Whatever she’s running from, whatever put that fear in her eyes, I’ll face it with her. I’ll stand between her and anything that tries to hurt her.
Because right now, with Sadie warm and trusting in my arms, I know one thing with absolute certainty.
She’s mine to protect.
And I’m never letting her go.
FIVE
SADIE
The next morning I wake up slowly, wrapped in warmth that feels almost unreal after the freezing night I endured. My body is sore, every muscle aching from the cold and the fall, but the pain is dull now, not sharp. I’m warm. Truly warm. The heavy quilt covers me, and there is a solid, steady heat pressed against my back. A strong arm rests over my waist, holding me close even in sleep.
I blink a few times, trying to remember where I am. Then it all comes back. The storm. The tree. The man who carried me through the snow. Thorne.
I turn my head carefully on the pillow. He’s lying behind me, his face relaxed in sleep, dark hair slightly tousled. His breathing is deep and even. In the soft morning light he looks different than he did in the chaos of the rescue. Strong. Calm. Safe. My heart does a strange little flip at the sight of him. I have never woken up next to a man before, let alone one who carried me out of a blizzard and brought me to safety.
Thorne stirs. His eyes open slowly and meet mine. For a moment we just look at each other. Then the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, gentle smile that makes my heart nearly melt.
“Morning,” he says, voice low and rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I whisper back. My cheeks feel warm. I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are, of his arm still draped over me, and of the way my body fits against his. I feel nervous around him in a way I can’t quite explain. Not scared. Just… aware. Like every nerve is tuned to his presence.
He shifts slightly, giving me a little space but not pulling away completely. “How do you feel?”
“Sore,” I admit. “But warm. Much better than last night.”
“Good.” He sits up slowly, the quilt falling to his waist. His shoulders are broad, his movements calm and sure. “I’ll make you some breakfast. You need food and more rest.”
I watch him stand and pull on a shirt. He moves with quiet confidence, like he knows exactly what needs to be done. A few minutes later the smell of coffee and something cooking drifts from the kitchen. I sit up carefully, testing my ankle. It protests but holds. I pull the quilt around my shoulders and listen to the soft sounds of him moving around the cabin.
A knock sounds at the door. Thorne answers it, and I hear friendly voices. Harper and Daisy step inside carrying bags. Harper smiles brightly when she sees me.
“Good morning,” she says. “We brought you some clothes and toiletries. Nothing fancy, but they should fit. And some snacks in case you get hungry later.”
Daisy sets a bag on the chair near the bed. “We also have extra blankets and a few books if you want something to read while you rest. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I say, pulling the quilt tighter. “Thank you. Both of you. This is really kind.”
Harper waves it off. “It’s what we do here. You’re safe now. That is what matters.”
Eli arrives a few minutes later with his medical bag. He checks my ankle again, rewraps it carefully, and listens to my breathing. His hands are gentle and professional.
“You’re doing well,” he says. “The ankle needs rest for a few more days, but the hypothermia seems to have passed without any lasting damage. Keep warm and eat plenty. If the pain gets worse, let me know.”
I nod, feeling a strange sense of comfort from the simple check-up. These people barely know me, yet they’re taking care of me like I matter. Like I belong.
After Eli leaves, Harper and Daisy stay a little longer, chatting softly about the mountain, the other women, and the children. Their voices are warm and easy. I listen more than I speak, but I find myself smiling at their stories. Harper tells me about Poppi’s latest antics. Daisy shares how she first came to Haven 7 and how the place grew on her. I like them. I like the way they include me without pushing. For the first time in a long time I feel a sense of community. Like I’m not completely alone anymore.
When they leave, Thorne brings me a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh coffee. He sits on the edge of the bed while I eat, watching me with quiet concern.
“You don’t have to stay in bed all day,” he says. “But take it easy. Your body has been through a lot.”
I nod and take a bite of toast. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“You don’t need to repay anything,” he replies. His voice is steady. “Just focus on getting stronger.”
We spend the rest of the morning quietly. Thorne works on something at the small desk in the corner while I rest on the couch with a book the women gave me. The cabin feels peaceful. Safe. I catch myself watching him more than once. The way his shoulders move when he writes. The quiet focus in his expression. He makes me feel nervous in a fluttering, warm way I’ve never experienced before.
