Page 7 of Rebuilding Rebecca

It was a lot to absorb, the concept foreign yet oddly comforting. The Ranch’s evolution mirrored in its current role—a haven, a university, a matchmaker of unconventional souls. All the while, the man gently rocked her in his arms, remaining steadfast, his chest a constant, reassuring pressure against her side.

Rebecca felt the tension knotting her muscles begin to ease, the nurse’s story a lullaby quietening her into a sense of security she hadn’t known in what felt like eons. She stirred against the comforting chest, the wall of warmth and comfort. The man’s heartbeat, steady as a drum against her was a stark contrast with her own frantic pulse.

“I’m right here, darling,” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “I won’t leave, I promise. But we need to let Nurse Valerie check you over, treat those wounds. I’ll feel a whole lot better knowing you’re taken care of, okay?”

His voice was a grounding force, a lifeline she was terrified to release even as his logic seeped through her panic. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she loosened her death grip on his shirt, her trust in him—inexplicable and profound—anchoring her more than her physical hold. She nodded, a minuscule dip of her chin, granting permission she never imagined she’d give to a stranger, comforted by the symphony of safe words and the protective cocoon he provided.

As Rebecca’s tense muscles gradually released their grip, her body sinking into the bed with an almost imperceptible surrender, something within Dante shifted. It was as though her trust, gossamer-thin and precious, had been handed to him, a silent plea he felt deep in his marrow. His hand on her shoulder was instinctual, a grounding point he couldn’t bring himself to withdraw. Beneath his palm her bones were fragile and her skin clammy. In comparison to his hand, she had the delicate structure of a bird’s wing.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face, capturing every nuance of emotion, every flicker of pain, and the dawning relief that fought to find a foothold in her expression. With every breath she took, the air seemed to grow thicker around him, charged with a silent promise that radiated from his core: he would not vanish from her sight.

The slight pressure of his fingers, an attempt to offer solace, might have been for her comfort, but it also served to tether him to this moment, to the vow swelling unspoken in his chest. His pulse thrummed a rhythm that seemed to whisper, “I am here, I am here, I am here.”

The room contracted to the space encompassing her and him, the rest of the world fading into obscurity. This wasn’t about duty or obligation; it was more visceral. A protective instinct, raw and fierce, surged in Dante, its roots entwining around his resolve, pulling it taut.

Her slightest movement drew his immediate attention, her soft moans of discomfort, a call that resonated with everything masculine and primal within him. The need to shield her, to ward off any further harm, roared through his veins, a surging tide he neither wanted nor could stem.

A soft knock was but a whisper in the charged atmosphere, but strung tight as he was, Dante’s senses honed immediately on the new presence entering their sanctuary. The man introduced himself as Dr. Ned Carter, his voice carrying the soothing tones of experience and compassion. Dante’s body remained coiled, an unconscious barrier between the threat of the unknown and the vulnerable soul under his protection.

“Dante Malone,” he responded tersely when introductions were expected, his name dropping like a shield into the space between them.

“Rebecca Miller,” came the soft, almost fragile introduction from the bed, her voice a mix of apprehension and burgeoning trust as she cast a fleeting glance in Dante’s direction.

Dr. Carter gave Rebecca a kind smile as he approached the bed. “Hello, Rebecca, I know you’re probably tired of strangers poking you, but I want to give you a quick once over, all right?”

Rebecca nodded.

As Dr. Carter’s skilled hands moved with practiced ease over her frail form, Dante’s jaw clenched, every revealed bruise, every whispered catalog of injuries like “malnourished” and “concussion” were sparks to the kindling fury in his gut. The doctor’s professional calm occasionally broke for flashes of human outrage, mirroring the tempest brewing within Dante.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Dr. Carter inquired as he numbed her forehead and cleaned a deep cut that needed stitches.

As Dr. Carter continued his examination, the room lapsed into a tense silence, the quiet only broken by the clinical sounds of medical assessment. Dante’s hand remained a constant presence on Rebecca’s shoulder, his thumb absently tracing small circles in an attempt to comfort both her and himself.

Rebecca’s voice broke the silence, fragile as thin ice yet underscored by a current of unspent strength. “It started with a crash... I was running away,” she murmured, her gaze distant, reliving the nightmare. “I didn’t know where to go. I just ran and ran until I saw this car—your car. I didn’t think; I just needed somewhere to hide. I crawled in, and everything went black. The next thing I remember is waking up and seeing you.” Her gaze collided with his.

Dante’s brow furrowed, and he could feel the deep lines across his forehead. “What were you running from, Rebecca?” he asked. His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder heralding a storm.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she looked like a cornered animal, eyes wide and gleaming with unshed tears. “It’s all a blur...” she started hesitantly, “I thought he loved me. I did him a favor, just a small one, but then...” Her voice dwindled to a whisper. “Then I was in too deep—another favor, more men. They traded me like an object, used me...” The last words were almost inaudible, lost in a choked sob.

A cold fire ignited in Dante’s chest, the protective wall around his emotions cracking under the onslaught of her words. He fought to keep his voice steady, a counterpoint to the chaos swirling within him. “You’re safe now, Rebecca.” He fought to keep his voice even. “They can’t hurt you here. I promise you that.”

And when her vulnerable, pain-clouded eyes sought his, it was a lifeline cast into turbulent waters. Dante, without understanding how or why, clasped it tightly. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—let go. This uncharted territory, rife with protective urges and an inexplicable sense of responsibility, was one he found himself navigating blindly, driven by a compass he hadn’t known existed within him.

CHAPTER 8

Two days had quietly ebbed away since her arrival at Rawhide Ranch, each sun cycle marking a subtle upturn in Rebecca’s healing, though the mornings still greeted her with stiffness in her limbs, a stark reminder of the ordeal she’d endured.

Rebecca’s jaw almost unhinged with her yawn, and she lazily stretched, taking stock of her body. She slowly moved her head from side to side.

The headache that had once pounded in her skull like a relentless marching band had receded, now no more than a distant echo of elevator music—present but relegated to the background where it was no more than a mild, irksome buzz.

The faint whispers of dawn were just beginning to caress the sky when Rebecca, moving with the tender caution of one still marred by physical memories of recent trauma, eased out of the sanctuary of her bed. The luxury suite, though replete with every conceivable comfort — from the king-sized poster bed with its incongruously intimidating O-rings to the plush sitting area—couldn’t contain her restless spirit, burgeoning with curiosity and a hunger for the new beginning that lay beyond these walls.

She took the super-soft and plush robe from the foot of the bed and slipped into the comforting garment. She couldn’t remember ever wearing let alone owning such fine clothing. Her nose wrinkled. She didn’t own anything. Swallowing the bitter taste the thought left in her mouth, she distanced herself from the bed.

Her bare feet grazed over hardwood floors, the cool touch a gentle balm to her souring mood. The room’s opulence, illuminated by the sliding switch that bathed the space in a soft, candle-like glow, was a far cry from her past’s stark, unforgiving shadows. Rebecca sighed and shoved her feet into the warm slippers waiting for her—also a charity gift. What could she do? She didn’t have money or skills to repay the Ranch people, nor Dante.

Dante…

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