Chapter 15-Sawyer
The house is quiet except for the slow rhythm of her breathing.
The world outside’s gone still—no wind, no cattle, just the faint creak of the old boards settling under the weight of the night.
Lil Bit’s curled against me, one leg tangled with mine, her cheek resting on my chest.
I can feel her heartbeat, soft and steady, tapping against my ribs like she’s syncing to me without even trying.
It’s supposed to be simple. It never is.
I tell myself it’s just need, that I’ve been alone too long, that the war and the work and the endless rebuilding have made me crave something human.
But that’s a lie.
Because the ache in my chest isn’t just physical, and the way I keep brushing my thumb along her shoulder isn’t about possession.
It’s her laugh still ringing in my ears.
It’s the way she said my name like it meant safety.
It’s the fact that, for the first time in years, the darkness in my head went quiet when she looked at me.
I watch the moonlight trace the curve of her face.
She’s beautiful in the kind of way that ruins a man—soft where life’s been hard on me, fierce where I didn’t know I needed fire.
Obsession.
Need.
Want.
Affection.
All of it’s tangled up inside me, no clear edges between them. I should be afraid of that.
Instead, I feel steady. Grounded.
She shifts, murmurs my name in her sleep, and something inside me settles like a promise.
Tomorrow, there’ll be questions.
About what we are, about how this fits into the mess waiting outside these walls.
But right now, in this moment, it’s just her breath, my heartbeat, and the certainty that I’d fight every mile of road between here and hell to keep her safe.
I press a kiss to her hair and let out a long, quiet breath.
“You’re mine, Lil Bit. I got you,” I whisper.
Not a claim. A vow.
Morning slides in easy, gold light through the kitchen windows and the smell of Angie’s biscuits drifting through the house.
She’s already at the stove, hair twisted up in a messy bun, humming something old and cheerful as she flips bacon in the skillet.
The table’s full.
Benji and Micah sit shoulder to shoulder, wolfing down eggs like they haven’t eaten in a week.
Diego’s reading something on his phone, and Alex is pretending to be awake while Angie refills everyone’s coffee and slaps her nephew on the forehead.
And then there’s Bit.
She’s perched on one of the stools, hair a little wild from sleep, wearing one of my flannel shirts over her jeans.
She fits in like she’s always been here—laughing at Diego’s bad jokes, passing the butter, talking to Angie like they’ve been friends for years.
No awkward edges. No hesitation. Just right.
Watching her slide into the rhythm of this place so easy makes something tight in my chest loosen.
For months I’ve been building this ranch—fences, barns, routines—but this morning is the first time it actually feels like a home.
Alex leans back in his chair, mouth full of biscuit.
“You wanna feed the orphaned calves again, Bit? They’ve been bawlin’ for their bottles all morning.”
Before she can answer, I cut in.
“Actually, we got some errands to run. You all can hold down the fort.”
Bit’s gaze snaps to mine.
I can practically feel her teasing me across the table, that little spark in her eyes saying possessive, are we?
She opens her mouth—probably to tell me I’m being ridiculous—but I don’t give her the chance. I just sip my coffee, acting casual.
She needs some things, she said. And I’m more than happy to make that happen.
A drive into town. A couple of stores. Maybe lunch somewhere decent.
Yeah, that sounds nice.
She raises a brow, the corner of her mouth tugging up in a grin that says she knows exactly what I’m doing.
And maybe I do sound like a man staking a claim—but I can’t help it. I want her focused on me.
She belongs here. With me.
And I’ll spend the rest of my damn life proving it if I have to.
Benji chuckles, nudging Micah.
“Errands, huh? That what they’re callin’ it these days?”
I glare at him, but Bit just laughs, shaking her head.
“Don’t listen to them, Sawyer. I do need to run some errands. What about you boys? Anything we can pick up for you?”
They all shake their heads—well, as soon as I glare at them, they do. Only Angie asks for some baking soda, and Bit nods happily.
Then she sets her empty mug down and slips off the stool, brushing past me as she heads toward the door.
My hand finds her lower back on instinct, a small touch, nothing anyone else notices—but I feel the jolt all the same.
“Ready when you are, cowboy,” she says over her shoulder.
And just like that, the day feels brighter.
I don’t know what waits for us out there—hell, I never do—but for the first time in a long damn while, I’m looking forward to finding out.