Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Andi
The barn light was on.
That soft glow creeping under the door had caught my eye more than once as I tossed and turned in my bed. I blinked at it again and again, each time expecting it to magically turn off all by itself.
But it didn’t.
Someone probably just forgot and left it on by accident.
It was a simple enough explanation, and I’m sure it happened more than it should…
but something about it had made my skin crawl—made me feel like I was in the start of a horror movie where the girl makes the dumb decision to go investigate the strange noise barefoot in the dark.
And yet, there I was, climbing out of bed like I was the main character.
No flashlight. No pants. Just my oversized T-shirt, my borrowed boots, and that little knot in my stomach I couldn’t shake loose.
Because something about that light being left on didn’t sit right with me.
Maybe it was just leftover anxiety or something from the dream I’d had—the one with this very barn and Heath standing there in the dark, not doing anything but just…watching.
I’d woken up covered in sweat with my heart in my throat, too shaken to cry and too tired to scream. And now I was creeping toward possible danger like the world hadn’t already taught me better.
I hated how that stupid dream had me so on edge.
I’d left Heath weeks ago, and yet he still had a grip on me. It pissed me off, honestly. How one man’s cruelty could linger like that.
Maybe that was the real reason I went to the barn—because I needed to prove that dream…that he…didn’t own me. That fear didn’t get to decide who I was anymore.
I squared my shoulders as I reached the door, took a reassuring breath, and stepped inside.
The smell of hay and leather hit me first—familiar now and even comforting.
A few of the horses stirred in their stalls, lifting their heads as I passed.
Dolly nickered quietly, and I slowed, reaching over the stall door to brush my fingers gently over her nose.
“Hey, girl,” I whispered and looked around. “It’s just me…being stupid and dramatic.”
Running my hand down the horse’s cheek, I tried to absorb some of her calm and hoped it would settle the jitter in my bones.
“Someone just forgot to turn the light off, right?” I murmured, half to her and half to myself.
“Nothing to panic about. This is what brave looks like. Doing things even when you’re scared. ”
I gave her another pat and took a few more slow steps down the center aisle, peeking into the stalls and counting them like that somehow proved everything was fine. My heart beat too fast, but at least I was moving. Doing the hard thing. Showing up for myself.
I was halfway to the back when a door creaked open behind me.
Instinct caught me by the throat. I spun around fast and screamed as a figure moved toward me.
No, no, no, no, no.
I flailed, swinging my arm out and stumbling back, adrenaline blinding me to logic and reason. My arm caught something sharp on the edge of a stall and I cried out, cradling the injury as I backed away in a panic.
Make it count, Norah’s voice echoed in my head, calm and clear despite the thunder in my chest. If a guy’s coming at you, go for the soft spots: eyes, throat, groin. Don’t stop until he does.
My fists came up in front of me, and I shifted my weight like she’d shown me. Elbow tight. Thumb out of the way. Knees bent, ready to strike.
“Whoa—whoa, Andi—it’s me! It’s just me.” Zane’s rushed voice cut through my panic like a cold splash of water.
I froze mid-swing, my breathing ragged and every muscle in my body trembling as his face came into view.
Not Heath.
Zane.
My lungs started to burn from lack of air, and when I finally sucked in a breath it hurt.
But the sudden flood of relief didn’t last long, because my hands were still up.
My knees were still locked. My body was still ready to fight for its life.
And I could tell by the look on his face that he knew that kind of fear didn’t come from out of nowhere.
His face appeared fully now in the glow of the overheard light, his hands raised slightly like he was calming a spooked horse.
“You okay?”
I pressed my palm to my forearm, already feeling the sting of torn skin beneath my fingers. I was breathing too fast. My knees felt shaky, and my brain still hadn’t quite caught up.
He stepped closer but kept his movements cautious. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “I didn’t know anyone was out here. You scared the shit out of me.”
He nodded but still watched me closely. “Yeah. I could tell.”
I glanced away, trying to slow my breathing. “I thought someone left the light on, and I came out to turn it off.”
