"Yeah," I whispered. "Home."
I settled back in the chair, prepared to sit there as long as it took. The cabin was quiet except for her breathing and the soft crackle of the fire Louisa had built. This little sanctuary on my land, close enough to protect, private enough to heal.
Outside, five hundred acres of my own Texas soil spread out under the morning sun, with the Blackwood ranch's fivethousand acres beyond that. My family was already circling the wagons—I'd heard Clay's truck earlier, knew Wyatt would be checking fence lines. The Blackwoods protected their own.
And Stephy was one of ours now, whether she knew it or not.
Chapter 6
Liam
Day one, she didn't move.
Not once. Not even to shift positions. She stayed exactly how I'd left her—curled on her side like a wounded animal, my hand clutched against her chest like a lifeline, her breathing so deep and even it was like watching someone drown in sleep. The afternoon light filtered through the oak trees outside, casting dancing shadows across her face, making the bruises look like watercolor paintings of violence—purple bleeding into black, edges tinged yellow-green like a sunset in reverse.
I tried to leave once to grab water. The second my hand slipped from hers, she made this sound—not quite a whimper, not quite a word, but something primitive and desperate that hit me in the gut. Her fingers searched the empty space, frantic even in sleep, until I gave her my hand back. Her whole body relaxed the moment we reconnected, like I was the only thing anchoring her to safety.
So I stayed. Six hours in that chair, watching dust motes dance in the light, listening to her breathe, feeling the occasionaltremor run through her even in unconsciousness. My back ached, my arm went numb from the angle, but I didn't move. Couldn't move. Not when she needed me to be her touchstone.
Louisa arrived as the sun started its descent, painting the cabin walls gold. She moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who'd navigated crisis before—soft footsteps, gentle movements, a tray balanced perfectly despite the tears I saw her blink back when she got her first good look at Stephy's battered face.
"How long has she been out?" Louisa asked quietly, setting down the tray with homemade soup that smelled like comfort, water in a glass with a straw, crackers arranged neat as soldiers, and tea still steaming.
"Since we got here this morning." I kept my voice low, watching Stephy's face for any sign of waking. "She hasn't moved. Not once."
Louisa studied her with that mother's eye she'd developed raising five kids through everything from broken bones to broken hearts. Her hand hovered over Stephy's forehead, not quite touching, like she could assess by proximity alone. "Her body's protecting her. Sometimes when trauma's too big, the brain just... shuts down. Gives itself time to process what the conscious mind can't handle."
"Should I wake her?"
"Let's try." Louisa sat on the edge of the bed, her weight barely denting the mattress, her hand gentle as morning rain on Stephy's shoulder. "Sweetheart? Can you wake up for just a minute? You need to eat something."
Stephy's eyelids fluttered like moth wings, opened halfway. Her eyes were unfocused, confused, pupils dilated like she was looking at something none of us could see.
"There you are," Louisa said softly, her voice carrying that particular warmth that had helped heal two orphaned kids allthose years ago. "I'm Louisa, Liam's aunt. You're safe, honey. But you need to eat a little something. Can you do that?"
Stephy's eyes found mine, and the relief in them nearly broke me. I squeezed her hand, careful of the bruises ringing her wrist like a bracelet of violence. "Just a few sips of soup, Steph. Then you can go back to sleep."
She nodded, and managed maybe four spoonfuls of broth before her eyes closed again, but it was something. Proof of life. Proof she was still in there somewhere. Louisa tucked the quilt around her—one of her good ones, the double wedding ring pattern she'd made when Wyatt was born—satisfied with even this small victory.
"I called Doc," she said as we stepped onto the porch, the evening air cool against my face after the warm closeness of the guest room. "He said this is normal. After what she's been through, her mind needs to retreat for a while. But we need to wake her every few hours, get some fluids and food in her. Keep the body going while the mind heals."
"I can do that."
"I know you can, honey." She patted my cheek, her hand smelling like lavender soap and soup stock. "But you're not doing it alone. That's not how this family works."
Day two was a rhythm of sleep and brief wakings.
Every three hours, someone would gently rouse her. The routine became a kind of ritual—soft voice, gentle touch, patient coaxing. She'd surface just enough to drink water through a straw, manage a few bites of something soft—applesauce that Louisa had made from the ranch's own trees, yogurt Sophia brought, more of that endless soup—then slide back under like she was diving for pearls in dark water.
Sophia arrived for the afternoon shift in her scrubs, just off her shift at the hospital. The exhaustion from a twelve-hour shift in the ER disappeared the moment she saw Stephy.
"Oh, Liam," she breathed, taking in the bruises, the shallow breathing, the way Stephy clutched my hand even unconscious.
But then my sister transformed. This wasn't the girl who'd cried on my shoulder after bad dates—this was Nurse Walker, professional and competent. She checked Stephy's pulse with practiced fingers, noted her breathing rate, gently examined the bruises with the clinical detachment she'd learned in nursing school.
"Her vitals are strong," she said, shifting into the reassuring tone she used with patients' families. "Her body's doing what it needs to do. The bruising looks worse than it is—no signs of internal bleeding, breathing is regular." She squeezed my shoulder. "She's going to be okay, Liam. I promise. The body knows how to heal. We just have to give it time."
She took over the feeding with an efficiency that made it look easy, getting an entire glass of juice into Stephy with gentle persistence.
