Chapter 7
Kelly
My legs feel like jelly when I take J.T.’s hand.
He doesn’t tug.
He doesn’t rush.
He just waits until my fingers curl around his, then pulls me up and leads me toward the dance floor like he’s been doing it his whole life.
There’s a band playing something slow and country.
They’re good. I can tell by the way the room hums along.
But I couldn’t tell you the name of the song if you put a gun to my head.
Not when J.T. pulls me into him.
His body is big. Hard. Solid as a damn oak tree.
One hand settles at my waist, the other keeps mine captive pressed against his chest, and he moves with a practiced ease that leaves me breathless.
“You’re surprisingly light on your feet, J.T.,” I murmur, trying to steady myself. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
His gaze narrows.
“Why? You think I’m too old to dance?”
There’s something under the words.
Not anger.
Vulnerability.
I shake my head immediately.
“No. I thought maybe you were too tough. Too masculine.”
His mouth curves slightly.
“Tough men can dance, Kelly.”
He shifts his hips—just slightly—and the contact changes everything.
Heat spreads through me.
He is rugged. Handsome. Commanding.
But when he smiles?
Lord, help me.
He’s devastating.
“Your eyes are green,” I murmur, startled by the realization.
I never noticed before. Not really.
“And yours are cerulean blue,” he says quietly. “Beautiful.”
The word hits harder than it should.
He pulls me closer.
Closer to his body.
To his heat.
To the steady thrum of power rolling off him in waves.
And the rest of the room fades.
The clink of silverware.
The murmur of lumber prices and contracts.
The smell of whiskey and cologne.
The voices bickering as discussions start about the usual things.
Lumber prices. Waste management. Deforestation. The government.
I don’t hear any of it.
Because right now? The whole world all narrows down to this man and the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Kelly,” he says low, his mouth near my temple. “I’m not trying to rush you. But I made you an offer the other day.”
I nod.
Fuck, I know he did.
That indecent proposal has been keeping me up at night.
“C-can we…” My voice trembles. I hate that it does. “Can we go over it again?”
He nods without hesitation.
Warm breath brushes my cheek.
We’re so close I can feel his heartbeat.
Strong.
Steady.
My knees wobble.
J.T. is out of my experience.
Power clings to him like a second skin. Not loud power. Not flashy.
Controlled.
Unparalleled.
He is a force to be reckoned with. Some say the mountain itself caves to him.
“You said I would be safe,” I begin carefully. “Provided for. Under your protection.”
He nods once. “That’s right.”
“And you said all you want is me.”
Another nod.
His eyes never leave mine.
It’s truth time.
“I got word today,” I say, my throat tightening, “when I dropped Evan off at his grandparents’ house.”
The words taste like fear.
But I force them out.
“Mike is getting married. To Stormee. His parents mentioned that he wants to see Evan. That he’s thinking about joint custody.” My voice shakes. “He wants me to move to Arizona. That’s where he lives now. He’s saying I have no reason to stay here and he thinks a judge can make us.”
My chest feels like it’s caving in.
“He’s saying it would be better for Evan to have two parents in one place. That he can provide a more stable home then I can.”
The audacity of it makes my stomach turn.
The idea of my son being dragged across the country because my ex decided to reinvent himself with a woman half my age and with my money that he stole—I swallow hard.
J.T.’s breath catches. His arms tighten slightly around me.
Not crushing.
Steadying.
But he doesn’t interrupt.
He waits.
I take a breath that feels like it scrapes my lungs raw.
“I spoke to my lawyer before I came tonight,” I confess. “Judges favor stability. They favor married households. Two-parent homes.”
The implication hangs between us.
“I just need to be sure,” I whisper. “When you say this is a proposal… I need to know what you mean.”
Because maybe he just wants me in his bed.
Maybe he wants the Sawmill Jill for a night or two.
And God help me, the idea of this man wanting me like that is enough to make my pulse race.
But I need more than a night.
I need a future.
I need protection for my son.
I need something real.
He goes very still.
“I mean it exactly like you think I do,” he says, voice low and unshakable. “Marry me, Kelly.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“Let me have you,” he continues. “Let me stand beside you. I’ll take care of this. I swear it.”
We stop moving.
The music keeps playing.
But we’re frozen in the center of it.
He doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t soften the intensity.
He’s offering himself like a contract.
Like a vow.
And I realize something terrifying.
I don’t just want his protection.
I want him.
His strength. His steadiness. The way he looks at me like I’m something worth fighting for.
Before I can talk myself out of it—before fear can crawl back in and tell me I’m crazy—I nod.
Small.
But certain.
“I need you to answer in words, Honey.”
“Yes,” I breathe—no hesitation this time.
And for the first time since my marriage fell apart—I’m standing at the edge of something that feels reckless and real, and it has nothing to do with the man who broke me… and everything to do with the man who just claimed he wants to marry me.
The only question left is whether I can step into this without shrinking myself to fit it.
Because the truth?
I want J.T. Lawrence.
Not for safety. Not for leverage.
For the man himself.
And wanting him this much feels like standing too close to a flame—warm, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.