“Yeah, well, I had a mare show signs of foaling earlier. Figured I’d check on her one more time before callin’ it a night,” he said, tilting his head toward the back stall. “Luke and I split the overnights when they’re this close.”
Something in my chest twisted, and I hated how much it made sense. Of course he’d be the one out here, watching over something that needed him.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, nodding toward my arm, but the look in his concerned eyes made me think he wasn’t just asking about my injury.
I peeled my hand away to look. It wasn’t bad, just a shallow cut, but a tiny river of blood had already streaked down toward my wrist.
“I’m fine,” I lied, even as I winced. “It looks worse than it is.”
Zane gave me a look that said I don’t believe you, then gently reached for my elbow. “Come on. Let’s get it cleaned up before it gets infected.”
I let him lead me out of the barn, trying to keep my head down, embarrassed by how badly I’d reacted. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But the minute that door opened, my body had gone back in time, back to a place where doors creaking meant threats, not people who gave a damn.
Inside the house, the kitchen light flipped on with a low buzz. Zane nudged me toward the island while he rummaged in the cabinets for a first aid kit.
“You don’t have to do this,” I murmured, trying to play it off. “It’s just a scratch.”
“You almost decked me back there,” he said, either not hearing me or just blatantly ignoring me.
I forced a laugh, leaning against the counter. “You try getting jump-scared in a barn in the middle of the night and see how you react.”
He gave me a look, one that saw right through me, but he didn’t say anything right away. Just opened the first aid kit, pulled out some antiseptic and gauze, then nodded toward a barstool.
“Sit,” he said, and I didn’t argue.
My arm stung and, honestly, sitting felt safer than standing with all the adrenaline still rattling around in my muscles. I dropped onto one of the barstools, resting my forearm on the counter, blood smudged and already drying around the cut.
Zane went to work on my arm like he’d done this a time or hundred—because he probably had.
From what I’d witnessed so far in my short stay, ranch life came with its fair share of busted knuckles and barbed wire run-ins.
He ripped open an antiseptic swab, his movements quick but careful.
Bracing myself, I flinched as the cool sting hit the scrape.
He didn’t comment on it. Didn’t say a word, actually—just pressed a clean gauze pad against it and held it there.
I tried to focus on the floor. The soft hum of the refrigerator. Anything that wasn’t the steady feel of his hand on my arm.
“You okay?” he asked me…again…his voice softer this time as he peeled back the gauze, checked the cut, and started wrapping it gently with clean bandage tape. “Really?”
I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes on his hands. “I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I focused on the bandage he was finishing up with, too aware of how careful his fingers were against my skin. Too aware of the silence stretching out between us.
“I’m fine,” I said again, but it came out less convincing this time.
Zane didn’t respond right away. He smoothed the end of the bandage down and rested his hand briefly against the counter beside mine, like he was debating what to say. Then, quietly, “Was it that bad?”
I blinked. “What?”
He glanced up. “Your breakup. Was it that bad?”
My breath caught before I could stop it and, damn him, I knew he had noticed.
He wasn’t even looking at me anymore—he was rinsing off his hands at the sink, giving me space like he knew I’d bolt if he stared too long.
When he turned back around, he leaned against the edge of the counter, arms crossed.
And I hated how that made my eyes sting.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m not quite ready to unpack all of that.”
“Not askin’ for a play-by-play, Andi, but women don’t flinch like that over nothing.”
I swallowed, wanting to end this conversation before it went too deep. “Whatever happened...it’s over now,” I offered, my voice tight but steady.
His eyes didn’t waver, but I caught a flicker of something like understanding mixed with frustration.
“Over doesn’t mean it didn’t leave a mark,” he said quietly and pushed off from the sink as he stepped closer, the space between us shrinking until I could feel the heat from his body as he stood right in front of me.
His gaze softened, filled with that fierce, protective kind of care that made my chest ache, as he reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face.
The touch was light and tender, like he was trying to steady me and prove that he wasn’t a threat.
But something deep inside me snapped, and I flinched—heart hammering, breath catching.
On the cusp of what had happened in the barn, it was a reflex I couldn’t control, a sudden wave of panic that made my body recoil.
