Chapter 7
Penelope
The morning sun spills over the mountains as I sit on the porch, steam curling from my coffee mug, when Cas’s truck rumbles to a stop in front of the B&B.
He steps out, every bit as put-together as I remember: his sheriff’s uniform crisp and tan, the badge catching the sunlight, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal tanned, muscled forearms. His Stetson shades his eyes, but not the easy confidence that radiates from him.
Too early for anyone to look this… perfect, I think, feeling my chest flutter. He stands with one hand hooked casually on his belt, the other resting near the truck, and stares at me. I squirm on the porch swing, heart thudding.
“Mornin’, Sunset,” his voice is low and warm, the kind of voice that slides under your skin.
“Hi,” I murmur, setting my mug down and grabbing my purse, trying to steady my hands as I step down the porch stairs toward his truck.
“You ready?” His voice is soft but carries that quiet authority I’ve come to recognize, the kind that makes you trust him without even thinking about it.
I nod, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes find mine as I reach the truck, and my cheeks betray me with a flush. Get a grip, Penny, I scold myself silently. You’re acting like a fourteen-year-old with a crush.
“Yeah… as ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, swallowing hard. Thinking about the restraining order feels like plunging into ice water.
He opens the truck door for me, a practiced, careful motion.
“Hey,” Cas murmurs as he helps me in, his thumb brushing briefly against mine, “you’re taking your life back today.” The warmth behind his words sinks straight into me, and I nod, trying to believe it.
The drive to Joe’s mechanic shop winds through Lander’s sleepy streets, golden morning light streaming across the dashboard and dust motes dancing in the beams. Cas hums along to the radio, some old, gravelly country song, and I find myself stealing glances at him, at the way his jaw tightens slightly when he hits a turn, the easy way his shoulders rest back against the seat.
His scent drifts in waves: pine, fresh soap, something purely Cas.
Sitting next to him, I feel a surprising sense of calm.
◆◆◆
Joe’s shop smells like oil, coffee, and old wood, the kind of scent that clings to a place built on decades of work and trust. When we pull in, the big garage door is half open, sunlight spilling across the concrete floor. Joe wipes his hands on a rag and nods toward Cas.
“Morning, Sheriff. Penny, your tire’s been replaced, and I put a spare in the trunk. Checked your oil too, it was bad, so I changed it. Runs smoother than a mountain stream now.”
The tension in my chest finally eases, a quiet relief washing over me. “Thank you, Joe.”
I square my shoulders for the next question, already knowing I’ll need to leave the car with Joe until I find a job and have enough money to pay him. “How much do I owe you?”
“Already taken care of,” Joe says, jerking his chin toward Cas.
Cas smirks, that infuriatingly calm, confident look that says he knows exactly what I’m about to say.
“Cas, no!” I protest, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You and your family have already done too much. I can’t let you pay for this.”
That sheriff’s steadiness is right there in his eyes, patient, firm, unyielding. “You’ll need a car if you want to find a job, Sunset. Let me take care of this now and help you get back on your feet.”
I cross my arms, trying to look stubborn even though part of me just wants to melt into the safety of his tone. “Okay, but I’m paying you back every penny!” I sigh, defeated but grateful. “My first paycheck is going straight to you,” I mutter.
Cas’s lips twitch into a half-smile. “I just want to help you, Penny.”
I shake my head, heart thudding. “Can I at least know how much I owe you?”
Instead of answering, Cas moves around to open my car door, always the gentleman, always in control of the moment. “How about you let me buy you a coffee and some sweets after we finish at the courthouse,” he says, his voice softening. “I’ll have Joe mail me the receipt.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide the faint curve of a smile that sneaks onto my face.
“Okay,” I sigh, suddenly aware of what I’m about to do. “I’m nervous about the restraining order.”
Cas’s gaze sharpens, warmth laced with steel. “Yeah, I understand,” he says, lowering his voice. “Think of it as another wall you’re putting between him and you.”
I nod, still wary, my hands fisting lightly in my lap as I settle into the seat. Cas leans a little closer, voice low but steady. “Let’s go and make sure you’re safe.”
