CHAPTER 13
Anna
I stood on the front porch of Jaxon's cabin, my knuckles hovering inches from the door.
I hadn't expected to be back here so soon, but after everything that happened last night, showing up with breakfast felt like the least I could do to say thank you.
Still, as I stood there, I couldn't help but wonder if I was overstepping.
Would he even want me here after last night? He probably hated me even more now, more proof that all I did was bring trouble into Connor's life. The doubt gnawed at me, a relentless voice questioning my every move.
The paper bag in my hands rustled as I adjusted my grip, the eggs shifting against the weight of the bell peppers and cheese.
It was a small gesture, sure, but I hoped it would make up for dragging Jaxon into the frantic search for Choco.
He'd been instrumental in finding my horse and calming everyone's nerves—especially mine.
The memory of his steady presence, the way he'd taken charge and led the search with that quiet, tactical precision, brought a small smile to my face.
Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that this was just breakfast, it wasn't a declaration of anything more.
Still, I couldn't help the flutter of butterflies in my stomach.
I'd chosen my outfit carefully this morning, trading one of my new blouses for a vintage tee from a horse show I'd attended with Sam and Connor years ago.
The fabric was worn soft from countless washings, faded green with a jumping horse silhouette on the front.
The jeans I'd picked were my favorite pair, the ones that almost fit properly now that I'd gained back some of the weight I'd lost. It was a small boost to my confidence, a reminder that I was more than the scared girl who'd fled.
With a quick exhale, I knocked on the door, my fist striking the wood with a firmness that masked my indecision.
I listened for any sound of movement inside, straining to hear footsteps.
As the seconds ticked by, I found myself wondering if he was even home, or if I'd made a mistake by showing up unannounced.
The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.
I glanced toward the side of the cabin, checking for his Jeep, when the door creaked open. Jaxon appeared, wearing nothing but a pair of dark gray boxers that sat low on his hips.
Oh God.
His dark hair was completely tousled, sticking up in all directions as if he'd just rolled out of bed—which he clearly had.
His eyes held a flicker of surprise at seeing me, but he quickly masked it.
The corner of his mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk as he leaned against the doorframe.
The smugness radiating off him felt entirely intentional.
"Anna? What brings you here so early?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
The casual confidence he exuded was both infuriating and, if I was being honest, unsettlingly attractive.
My eyes flickered down before I could stop them, taking in his broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abdomen that spoke of hard, physical work.
A few scars scattered across his skin caught the light, but I didn't let myself linger.
Heat crept across my cheeks as I jerked my gaze back up to his face, suddenly finding the wood grain of the door incredibly interesting.
"I, um…" I stuttered, holding up the bag with what I hoped was a casual grin, but probably looked more sheepish. "I thought you might like some breakfast. You know, as a thank you for helping last night." The words tumbled out in a rush.
Jaxon's smile widened, his blue eyes gleaming with a playful spark that made my stomach twist again. "You didn't have to do that," he said, his tone light and teasing. "But I won't say no to free breakfast."
I forced myself to meet his gaze, willing the heat in my cheeks to subside. "Well, I figured it was the least I could do," I managed, trying to sound casual despite the fluttering in my stomach.
He stepped back and pulled the door open wider, offering a welcoming smile as he gestured for me to come inside.
As I crossed the threshold, Jaxon cast one last glance outside, his eyes sweeping the surrounding woods with the same sharp vigilance he'd shown yesterday.
The playful demeanor vanished, replaced by something harder—alert, protective.
Then he shut and locked the door with a deliberate click that echoed in the quiet cabin.
The sound caught me off guard. My brow furrowed until the memory of last night resurfaced. Someone had been here… or might have been. The woodpile. Choco's cut rope.
"I'm going to get dressed. Make yourself at home," he said, nodding toward the living area before turning away.
As he passed a small table near the door, he picked up a pistol I hadn't noticed before, the black metal gleaming dully in the morning light.
The sight of the weapon gave me pause, but I understood why he kept it close.
The easy atmosphere from moments ago felt suddenly heavier.
I nodded, my gaze following him as he climbed the stairs.
My eyes, traitorous and uncooperative, lingered on the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath his skin with each step.
I tore my gaze away and made my way to the kitchen, setting the bag of ingredients on the polished white quartz countertops.
The space was neat and organized. A surprise, given Jaxon's solitary lifestyle.
Everything was in its place, spotless, as though someone had gone over it with deliberate care.
The stainless-steel appliances gleamed. The dish towels were folded precisely on their rack.
Even the spice jars were alphabetized on a small shelf.
It spoke of someone who valued order, or someone who'd once shared their space with a person who did.
The thought stirred something unwelcome in my chest. Jealousy.
Irrational, uninvited, and impossible to justify.
Connor had mentioned that Jaxon had been engaged once.
That might explain the careful precision in the way everything was kept.
I found myself wondering about the woman who'd been part of his life, whether she'd been the one to organize things this way, or if he'd kept everything exactly as she'd left it, unwilling to disturb the patterns they'd built together.
I drew in a quiet breath and pushed the thought aside. It wasn't my place to imagine the shape of someone else's past.
I began unloading the groceries, sorting through the utensils, each one neatly arranged in its own divider, when the sound of the shower came on upstairs.
Water filled the cabin in a steady, rhythmic hush.
My pulse kicked, entirely against my will, at the image that surfaced: Jaxon standing beneath the spray, steam rising, water tracing its way down—
No. Absolutely not.
I forced my attention back to the task at hand, pulling out a frying pan and setting it on the gas stove.
The scrape of metal against enamel grounded me.
I'd promised myself I'd keep my distance from Jaxon, but his effort to extend an olive branch yesterday lingered in my mind.
Maybe keeping a cautious distance wasn't the same as keeping a wall between us.
If we were going to spend time together while I stayed with Connor, perhaps it made sense to try to understand him a little better.
The man behind the quiet and the closed doors.
I rummaged through the kitchen, finding a cutting board and a sharp knife, the blade well-maintained and properly stored in a wooden block.
As I began chopping vegetables, my thoughts drifted.
Jaxon was Connor's best friend, but beyond that, he was a mystery.
A man who valued solitude, who kept the world at arm's length. A man with ghosts.
As I diced the onions, their sharp scent making my eyes water slightly, I decided that I'd take my time and see what I could learn about him. Not pry, exactly. Just... understand.
Soon, I was lost in my culinary rhythm, the sizzle of the omelet in the pan and the aroma of cooking eggs, peppers, and onions filling the kitchen.
The butter I'd found in his fridge foamed golden in the pan, and I smiled as I flipped the omelet with practiced ease, my focus entirely on the task at hand.
This, at least, I could control. This, I was good at.
I was adding the cheese, a sharp cheddar, when I felt it—that prickling awareness of being watched. I turned my head slightly and saw Jaxon leaning against the kitchen doorframe, silently observing me.
He'd dressed in a faded gray T-shirt that hugged his frame and dark jeans, his feet still bare on the hardwood floor. His hair was damp from the shower, combed back but already starting to fall forward. The scent of soap and cologne drifted across the kitchen, clean and masculine.
Lost in whatever thoughts were running through his mind, Jaxon let out a heavy sigh, the sound loud enough to break the spell. Startled, I turned to face him fully, my spatula still in hand.
"Everything alright?" I asked, concern lacing my words as I noted the somber expression on his face. Whatever he'd been thinking about, it hadn't been pleasant.
"Yup," he replied, in a flat tone that told me it probably wasn't. "Smells good in here."