Chapter 12-Micah
I don't realize how hard I'm gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles ache.
The drive back to my cabin feels longer than it should.
Sloane sits quietly in the passenger seat, wrapped in one of the blankets I keep behind the seat for winter emergencies and transporting calves.
She's curled into herself, staring out into the darkness beyond the windshield.
She hasn't cried.
Not once.
Somehow that worries me more.
The strongest people always hold it together until they finally make it somewhere safe.
Only then do they fall apart.
I intend to make damn sure she's somewhere safe.
By the time I pull up outside my cabin, she's asleep.
Her head has tipped against the window, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Jesus.
Moonlight pours through the windshield, washing her skin in silver and turning her fiery hair into a river of copper and gold.
She looks...
Fuck.
She looks like some woodland princess who wandered into the wrong damn fairy tale.
Too soft for the ugliness she endured tonight.
Too pure and sweet.
Too damn good for all of that.
And maybe too damn good for me.
I curse myself for staring when she's off guard.
But I can't help it.
She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.
And she's exhausted.
No wonder.
She worked a twelve-hour shift.
Found out her brother has been doing drugs and gambling away everything she'd worked for.
Got grabbed by some greasy motherfucker while his buddies trashed her bar.
Hell of a fucking day.
I'm still pissed at myself for letting those bastards leave breathing.
Maybe that's something I can revisit later.
Right now I have more important things to take care of.
Sloane needs me.
And I'll be damned if I'm anywhere else.
I kill the engine.
The sudden silence settles over us.
She doesn't stir.
Not even a little.
I climb out, walk around the truck, and carefully open her door.
“Sloane,” I murmur.
Nothing.
Her breathing stays slow and even.
Christ.
She is done.
Without letting myself think too hard about it, I slide one arm beneath her knees and another behind her back.
She weighs almost nothing.
Or maybe I'm just too damn aware of how perfectly she fits against me.
I lift her into my arms.
Her head immediately falls against my chest.
One tiny sigh escapes her lips.
Then she burrows closer.
Every protective instinct I possess goes absolutely feral.
Mine.
The thought lands hard enough to make me swallow.
Not mine to own.
Mine to protect.
And yes, there’s a big fucking difference.
I kick the truck door shut with my boot and start toward the porch.
Halfway there, she stirs.
“Mmm.”
Her eyelashes flutter.
Then those warm brown eyes blink open.
She looks around in sleepy confusion before realizing she's in my arms.
“Oh!”
She jerks slightly.
“Micah?”
“I got you.”
“You’re carrying me?”
I nod. Her face floods pink.
“But why? Why are you carrying me?”
“You fell asleep.”
“I can still walk.”
“I know. But I wanted to.”
She looks down between us.
Then back up.
“Micah, I'm too heavy.”
I stop dead in my tracks.
“What?”
“You shouldn't be carrying me.”
I stare into her eyes.
I don’t blink.
I can’t.
I’m stunned, wondering if I’d somehow heard her wrong.
“You think you're too heavy?”
She winces.
“I know I am.”
I snort.
Then shake my head.
“Sloane.”
She won't meet my eyes.
“Look, I’m not asking for some fake praise or reassurance. I know I’m big. I've always been the fat girl with the cute face.”
Something inside me twists so hard it hurts.
I tighten my hold on her just a little.
“First off, you’re not fat or cute. You are fucking perfect.”
Her breath catches.
Those big brown eyes snap to mine.
“Second, if you don’t want me holding you, just tell me. I’ll never do anything you don’t want, Princess. That’s a promise.”
For a long moment, neither of us says anything.
Then, she smiles.
Small.
Fragile.
Beautiful.
“You really think I’m perfect?”
“I know you are. Now, do you want me to hold you?”
She swallows.
“I...”
Her voice breaks.
“Yes. Thank you.”
I nod once and keep walking.
She reaches up hesitantly and touches my shoulder.
“Micah?”
I glance down at her.
“Thank you for saving me.”
The words are barely louder than a whisper.
“I’ll always be there for you.”
“But you didn't have to do any of that. Really, Micah, thank you.”
I stop at the front door.
Look down at her.
“You don’t have to thank me, Princess.”
“I do.”
“No.”
I unlock the door one-handed.
“You don't.”
She studies my face.
“Why?”
Because there wasn't another possible outcome.
Because the second I saw those men put their hands on you, I would've walked through hell itself.
Because somewhere between changing your filters and kissing you behind your bar, you became the most important person in my world.
Instead, I simply say,
“I’ll never let anybody hurt you.”
Her eyes shine.
I carry her inside.
The cabin is quiet.
Warm.
Safe.
Exactly what she needs.
I set her gently on the couch.
She looks around slowly.
“This is beautiful.”
I shrug.
“Thanks. Just finished it.”
“It smells like cedar. And coffee. Wait, did you mean you just finished it?”
I nod. Her eyebrows disappear into her hairline.
“It wasn’t that hard.”
“You built a house, Micah. That seems pretty damn hard to me.”
That isn’t the only hard thing around, Princess.
But I keep my filthy thoughts to myself.
“Nah. Came with a manual and everything,” I tease.
She smiles again.
This one comes a little easier.
“I...” She bites her lip. “Would it be okay if I took a shower?”
I nod immediately and lower her to the floor.
“Bathroom's down the hall.”
“I probably smell like fryer grease.”
“You smell good.”
Her cheeks pink again.
“Well, I feel pretty rough.”
“A hot shower will help soothe your muscles. Take as long as you want.”
She disappears down the hallway, clutching the folded towel I hand her from the linen closet.
A minute later I hear the bathroom door click shut.
The lock slides home.
Good girl.
Water starts running.
And I feel something unfamiliar settle inside me.
It’s a sense of contentment.
Because Sloane is here.
She is inside my cabin safe and sound.
She'll always be safe with me.
For the first time all night, I let myself breathe.