◆◆◆
The courthouse in Lander isn’t large, but it’s solid, brick and glass, the flag outside snapping softly in the wind. Inside, the scent of paper, coffee, and old wood lingers in the still air. My palms are slick with sweat as we approach the clerk’s counter.
Cas leans forward with that easy familiarity of his. “Morning, Tom. How’s Katie doing?”
The clerk, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a coffee stain on his shirt pocket, brightens instantly. “She’s good, Sheriff. Tell your mama we’re still coming by for pie next Sunday.”
Cas chuckles, low and easy. “She’ll be waitin’.”
The exchange is simple, ordinary… but it settles something deep inside me. Everyone here seems to know Cas. They all respect him, trust him. Somehow, that makes me feel safer too.
Cas turns to me. “This is Penny. She’s here to file for a restraining order.”
Tom’s gaze flickers to my face, pausing on the fading bruises.
His expression softens. “The case would be stronger if you had some pictures to go with it, but I understand if you’re not feeling like it.
It’s up to you.” He says gently, giving me a reassuring smile.
Cas looks at me for an answer, and I nod, unable to speak with the lump in my throat.
“You still have that Polaroid, Tom?” Cas asks.
“Sure do.” Tom bends to rummage through a drawer, then hands Cas the camera. “If you want, you can use that room over there … it’s empty.” He nods toward a side door on the left. “Take your time.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I follow Cas into a small meeting room that smells faintly of ink and cardboard boxes. A long table sits in the middle, surrounded by mismatched chairs. A projector hangs crookedly from the ceiling.
Cas hesitates, voice low. “Do you want me to call for a female officer?”
I shake my head, clearing my throat. “I trust you.”
He swallows hard, nodding. “I’ve only seen the bruises on your face and neck, Penny, but… if there are others…”
Dread fills me. I never wanted Cas to see this. “I have some on my back and ribs,” I say quietly, voice cracking. “Let’s just get it over with.”
My fingers tremble as I unbutton my blouse and slip off my camisole. The air feels cold against my skin. I stare at the floor, standing there in my bra and jeans, feeling small and exposed.
Cas draws in a sharp breath. When I look up, his eyes are locked on the bruises along my ribs, the dark fingerprints, the marks that tell the story I never wanted to tell. His jaw tightens, fury simmering just below the surface.
He lifts the camera, the click breaking the silence and making me tense. The photo slides out slowly. He sets it on the table, then looks back at me, anger shifting into something fiercer, steadier. Not pity. Determination.
“He’s never touching you again,” he says, voice low and rough, and the promise in it makes me shiver.
I swallow hard. “I have some on my back too,” I whisper.
Cas nods and steps closer as I turn around, waiting for the next click so that I can cover up again, but instead I feel warmth surround me, his nearness, his scent of pine and soap grounding me.
Then a single, gentle touch: his fingertip tracing the bruises on my shoulders, one by one, slowly, down the curve of my spine.
“Sunset…” His voice cracks close to my ear. “I’m so sorry he did this to you.”
Tears sting my eyes. It’s the way he touches me… careful, reverent, like I might break if he’s not gentle enough. My throat tightens too much to speak.
“You’re so strong,” Cas murmurs, his touch lingering a second longer on the bruise Mark’s shoe left on my side before he steps back. I hold my breath as the click of the camera fills the silence again.
“I don’t feel strong,” I whisper.
“You got out. You took control. That’s not just strong, Sunset. That’s a true fighter.”
I wipe my tears away and pull my blouse back on, hands still shaking. I turn back to him, his eyes wild and unreadable, like a storm contained behind a calm surface.
“My face now?” My voice cracks.
Cas takes two steps forward. He slowly wipes my tears away with his thumb, his eyes locked on mine. “He’ll never lay a hand on you again.”
More tears fall. He wipes those away too, then steps back, lifts the camera, and takes the final shot.
The hum of the picture rolling out is the only sound in the room as we stare at each other.
