He releases my hand and steps back, the distance between us settling into place again. Not healed. Not even close. But maybe not beyond repair either.
Mrs. Garrison approaches with a box of donated clothes, and the moment ends. But warmth settles in my chest despite it all.
The afternoon passes faster than expected, and I find myself laughing at Ellen Mackenzie’s story about her cat destroying a batch of cinnamon rolls. Discussing gardening tips with Mrs. Peterson, who seems to have thawed toward me after watching me work. Even Mrs. Garrison manages a grudging compliment about my organizational system. I’m not naive enough to think they’ve accepted me back into the group. The whispers haven’t stopped entirely, and I catch sideways glances when they think I’m not looking. But there’s a crack in the wall of judgment. A possibility of something other than complete ostracism.
It’s more than I hoped for.
I’m helping my father stack empty boxes when the fellowship hall door opens, and the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
Calder.
He fills the doorway like a storm cloud, all broad shoulders and barely contained tension. Those icy-blue eyes sweep the room once, twice, then lock onto me with an intensity that makes my pulse jump. He’s furious. I can see it in the set of hisjaw, the rigid line of his spine, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.
Behind him, Levi hovers with an expression that sayssorry, I tried.
“Time to go.” Calder’s voice is quiet. Controlled. Dangerous.
The women in the room have gone silent again, watching this play out with barely concealed fascination. My father takes a step forward, positioning himself slightly between my husband and me.
“She’s welcome to stay,” he says, and there’s steel beneath his gentle tone. “This is still her church.”
Calder’s gaze flicks to my father, a complicated look passing between them. Two men who care for me in their own ways, both trying to protect me from threats they define differently.
“It’s time to go.” Calder’s eyes return to mine. “We have dinner plans.”
“I’m not finished here.”
“Saint.” Just my name, but weighted with warning.
I look at my father. To the women who’ve watched this entire exchange. At the fellowship hall that represents everything I used to be, everything I’m trying to hold on to.
Then I look at Calder. At the man who branded me, who imprisoned me, who kissed me like I was precious, who promised to protect me from his own family. My husband. My captor. My everything that defies easy definition.
“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad.” I squeeze his hand. “For the Saturday sale.” I doubt I’ll be here with that look on Calder’s face, but it feels good to feel like I’m making a choice for myself.
My father’s eyebrows rise in a silent question:Are you sure?
I nod because I am. Whatever punishment waits for me in Calder’s truck, whatever lecture or argument or cold silence, it was worth it. This afternoon was worth it. Feeling like myself was worth it.
I walk toward Calder with my head high.
His hand closes around my elbow as I reach him, firm but not bruising. We walk out together, past Levi’s apologetic shrug, past the staring townspeople, past the church where I spent every Sunday of my childhood before everything changed.
The truck is parked at the curb. Calder opens my door without a word, waits for me to climb in, then circles to the driver’s side.
As we pull away from the church, I catch a glimpse of my father in the rearview mirror. He’s standing on the steps, watching us go, and even from this distance, I can see the worry etched into his features.
I’ll make it right, I think. Whatever it costs.
Calder doesn’t speak until we’re clear of town, the ranch road stretching ahead of us empty and private. When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is dangerously soft.
“Care to explain what the hell you were thinking?”
I turn to face him, meeting those winter eyes without flinching. “I was thinking that I’m tired of being treated like a prisoner. I was thinking that I needed to remember who I am. I was thinking that if I spent one more day staring at those walls, I was going to lose my mind. Dinner plans?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “I needed a reason to get you out of there. Things are tenuous right now. This could have caused problems that I don’t have time to fix.”
“I was at a church sale, Calder. Sorting donated paperbacks with older women. The most dangerous thing that happened was Mrs. Garrison’s opinions about my shelving choices. And since you haven’t exactly been forthcoming on your plans, I figured the church was safe enough.”
