Chapter 25-Sawyer
I try to keep busy.
God knows there’s enough to do around here.
Micah’s running logistics, Benji’s wrangling the bulls, and I’ve got a feed delivery coming in that needs signing for—not exactly light work—but no matter what I do, my damn brain won’t stay where it’s supposed to.
It keeps drifting right back to her.
Lil Bit.
Her moans whispering in our bedroom during the night.
The slap of our sweat-slickened skin reverberating throughout the room.
Her laugh echoing in the kitchen this morning.
The sight of her in that little apron she sewed herself, sunlight catching her hair.
The way she looked at me before I left, like she was already planning something—some new idea spinning behind those enormous brown eyes.
I told myself to let her be.
She deserves a little space, a little normal.
But every instinct I’ve got is screaming to keep her close.
So halfway between breakfast and lunch, I find myself mumbling something about checking the south fence line to Diego and heading for the ATV.
It’s a lie, and a bad one.
Diego knows it.
I know it.
Still, I gun the engine and tear off toward the main house, gravel kicking up behind me.
The thing about being a soldier is, the training never leaves you.
The gut-deep sense of something’s off hits hard and fast when I round the bend and see Angie’s car missing from the drive.
My stomach drops straight through the goddamn floor.
I kill the engine before the ATV’s even fully stopped, jump off, and take the porch steps two at a time.
“Bit?” I call, already reaching for my phone.
No answer.
I check the sewing room first—it still smells like fabric and that fancy lavender detergent she likes, but it’s empty.
“Bit?”
The living room’s quiet.
The den’s empty.
My office—nothing.
By the time I hit the bedroom, my pulse is pounding so loud it’s all I can hear.
“BIT!” I roar, the sound raw and echoing through the house.
Nothing.
Every muscle in my body locks tight, ready for fight or flight, and I’m already scrolling through my contacts to call Benji when I hear it—the low put-put-put of an engine coming up the drive.
Angie’s Mazda.
I storm out onto the porch just as she rolls up, a bright smile plastered on her face.
Bit’s sitting shotgun, matching her grin, one arm hooked out the window, wind-tousled and glowing like she’s had the best damn day of her life.
Me?
I’m seething.
The relief hits first—sharp and dizzying—but it’s swallowed fast by the gut-deep flare of anger that follows.
Because all I can see is what if.
What if Roach found them?
What if that little Mazda broke down on the back road with no signal?
What if the wrong person saw her? Did something to her?
And then the raw, scary, unthinkable hits me—what if she just left?
I can’t handle that. I won’t even try to.
Lil Bit is all mine, and if I made that unclear in any way, I need to rectify that.
Like now.
By the time Angie parks, I’m already down the steps.
Bit hops out, holding a paper bag full of what looks like thrifted fabric and old lace.
Her smile falters the second she sees my face.