Page 8 of Stealing the Runaway Bride

I don’t have the words for questions yet.

I grab a plate and pile it high. Juliette hasn’t eaten anything except fear and adrenaline since she climbed into my truck, and feeding her suddenly feels like the most important job I’ve ever been given.

She’s staying.

That’s the only answer anyone needs.

I carry the plate back toward the barn before someone appears and tries to talk sense into me. I don't look back. I don't need to. I know what’s waiting for me in that loft. My future. My redemption.

My woman.

I climb the ladder, my heart pounding. I open the door and see her sitting on the cot, her hair a mess, her dress torn, and her eyes bright with hope.

I set the plate down and walk toward her. I don't say a word. I just take her face in my hands and kiss her. It’s not a soft kiss. It’s hungry and desperate and full of all the things I can't say.

She moans into my mouth, her hands tangling in my hair. She pulls me closer, her body arching against mine.

In this moment, there is no Black Aspen. There is no Conrad Marchand. There are only the two of us, surrounded by old wood, saddle oil, and the fading trace of her magnolia perfume.

I pull back, my forehead resting against hers. Our breaths are coming in short, ragged bursts.

"You're not going anywhere," I growl.

"I don't want to," she whispers.

And that’s all I need to hear.

I spend the next hour watching her eat. It sounds pathetic, but I can't look away. Every move she makes, every bite she takes, it’s like I’m seeing the world for the first time. She tells me about her life in the city, the coldness of her father’s house, the way she was taught to be a perfect ornament. She tells me about her designs, the way she sees the world in textures and colors.

I tell her about the ranch. I tell her about the horses and the way the sun looks when it hits the ridge in the winter. I don't tell her about the woman who left me. I don't need to. That’s a different life. A different man.

We’re interrupted by a knock at the barn door below. I freeze, my hand going to the knife at my belt.

"Cag? You in there?"

It’s Andy. His voice is tense.

"Stay here," I tell Juliette.

I head down the ladder. Andy is standing in the middle of the barn. He’s holding a piece of paper.

"What is it?" I ask.

"The Black Aspen surveyor was seen at the upstream gate this morning," Andy says. "He was taking pictures. And we got this."

He hands me the paper. It’s a formal notice. A demand for the return of Juliette Marchand, signed by her father’s attorneys. It mentions "unlawful detention."

My blood turns to ice.

"They know she’s here," Andy says.

"Let them come," I say, crumpling the paper in my hand.

"Cag, they’re threatening to shut off the western wells by the end of the week if she isn't returned. Dwight’s already seeing stock come in dehydrated. He says the levels are dropping."

I look up at the loft. I can see the shadow of Juliette through the floorboards.

"They’re trying to starve us out," I say.