Page 64 of Wild Sanctuary

I throw my hands in the air. “And there it is. An unveiled threat at last.”

“It’s not a threat.” He stares down at me, lifting a dark eyebrow. “It’s a reality.”

Pressing my lips together, I give him my back and reach for my hat off the bedpost.

“Here’s what’s going to happen now, Felix. You’re going to fly home in the morning. There won’t be anything said to your father, or to Glen, about anything relating to me. Ever.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah? Or what?”

I pivot to face him, grabbing the files from the desk as I do. “Or I’ll write a different article. One about a marketing director who tracks his ex through her phone. About a bully who leveraged twenty years of Saturday golf to keep a leash on a woman who didn’t want him. And I won’t be shy about naming names.”

His forehead is puckered, eyes narrowed to slits, and all pretense has evaporated now when he grits, “You wouldn’t.”

Slowly, I slide all the files into my backpack, and place it at my feet before scooping up my laptop to face him again.

“You have a name in Denver, Felix.” I fold my laptop against my chest and stare down my nose at him. “I have a byline. And the connections to use it. You’d do well not to mistake kindness for weakness moving forward.”

Felix holds up his index finger as his mouth opens, then closes. I slide my laptop into my backpack, toss it over one shoulder, and walk past him, my hat dangling from my right hand, without another glance. “I’ll give you the cabin tonight, because I was raised right.”

Then I close the door behind me.

* * *

The main house is dark when I climb the porch steps. No light in any window, no truck out back. I sit on the top step with my things at my feet, mascara smudged and my hat in my lap, and I wait.

Resting my forehead on my knees, I try to figure out what comes next. The night stretches on until eventually, headlights sweep up the drive. June jumps down out of the truck after killing the engine, sees me on the steps, and crosses to the porch without a word.

“Tea?” She plucks my bag from the ground, and I follow.

“Please.”

We move inside the house, June flicking on lights as we go until we reach the kitchen. She gestures for me to take a seat at the island, and sets my bag on the other end. I drop my hat on top of the bag as I watch her move around the kitchen with quiet efficiency. She doesn’t ask what happened. She just makes tea, sets it in front of me and slides into the chair opposite mine.

We sit in silence for a while. The kitchen clock ticks. The old house settles around us with its familiar creaks and sighs, and the chamomile is warm between my hands, and for a minute I just breathe.

“Is the spare room available?” I ask finally, my voice smaller than I want it to be.

June wraps both hands around her mug. “I don’t have any of the rooms made up, honey.” She takes a sip. “Wyatt’s room is free, though. He’s staying out tonight.”

Staying out.

The words land softly, but my chest aches all the same. Staying out.

Of course he is.

“I can’t sleep in Wyatt’s room.” The protest comes out reflexively. “That’s… No. The couch is fine.”

“The couch is decades old and has a spring that’ll put a hole in your kidney.” June stands, and her tone shifts into the one that I’ve learned means the discussion is over. “Sheets are clean. He’s not using it. You need sleep.”

I open my mouth to argue.

“Daisy.” Her voice is gentle, but there’s iron underneath. “It’s a bed. That’s all it is.”

She’s right. It’s a bed. In a room. In a house where I am a guest.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

I follow June up the stairs, my hat clenched in my hand as my bag bumps against my hip with each step. The hallway is dark and quiet, the kind of deep rural silence that you forget exists when you live in a city. June stops at a door near the end of the hall and pushes it open.