CHAPTER 7
Summer
The mid-morning sun glows soft over the pastures, the kind of winter light that feels fragile, pale and cold against the frost-tipped fence line.
I sit on the porch under a blanket with Lily, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea.
The smell of apple pie drifts through the open kitchen window, and for once, everything feels calm.
Down by the far fence, Ethan is bent over a post, hammer swinging steady, sunlight catching in his hair.
He wipes his brow with the back of his hand, and I catch myself watching the easy way he moves, how his hoodie clings to his broad shoulders, how the muscles in his back shift with every swing.
There’s strength in him, the kind that settles in your bones and makes you feel safer than you probably should.
Lily follows my gaze, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.
“Do you mind if I ask about your parents? Do they know about the fire?” she asks gently, topping off her tea.
“My parents and I aren’t on speaking terms.” I pause, the words thick on my tongue. “They wanted me to stay with my husband after I told them he was cheating and… well, let’s just say they care more about their money and reputation than they do about Mia and me.”
Lily places her warm hand over mine and squeezes. “We don’t get to choose our parents, but we do get to choose our found family. And Josh and me, and all my kids, we’d love to be that for you and Mia.”
Emotion burns behind my eyes. “I’d love that.” My voice cracks. I shake my head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repay your family for everything you’re doing…”
Lily shakes her head firmly. “You’re family. Family helps family. There’s nothing to repay. You just concentrate on Mia’s happiness and your own. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”
I smile at her, fragile but genuine, and we both look out over the land.
This place really knows how to wow you, the stretch of pale golden fields, the distant mountains dusted with early snow, the herd grazing lazily beneath that soft winter sun.
Peaceful. Healing. Like the world pauses here just long enough to let you rebuild.
The distant crunch of tires on gravel breaks the stillness.
Lily’s head turns toward the driveway just as Cas’s patrol truck pulls in.
He steps out, hat low against the glare, face unreadable.
My stomach dips. Something about the way he shuts the truck door, slow, deliberate, tells me this isn’t a friendly visit.
“Everything okay, Cas?” Lily asks quietly, but he only gives her a small, somber nod.
“Mama,” he murmurs, voice low. “Mind if I have a word with Summer?”
The air tightens. Lily looks between us, then pats my knee. “I’ll go check on the pies I have in the oven for tonight’s dinner,” she says softly before slipping inside.
Cas climbs the porch steps and leans against the railing, the boards creaking under his weight. “I got the official report from the fire investigator,” he says quietly.
The warmth drains from my hands, tea forgotten.
“The fire…?” My voice barely makes it out.
Cas nods. “They found the point of origin. Faulty wiring behind the kitchen wall. Old, ungrounded aluminum wiring. The report says there were signs of previous arcing, this wasn’t new. Your landlord should’ve had it replaced years ago.”
I just stare at him. For a moment, I can’t even breathe. Then the words settle in, piece by piece.
It wasn’t my fault.
The stove I thought I’d left on.
The candle I worried over.
All the guilt I’ve been carrying like a stone in my gut.
None of it.
My throat burns. “So you’re saying… it was his fault?”
Cas’s eyes soften. “Yeah. And you and Mia are lucky to be alive.”
Lucky.
The word hits hard. All I can see is the firelight flashing through smoke, Mia’s tiny voice screaming while I clawed at a burning door. Ethan shouting our names. The heat. The terror.
Anger spikes through my chest, hot, sudden.
Footsteps thud across the porch. Ethan appears at the top of the steps, breath sharp. “Cas? What’s going on?”
Cas glances at him, hesitant. “The report’s back. The fire started because of bad wiring, landlord’s negligence.”
I watch Ethan’s face shift, jaw tightening, eyes narrowing, fist forming at his side.
“Negligence?” he repeats, voice low and dangerous.
Cas nods. “Yeah. Looks like the circuit behind the kitchen outlets overloaded. It’s been a hazard for a while.”
Ethan exhales hard through his nose, turning away like he’s trying to rein it in. But his voice comes out like gravel. “You mean to tell me that sorry bastard knew that place was unsafe?”
Cas opens his mouth to answer, but the rumble of an old engine cuts him off. A rusted pickup pulls in behind the patrol truck. A wiry, balding man steps out, clutching his hat.
Mr. Henson.
My landlord.
He looks smaller than I remember, bowing his head and avoiding Ethan’s eyes like he already knows what’s coming.
“Summer,” he calls, voice trembling. “I…I came by to talk. I heard Cas got the report.”
Cas shifts, hand settling near his belt. “Now might not be the best time, Jim.”
“I just want to say I’m sorry,” Henson stammers, climbing the steps. “I never meant for this to happen. I didn’t know the wiring was that bad. It’s an old place, you know how it is…”
“Old place?” Ethan’s voice slices through the air, quiet but razor-sharp. “You rented it to a single mom and her little girl knowing damn well it wasn’t safe.”
Henson lifts his hands. “Now, wait just a minute…”
But Ethan steps forward before anyone can stop him. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t cuss. He just moves, one heartbeat, two, and then he grabs Henson by his coat lapels and slams him against the wall.
“You know how it is?” Ethan growls, voice lethal. “You fucking serious right now? I found Mia just in time. She was so scared.”
His voice cracks, just a little, and something inside me twists.
Henson’s eyes go wide with fear. Cas lunges forward, grabbing Ethan by the shoulders and yanking him back. “That’s enough!” His voice carries the weight of his badge and the authority of a brother.
Henson stumbles, pale. “You…you’re out of your damn mind! I’ll sue you!”
Ethan’s chest heaves. “You could’ve killed them, you bastard.”
For a second, everything freezes. The wind cuts through the bare trees. Henson wheezes. The porch feels too small for all the fury hanging in the air.
Cas steps between them. “Jim, go home. I’ll be by later to take your statement.” Then he turns to Ethan, voice quieter but sharp. “And you, go home, cool off. This is not the way.”
Ethan doesn’t look at him. His gaze is fixed on me, still burning, but beneath it... worry.
Henson mutters curses as he hurries to his truck and drives off.
Cas sighs. “I’ll file this as a warning,” he says, more to Ethan than me. “But don’t make me choose between you and my badge.” His tone softens when he looks at me. “Summer, I’ll see you at dinner. Penny can’t wait to see you.” Then he heads to his patrol truck and drives away.
Silence settles over the porch, thick and heavy.
I look at Ethan’s clenched fist. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say softly.
He shakes his head. “Yeah, I did.”
I set my tea down and step closer, close enough to see the faint tremor in his hands, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the storm still fading in his green eyes. “He’s not worth it, Ethan,” I whisper. “You already saved us once.”
Something eases in him, just a little. Like sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.
He nods once, slow. Exhales. “I’d do it again,” he says.
And I know he means it. Every word.
“Summer,” he says quietly, voice gentler now. “I went by your home yesterday. I wanted to see if I could find some of your things… but it’s all burned. I’m sorry.” His hand settles on my shoulder, warm, steady.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I imagined it would be.”
Ethan nods, steps off the porch, and walks to his truck. When he returns, he’s carrying a large bag.
“I thought you might need some clothes today,” he says, offering it to me. “So I brought you some of mine. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, Ethan, you didn’t have to…”
“It’s just some hoodies.” He smiles faintly. “Grace loves to steal them, so I figured you could borrow a few for now.”
I pull one out, soft and oversized, and the scent hits me instantly, laundry soap mixed with sandalwood and spice, a fragrance that is purely him.
“Thank you,” I say, staring at the fabric instead of his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it.” He tips his hat, gives me one last look, something unreadable flickering across his face, then turns and walks back toward his truck.