face in her hands like she’s checking if I’m real. “You okay?”
I nod, but it’s a bad lie. My chin trembles.
Maggie’s eyes sharpen. “We’ll handle the rest tomorrow. Tonight you eat something, and you sleep.”
My lips wobble. “Yes, ma’am.”
Maggie sets a bowl of stew in front of me at the kitchen table like it’s a ritual. Steam rises. The smell hits my stomach, and for the first time in days, my body remembers hunger.
“Eat,” she says.
I take a bite.
Warmth spreads through me in slow waves. It tastes like potatoes and beef and onions and something herbal I can’t name.
Dallas sits across from me with his own bowl, but he barely eats. His eyes keep flicking to my face, like he’s checking whether I’m fading.
Maggie watches us both, then says briskly, “I’m going to bed. Boone’s back with Rose and the kids. Nash and Clay are doing their little cowboy patrol. If anyone comes near this house, they’ll regret being born.”
I blink at her.
She pats my shoulder. “Sleep.”
Then she leaves, and the kitchen quiets until it’s just me and Dallas and the hum of the refrigerator.
I eat a few more bites, then my hands start shaking again, delayed reaction catching up.
Dallas stands and comes around the table. He crouches beside my chair.
“Faith,” he says softly. “Hey. Look at me.”
I do.
His eyes are calm, but there’s a rawness underneath. He looks like he’s been holding back a storm for days.
“You’re safe,” he says. “You’re here. Nobody’s taking you.”
Tears spill. I press my fists to my eyes like I can stop them.
Dallas rises and pulls me up gently, careful of my trembling legs, and wraps his arms around me.
I melt into him like my body has been trying to get back to this for weeks.
“I thought about you,” I whisper. “All the time. In that office, in those meetings, in the car with Evan… I kept thinking about how you look at Lila. How you look at me. Like… like I’m not a problem to solve.”
Dallas’s throat works. “You ain’t.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I know now.”
Dallas’s eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. Like he’s asking permission without words.
“I don’t want to make this harder,” he says quietly. “You’ve been through hell. If you need me to just… be your friend again, I can do that. I’ll do it. I don’t want to lose you.”
My heart stutters.
I lift my shaking hands and cup his face.
Dallas goes still like he’s afraid to move wrong.
“I don’t want just your friendship,” I whisper. “I want… you. I want your arms. I want your steadiness. I want your terrible coffee and your stupid calm presence that makes my nervous system stop screaming.”
Dallas’s mouth twitches, but his eyes shine.
“I want the version of me that exists when I’m with you,” I whisper. “The one that doesn’t have to perform.”
Dallas swallows, throat tight. “Faith…”
The way he says my name makes my chest hurt.
“I love you,” I whisper, and the words come out like a confession and a prayer at the same time. “I think I’ve loved you for years, and I just buried it under my father’s voice and my own fears, and the idea that I wasn’t allowed to want something that didn’t look impressive on paper.”
Dallas stares at me like he’s been hit.
His hands come up slowly, covering mine on his cheeks.
“Say it again,” he whispers, like he needs to hear it twice to believe it.
I laugh through tears. “I love you.”
Dallas’s breath shudders.
He closes his eyes, forehead dropping toward mine like he’s trying not to fall apart.
Then he opens them, and his gaze is raw.
“I love you too,” he says. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, and you used to climb the hayloft like it was a mountain and dare me to follow. I loved you when you left, and I tried not to. I loved you when you showed up on my porch in that dress, and I swear, I thought I was losing my mind.”
My chest caves in.
“And I love you now,” he continues, softer. “So damn much it scares me.”
I swallow hard. “Me too.”
Dallas’s thumbs brush my cheeks, gentle.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, quiet and careful.
The question alone nearly breaks me.
Because I’ve lived in a world where men take, where they assume, where consent is treated like an annoying formality.
Dallas asks like my answer matters.
I nod, tears slipping free. “Yes.”
His mouth meets mine, warm and achingly gentle, and my whole body exhales like it’s been holding its breath for years.