Page 13 of Saving Her Dragon

"Uh," Jason cleared his throat, stepping closer to inspect the machine. "Did... did the cable snap? Let me check the tension."

"No," Garrett murmured, his smile slowly faltering.

Slowly lowering the plates, they settled back down with a heavy, solid thud. The machine was perfectly intact.

As he inspected the weights, Jason slowly shook his head. “Everything’s okay here.” Shrugging, he added, “Well, sometimes recovering muscle fibers overcompensate. Guess yours are goin’ for gold.”

Garrett looked down at his own hands gripping the metal bars. His palms were entirely dry. His heart rate hadn't even elevated. He felt incredibly strong… uncomfortably, inexplicably strong.

After physical therapy, Carrick had more work to do, and this time, Garrett was gonna be sweating.

The heat of the late morning sun felt clean on his skin, a stark contrast to the sterile fluorescent lights of the gym. He had felt a huge surge of pride when Carrick asked him for help.

Out on the eastern boundary of the property, a massive oak branch had come down during a storm the previous week, taking out a three-panel section of the heavy timber fencing. It was simple, physical work. The kind of mundane ranch labor Garrett had spent a lifetime doing before everything was ripped away from him.

Sure, he had trained long and hard to become one of the Universe’s Chosen Warriors, but before that, he and his brother had worked the family farm. Hard work was in his blood. It was something he enjoyed. Lifting a thick cedar post onto his shoulder, he savored the rough bite of the wood against his shirt and the sharp, earthy scent of sawdust.

“Hey, hold that steady," Carrick grunted, balancing a crossbeam against the post.

Grey stood on the other side, a heavy framing hammer in one hand and a handful of galvanized nails in the other. "If Carrick drops his end on your foot, Garrett, you have my full permission to throw him over the fence."

"I'd like to see him try," Carrick shot back, flashing a cocky grin.

"My reflexes are peak today. Yours, on the other hand, are looking a little prehistoric, old man," Garrett teased, working hard to keep a straight face.

Stopping with his hammer poised mid-air, Grey gave Garrett a deadpan stare. "I am four years older than you. If I am prehistoric, you are a fossil in training.

The absolute absurdity of the quick and easy banter hit Garrett right in the chest. It was so familiar, so unscripted, so entirely safe that a sound rumbled up from his throat, bursting out before he could even think to contain it.

Laughing… no, he was literally guffawing.

It wasn't the polite, strained chuckle he had forced out over the last few weeks to make everyone feel better. It was a genuine, full-throated laugh that echoed across the open pasture. It was like the laughter he had privately shared with his Mate.

All motion stopped.

The hammer hung in Grey's hand above his left shoulder as if attached to a string. Carrick froze, his grip tightening on the timber until his knuckles were white.

Then, in slow motion, both Guardsmen turned their heads. Stopping at exactly the same time, they looked at Garrett as if he had just spoken in ancient tongues.

Opening his mouth to ask what was up, a tickle at the nape of his neck had Garrett turning around. There he saw her. Up on the wrap-around porch of the main house, a hundred yards away, Sydney stood frozen in place.

Fingers wrapped around the handles of a wicker laundry basket, her shoulders trembled slightly as she pressed a hand to her mouth. Garrett could feel the sudden, overwhelming wave of pure, tearful relief radiating from her and flowing through their Mating Bond.

“He's laughing,” she mentally whispered the beautiful, fragile thought. “He's really healing.”

Garrett grinned, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. "What? Y’all gonna stand here and look at my handsome face all day, or are we gonna get this done?” With an exaggerated sweep of his hand, he kept right on going, smiling all the way. “Line up the nail, Grey. We don't have all day."

His brother’s chest rose and fell in a deep, steady breath. A look of profound, quiet pride settled into Grey’s eyes. "Right. I’m moving. I’m moving. You don’t have to get all high and mighty."

For the next twenty minutes, the rhythm was perfect. They worked in tandem, a well-oiled machine just as it had always been. The lingering awkwardness of Garrett's return melted away into the shared sweat of physical labor.

He belonged. He was coming back to himself.

Grey finished securing the top rail and stepped back. "We need one more baseboard to finish the anchoring."

"I've got it," Garrett said, stepping toward the pile of spare lumber resting in the grass.

Reaching down, his fingers brushed the rough surface of the cedar board. Hand wrapped tightly around it, he prepared to lift.