I can’t name what I feel… anger at Mark for what he’s done to me, fear of what might come next, shame that Cas has seen the evidence of my weakness. And somewhere deep beneath it all, anger at myself … for ever letting a man like Mark make me believe I deserved it.
We step back into the hallway. I pull my jacket around me while Cas hands the photos to Tom.
“Here they are,” Cas says quietly.
Tom takes them without looking at them and puts them in a file, his expression softening further. “Of course.” He slides a few papers across the counter. “You’ll need to fill these out. Here’s a pen.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, sitting down to write. My hand trembles slightly with every stroke of the pen.
Mark will know now, I think. He’ll know I’m in Wyoming. The thought sends a chill through me.
Cas notices immediately. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice low. “Look at me.”
I lift my eyes to his.
“You’re safe here,” he says, firm but gentle. “He’s not getting near you again. I won’t let him.”
There’s something unshakable in his gaze, a promise that wraps around me like forged armor. His words steady the storm roaring inside, and I finally let myself breathe.
Once I finish the paperwork, Cas walks with me down the hall to a small hearing room where a judge reviews the forms and glances at the photos. The judge, a gray-haired woman with glasses perched low on her nose, looks up in recognition.
“Sheriff Hawthorne,” she says warmly, then looks down at the papers in her hand. “Is Miss Lawson a friend of yours?”
“Mine and my family’s, Judge,” Cas replies with that steady tone of his.
Her gaze shifts to me, softening. “You’re doing the right thing, dear.
We’ll issue a temporary order today. He won’t be able to come near you or contact you in any way.
” My throat tightens as she signs the papers.
The scratch of her pen feels louder than it should…
final, definitive. Just like that, I’m one step closer to being free.
◆◆◆
When we step outside, the crisp mountain air hits my face, cool and sharp. I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs. “Thank you, Cas. I couldn’t have done that alone.”
He adjusts his hat, eyes lingering on mine. “You don’t have to thank me, Penny. I just want you to know you’ve got people here who care about you, people who are going to make sure you’re okay.”
I look away from his knowing eyes, swallowing hard, and nod.
As promised, we stop by Sugar & Spice. The bell over the door jingles softly, and the smell of cinnamon, coffee, and baked apples wraps around me like a blanket.
Summer spots us immediately. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer and the sheriff,” she teases, her grin bright until her gaze catches on my blotchy face. “What happened?”
I glance at Cas, then back at her. My voice comes out quiet but steady. “I filed the restraining order today.”
Summer’s expression softens. She steps out from behind the counter and pulls me into a hug that’s all warmth and smells like cinnamon. “I’m so proud of you, Penny.”
Her words land deep, pride, not pity, and something in my chest loosens.
Cas stands nearby, hat in hand, a small, approving smile curving his lips.
“She deserves some sweets and a good coffee,” he says.
Summer grins. “I’ve got just the thing, those apple cinnamon buns you liked so much yesterday.” She slides them onto a plate and sets it in front of us, followed by two steaming pumpkin spice lattes.
“That was the hardest part,” Cas says quietly once we sit at the counter.
“Yeah,” I breathe, taking off my coat. “I just want to move forward now.”
He nods, then reaches across the counter, his hand warm as it closes gently over mine. “Your life’s like a blank canvas now,” he says, voice low and certain. “You decide what you paint on it. Choose the colors that fit you, that make you happy and make it yours.”
I look at him, and my heart squeezes at the difference between him and Mark. Cas builds people up. He encourages, steadies, strengthens. Mark only ever tore me down, piece by piece, until I couldn’t see myself anymore.
“You’re a good man, Cas Hawthorne,” I whisper.
He opens his mouth to reply, but Summer returns right then, setting the pastries and lattes in front of us with a wink. “There you go. Eat up! You’ve both earned it.” She flashes a grin and moves to help another customer.
I smile, trying to lighten the weight between us. “I think Summer’s trying to give us diabetes.”
Cas chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. “If this is how I go, at least I’ll die happy, cinnamon and sugar in hand.”
I laugh, and the sound feels good, clean, like the air outside.
For now, that’s enough.