Page 7 of Stealing the Runaway Bride

The weight of the situation starts to settle in as the hours tick by. I can hear the distant sound of a coyote howling in the hills. The ranch is quiet, but it’s a tense silence. I know Andy is still awake. I know he’s probably sitting on the porch with a rifle, watching the road. He’s protecting the family. And I’m protecting her.

My mind spirals. I think about Conrad Marchand. I’ve seen his face in the papers. He’s a man who looks like he’s never been told no. He’s got billions of dollars and a fleet of lawyers. He could make our lives a living hell. He could sue us for kidnapping. He could use his influence to shut down our water supply tomorrow.

But then I look at Juliette. I see the way her hand is tucked under her chin. I remember the way she looked when she said she didn't want to be a transaction.

She’s worth the war.

If Marchand wants her back, he’s going to have to come through me. He’s going to have to step onto Pine Ridge and try to take her. And he’ll find out real quick that a Kramer doesn't back down when someone tries to take what’s his.

I think about the woman who left me at the altar. I wonder if she ever felt the way Juliette does. I wonder if she was just as scared, or if she just didn't love me enough. It doesn't matter anymore. That pain, that hollow ache that’s been my constant companion for three years, is fading. It’s being replaced by something sharper. Something that wants to claim.

Possession.

It’s not a clean emotion. It’s dirty and jagged and it demands everything. It’s the feeling of a wolf guarding its mate. It’s the instinct that says this is the one.

I don't believe in fate. I don't believe in "the one." I believe in work. I believe in the land. I believe in the family I was born into. But looking at Juliette, I feel a shift in the universe. Like a gear finally clicked into place.

I reach for her hand, the one dangling off the side of the cot. I take it in mine. Her fingers are cool. I press a kiss to her knuckles, the sensation of her skin against my lips making my breath hitch.

“Here,” I whisper into the darkness, pressing my lips to her knuckles. “You’re safe with me.”

I spend the rest of the night sitting on the floor, holding her hand and working the knife through the cottonwood. I don't sleep. I don't want to. I want to savor every second of her being here. I want to memorize the way she smells and the way she sighs in her sleep.

When the first light of dawn starts to creep over the horizon, I finally stand up. My legs are stiff, my back aching. I stretch, my joints popping.

Juliette stirs. She opens her eyes, blinking against the light. She looks disoriented for a second, her gaze darting around the room. Then she sees me.

She smiles.

It’s a small, shy thing, but it hits me like a physical blow to the chest. My heart stutters. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

"Good morning," she says, her voice thick with sleep.

"Morning," I say. I clear my throat, trying to find my voice. "How do you feel?"

"Safe," she says.

She says it with so much conviction that it humbles me. She trusts me. She has no reason to, but she does.

"Hungry?" I ask.

"Starving."

"Stay here. I’ll go get some food from the main house. I’ll bring it back."

"Cag?" she calls out as I reach the door.

I turn back. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

I nod, unable to find the words. I step out of the loft and down the ladder. The morning air is crisp, the dew clinging to the grass. The ranch is waking up. I can hear the cows lowing in the distance.

I walk toward the main house, my head held high. I know what I’m doing now. I’m not just a foreman anymore. I’m a man with something to lose. For three years that felt like a weakness. This morning it feels like a reason to stand my ground.

The kitchen is empty when I enter, but breakfast is waiting beneath a clean towel on the counter. Bacon, eggs, toast. Enough food to keep a ranch running through the end of the world.

Good.