Chapter 31
THATCHER
Fucking generator is a total loss.
But all I can think is—thank God I saw it go.
Thank God I was watching.
Thank God I got there in time before it spread.
Before it got inside that cabin.
Before she got hurt.
Just the thought of it—of Willow singed, scared, screaming—makes something in me go cold and wild at the same time.
Like I could tear through the forest and level every fucking tree between me and the next possible threat.
I scrub a hand down my face as Tim and I muscle the ruined generator into the truck bed, ready for the dump.
The new one’s ordered, should be here tomorrow if we’re lucky.
Still, nothing about this feels okay.
“Roof’ll need repairing, Boss,” Mack says, wiping snow off his gloves. “Not a total cave-in, but there’s damage. Snow got in.”
I nod, jaw tight.
I know.
I saw it when I checked the attic this morning. Insulation wet. Beams compromised.
The whole thing feels tainted to me now.
Like the place betrayed her.
Like it almost cost me something I can’t afford to lose.
I want to burn the damn thing to the ground. Start over. Build something better, stronger, safer.
I won’t.
I know how that would look. Crazy. Unhinged.
But God help me, I still want to.
It’s been hours since I saw her, and my chest tightens with the need to get back.
I grunt a few quick orders to the crew, then toss my gloves in the cab and make my way to the office.
My pace picks up with every step.
Urgency coiling tighter in my gut like my body knows what it’s walking toward.
Knows who it’s about to see.
I don’t just want to see her. I need to.
Need the sound of her voice, her scent in the air, her smile—fuck, even just the sight of her hands, moving through the space like she belongs there.
Like she belongs to me.
Because she does.
She belongs.
I reach the door and swing it open—and stop.
She’s behind the desk, tears in her eyes, clutching a pair of boots to her chest like someone just handed her the moon.
Shit. I wanted to be here when she got them, but I honestly forgot.
Greyson must’ve dropped them off early.
Slipped in and out while I was distracted, the sneaky bastard.
My heart stutters at the sight of her. The boots. Her face.
And then she looks up.
Eyes wide. Glassy. Beautiful.
And she’s moving. Rushing me.
I barely have a second to open my arms before she’s in them—wrapping around me like I’m the only safe place in the world.
My arms lock tight around her, anchoring her to me.
“Hey,” I whisper, kissing her temple.
“Thank you,” she murmurs against my neck, voice thick and trembling. “Thank you so much. I-I’ll pay you back, I swear—”
“No.” I pull back just enough to cup her cheeks, my voice low and rough. “You’ll do no such thing, Baby Girl. They’re a gift.”
“But why?” Her eyebrows draw together, lips trembling. “You didn’t even know me when you ordered them.”
Goddamn.
If she only knew.
Because you’re mine. I knew it the second you walked into my mill.
But I don’t say that. Not yet.
Instead, I brush my thumb across her cheek and I kiss her—slow and sure and meant to brand her right to the bone.
She kisses me back, and I feel her melt again. Just a little.
“Try them on,” I murmur.
She nods, sniffling, and sits down at her desk. I can see she’s about to undo her sneakers—those battered, broken-down excuses for shoes—and I can’t fucking take it.
I kneel.
Right in front of her.
“Let me.”
She makes a small noise—half surprise, half protest—but she lets me.
I untie her old sneakers, pull them off gently, noticing the threadbare socks beneath. My gut twists.
She didn’t tell me how bad things were. But she didn’t have to.
I slide the boots on, careful with every touch.
She doesn’t flinch.
Just watches me like she can’t believe I’m real.
“Did he tell you? Steel toes. Waterproof. Wool lining. And they’ve got your name all over them,” I say, patting her ankle as I tie the last lace.
She stands. Takes a few slow steps, then turns to face me with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.
“Thatcher,” she breathes. “They feel amazing. And warm.”
I smile back, my chest full and aching.
It shouldn’t feel this good—to give her something so small.
But it does.
Because it’s not just boots.
It’s care. It’s attention. It’s proof she matters.
And God help me, I want to give her everything.