Zane’s gaze flickered, confusion and concern mixing in his eyes, as his voice dropped to a low, almost broken whisper. “Who did this to you?”
A flood of thoughts crashed through me.
What if I told him? What if I told him everything?
The bruises that didn’t always show. The threats that were carefully crafted to sound like love.
The nights I couldn’t sleep because I wasn’t sure which version of Heath would come through the door.
The times I left early on, before the physical abuse, and went back because he’d made me believe I had nowhere else to go.
What if I laid all of that bare for Zane?
But I couldn’t. I was still stitching myself back together, and I wasn’t quite ready to hand over those pieces of myself that I’d only barely come to terms with.
“He’s…” I sighed and tucked my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Not worth the air it takes to say his name or even talk about.” My throat tightened, but I powered through.
“I’m starting over now, and part of that…
” I added lightly, reaching for something—anything—to soften the awkward ache clinging to the air between us, “is learning how to bake pies.”
His brow lifted, seemingly caught off guard by my sudden change of subject. “Pies?”
“Mmmhmm.” I pushed off the barstool and walked over to the fridge, needing something to do with my hands before they started shaking. “Peach Bourbon to be exact.”
Behind me, he let out a short breath—something that almost sounded like a laugh. “You’re deflecting again.”
“Yes,” I said, opening the fridge and pulling out the pie plate, “but with pie.” I turned and gave him a look, lifting an eyebrow. “Is it working?”
Leaning back against the counter, he crossed his arms and watched me with that frustratingly unreadable expression. “Yes and no.”
Cutting a generous slice, I placed it on the center of a cake plate and popped it in the microwave. It hummed low and steady as I leaned against the counter across from him, doing my best to mirror him and act like I wasn’t dodging emotional landmines with baked goods.
“You’re really not gonna tell me anything?” he asked. “Not even a little?”
“Nope,” I said, tapping the display as the timer counted down. “But I’ll feed you pie.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You know that’s not a fair trade, right?”
“Depends on how good the pie is.”
The microwave beeped and I turned, grabbing the plate and a fork as the warm scent of peaches and brown sugar wrapped around us. I crossed the space and held the plate out to him. He took it, but instead of walking away with it or digging in, he stayed put, watching me for a long, slow beat.
“You gonna make me eat alone?”
I hesitated, then grabbed a second fork and leaned against the island beside him. Close, but not too close. He took a bite—slow and thoughtful—then looked over at me with the kind of expression that made my stomach flip.
“Well?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
Zane’s tongue swept across his bottom lip, catching a little syrup at the corner. “It’s damn good.”
I smirked. “Told you.”
He broke off another piece with his fork, but instead of taking it for himself, he held it out to me. My eyes moved from the fork to his. “No sense in dirtying up another fork.”
A beat passed as I looked again from the pie resting on the edge of his fork and back to his eyes, before leaning in and closing my lips around the bite. Maybe I imagined it, but his eyes darkened just a little as he watched me chew.
The crust was flaky, buttery and still warm from the microwave.
The bourbon gave the filling a slow heat that lingered just long enough to make my cheeks warm.
I looked up to find Zane still staring—a slow, easy grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.
My pulse skittered. That smile, that heat, it was dangerous in all the right ways.
But it wasn’t just that. There was something else practically vibrating under his skin, something coiled and careful, like he was holding himself in check.
I took another offered bite, slower this time, and let my shoulder graze his when I leaned in just a little.
He didn’t pull back. Just kept watching me.
“What?” I asked, swiping at the corner of my mouth and licking a bit of peach syrup off my thumb.
Zane’s gaze didn’t waver. “Just thinking.”
“Oh yeah?” My heart skipped. “About what?”
“Stuff.”
Amused curiosity pulled at my mouth. “What kind of stuff?”
His eyes held mine as his expression grew serious. “One—your ex was a damn fool to ever lay a hand on you. Or raise his voice. Or do whatever else it is that you’re not willing to share with me just yet.”
Air stalled in my chest.
“And two…” he went on, that serious expression of his morphing into something else entirely. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna kiss you.”