“… a section of fence went down. One of the herding dogs got hurt.”
My instincts snap forward. “What kind of injury?”
“Laceration to the leg, sounds like. Vet’s stuck on the north road in the storm. Can’t get here until morning.”
“I can help.”
His eyes sharpen. “You have animal experience?”
A cold draft slides down my spine. Too much truth in one answer. “I’ve worked with animals,” I say cautiously. “Enough to help.”
If there’s one thing I still trust myself with, it’s a creature in pain.
He nods. Accepting without prying.
Wyatt pulls out, checking both directions twice. Snow flurries catch in the headlights, swirling like the world is exhaling.
For a few minutes, we ride in silence. It’s not awkward. More like… calibrating.
I study him from the corner of my eye. One hand on the wheel, fingers steady. Relaxed posture, but alert. Competent.
My bones react before my brain can scold them.
“You did well in there,” he says finally.
His voice shouldn’t feel like touch. But it does.
I let out a breath. “I stood still and didn’t cry. That’s not exactly impressive.”
He glances at me briefly. “You held your ground in a vulnerable situation. That’s impressive. Most people don’t know how to stand in the light without flinching.”
Heat crawls up my throat. “I didn’t feel steady.”
“You didn’t have to,” he says quietly. “You just had to stay standing. You did.”
Why does that feel like praise I’ve been starving for?
I look out the window, hiding the flush. Snow swallows the world beyond the beams of the headlights, turning trees into shifting ghosts. My fingers twitch in my lap, mapping the rhythm of the road, counting turns, landmarks, anything that might help me retrace our path if I had to. I don’t realize I’m doing it until he speaks again.
“You’re watching the road for tails. You clocked every exit in the building. You kept your back to the wall onstage. And when you heard a dog was hurt, you didn’t hesitate.”
He glances at me like he’s piecing together a pattern.
“That tells me two things,” he continues. “One: you’re carrying something heavy. Two: you’re not someone who walks away even when you’re scared.”
My breath hitches. It feels like he’s reading my blueprint.
“Do you analyze all your… companions this much?” I try to joke.
“Only the ones I need to protect,” he says simply.
A quiet beat thickens between us.
Protect. Not own or command.
I glance at him. “What happens now?”
His hands grip the wheel, knuckles white for a second.
