I stare at my toast. The jam suddenly looks too red. “So what? I stay here forever?”
“No.” His voice is low and steady. “But we make a plan. We get you back quiet. Maybe I drive you in myself once the pass clears. Drop you somewhere safe—police station, hospital, friend’s place. You report what happened, hand over whatever evidence you’ve got stashed. Let the law handle the rest.”
I shake my head. “They’re connected. My ex—he’s got friends in low places and higher ones. Cops looked the other way more than once.”
Colt’s eyes darken. “Then we find someone who won’t. Or we make sure they can’t touch you before you step foot back in town.” He sighs. “I know the sheriff, Hank, personally. He’s a good friend. I’ve got other friends who can help, like my buddy, Rhett. Served with him back when we were SEALs.”
I search his face. He’s serious. Deadly serious. The same look he had when he said he’d kill anyone who came for me.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper. “Any of it. You’ve already done more than?—”
“Stop.” He leans forward, forearms braced on the table. “You’re here. You’re hurt. You’re scared. And yeah, maybe I could’ve shut the door that night and pretended I never saw you. But I didn’t. And now you’re mine to keep safe until this is over.”
The words land heavy.Mine to keep safe.
Heat prickles behind my eyes—not tears, exactly, just pressure. Gratitude. Something warmer. I reach across the table, hesitant, and cover his hand with mine. His skin is warm and rough. He doesn’t pull away.
“Thank you,” I say again, softer this time.
He turns his hand over, and laces our fingers for one brief second before letting go. “Finish your breakfast. Then we’ll check those bandages again. You’re healing fast—ribs look better already—but I want to make sure nothing’s pulled.”
I nod, picking up the toast and taking a big bite. It’s good—sweet, buttery—but I barely taste it. My mind’s racing ahead to the library, to the kids waiting with their dog-eared chapter books and multiplication flashcards. To June and Evelyn’s worried faces when they see me walk in.
But underneath the worry, there’s something else settling in.
Safety.
Not just from the storm or the men hunting me.
From him.
Colt stands, crossing to the window, and peers out. “Clearing faster than I thought. Sun’s breaking through. By tonight we might see stars.”
I swallow the last bite, and stand too. “Can we go outside? Just for a minute? I need air.”
He studies me, then nods once. “Bundle up. My coat’s by the door. And stay close.”
I pull on his heavy Carhartt—it swamps me, sleeves dangling—and follow him onto the porch.
The cold bites, but it’s clean. Sharp. The world is blinding white, snow glittering under a sky that’s finally blue in patches. The wind is down to a whisper. Pine trees bow under fresh powder, but the ridge is visible now—jagged, endless.
I step to the railing, breathe deep. Colt stays a foot behind me, rifle slung easy over his shoulder like it’s an extension of him.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “When it’s not trying to kill you.”
I turn, and look up at him. Snowflakes catch in his beard, melting against his skin. He looks like he belongs here—solid, rooted, unbreakable.
“I don’t want to drag you into this mess,” I tell him. “But I’m glad I ended up here. With you.”
His gaze softens, just a fraction. “Me too, Willa.”
We stand there a minute longer, the quiet wrapping around us like another blanket.
Then he jerks his chin toward the door. “Inside. Before you freeze again.”
I smile—small and real—and go.
