Chapter 29
THATCHER
Iwish I could stay in bed with her all damn day.
Curled up in flannel and warm skin and the scent of bubblegum and sex, watching her blink slow and sweet in my sheets like she was meant to wake up there.
But the mountain doesn’t give a shit about wishful thinking.
The roads won’t clear themselves, and I still need to assess the generator damage from last night—get some quotes, order parts, double check the wiring on the other outbuildings to make sure we don’t end up with another fire hazard on our hands.
So, I load her into the cab of my bigger truck—the one with the plow rigged to the front—my hands on her gorgeous ass as I help her inside the cabin.
“Seat belt, Baby.”
“Okay,” she replies.
God, I love the sound of her husky little voice.
I squeeze her leg and get in on my side. Then, we head down the ridge toward the mill.
At first, I’m just riding the high.
Her scent lingers on my skin.
My hands still remember the feel of her curves.
My body’s loose in a way it hasn’t been in years, like something I didn’t even know was tight has finally let go.
She’s sitting beside me.
Soft.
Warm.
Mine.
And I’m already halfway planning how I’m gonna have her again—after lunch, maybe.
Tonight, definitely.
After a shower.
Against the wall.
On the damn couch.
All of the above.
I’m so wrapped up in all the ways I want her, I almost don’t notice how quiet she’s gotten.
She’s fidgeting.
Tugging her sleeves.
Wrapping her arms around herself.
Biting her lip like it might hold something back.
It takes me a full mile of winding road to register that she’s not basking in the same glow I am.
She’s spiraling.
“Hey,” I say, voice low as I glance over. “You alright, Baby Girl?”
“What?” Her head jerks up like I caught her somewhere far away. “Oh. Yes. Sorry. I was just thinking about the cabin.”
Shit.
Of course she is.
I grit my teeth and feel about two inches tall. She lost her home last night—even if it was a temporary one.
And I’ve been sitting here thinking about getting her out of her clothes again like an absolute goddamn caveman.
“I’ve got Tim on it already,” I tell her, adjusting my grip on the wheel. “He got out there this morning. Assessed the damage.”
Her hands still.
She looks at me, hope flickering and fear written all over her face.
“The good news,” I continue, “is the fire never made it inside. It stayed contained around the generator unit. Bad news is that side of the roof took some heat. And with all the snow, there’s some water damage where the weight pushed through a softened spot.”
“Oh no,” she whispers, voice breaking around the edges. “I’m so sorry.”
And that?
That hits me straight in the fucking chest.
I frown, glancing at her like she’s speaking a language I’ve never heard before.
“Why are you sorry?”
Her shoulders curl in the tiniest bit, like she’s bracing for impact.
“For the damage. I don’t know how, but I’ll repay you.”
“What are you talking about? You didn’t do that, Willow. That wasn’t your fault.”
“But maybe I- I used too much hot water, or had the lights on too long, or I don’t know. Maybe I overdid something. Tripped something.”
“What?” My voice sharpens. “Hell no.”
I pull the truck off the road at the next turnout, throw it in park, and turn to face her fully.
Her eyes are wide.
Too wide.
Like she’s used to being blamed.
And now my gut is burning.
“What happened with that generator wasn’t your fault,” I say firmly. “You didn’t cause shit.”
“But—”
“No.” I cut her off, softer this time but still fierce.
“Baby, listen to me. That building, that wiring, that whole system? It’s mine.
The sawmill’s my responsibility. Every bolt, every roofline, every fucking volt of electricity running through that place—that’s on me.
If something goes wrong, I’m the one who fixes it. I’m the one who keeps everyone safe.”
Her lip trembles just slightly.
And I want to put my fist through something.
She shouldn’t carry this.
She shouldn’t know what it’s like to assume she’ll be blamed.
“Are you sure?”
“Look at me.”
She does. My heart squeezes.
“I’m sure.”
“Thatcher,” she whimpers.
I want to hug her to me. But I can’t.
There’s no fucking room.
I reach out instead and squeeze her thigh. Then I take her hand in mine.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, reaching across the console to take her hand. “And you’re safe now. You hear me? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
She stares down at our joined hands like she doesn’t quite know what to do with the way I’m holding on.
But she doesn’t pull away.
And that?
That’s a start.
I ease the truck back into gear and keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh.
She doesn’t say anything.
But she leans into the touch. Into me.
And if it takes me the rest of who cares how long to make her believe she’s not a burden, not a problem, not alone—I’ll do it.
Because Willow isn’t just in my world now.
She is my world.