Page 26 of Protected By the Mountain Man

I walked out without another word or backward glance, despite the tightness in my chest that seemed to grow heavier with every step. The morning air was a slap in the face, sobering me up from whatever spell I'd been under at that breakfast table.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath as I strode toward the barn. The space between the house and the barn stretched longer than usual, as if the earth itself could sense my need to escape.

“Stupid to think this would be easy,” I grumbled, kicking at a stray stone. “Maybe I should just head back to the cabin. Get some peace and quiet.”

The cabin…it was nice there. No awkward breakfasts, no sidelong glances, no silent accusations from a pair of amber eyes that saw too much. I grabbed a pitchfork as I thought of those amber eyes, discarding my flannel only to remember how Kat had looked at me a few days ago—how she’d touched me, how we’d almost?—

Damn it.

I needed to get a hold of myself.

The work was routine, the kind that lets your mind wander but keeps your hands busy. Mucking out the stables turned to feeding the horses, then to letting them out to graze, then onward to other tasks. I threw myself into it, fixing fences and checking water troughs, trying not to think about anything more complicated than how many nails it takes to patch up a hole. It was better this way—me alone, without Kat to stir up a storm inside me.

But even as I worked, there was a strange sort of relief that she wasn't here. The tension that had been winding tighter around my chest loosened, thread by frayed thread, until I could breathe again.

I didn't want to admit it, but her absence was like pressure easing off an old wound.

I heard the crunch of gravel and I straightened up, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. There she went, driving down the driveway, leaving a trail of dust behind her. I watched the truck disappear, a part of me wishing she'd stay gone longer.

“Figures,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Can't live with her, can't work without wondering where she's at.”

As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, painting everything in shades of gold and orange, I took a break. Perched on a bale of hay outside the barn, I fished out my phone just as it started ringing.

“Hey, Dad,” I answered with a grunt, not really in the mood for chit-chat.

“Hey, son,” he said. “Haven’t heard from you in a while—I was starting to think Katrina Martin had made good on her threats.”

“Almost,” I said, half-laughing. “Turns out, I'm still breathing. No thanks to you sending me into the lioness’ den without warning.”

“Ah, figured a guy like you could handle it. I…”

Bandit had been following me around all day and he hopped up on the hay-bale with me, his tongue lolling. I lost track of what my dad was saying when Bandit’s head snapped toward the driveway and I heard an engine approaching. Looking up, I saw Kat’s truck rolling back into the driveway. She got out, grabbed her groceries from the back, slamming the tailgate shut with more force than necessary, and stormed into the house with only a brief glance around.

Even if I’d calmed down, she clearly hadn’t. Apparently Bandit was on the same page, because he stayed put.

“Gabriel?” Dad said. “You still there?”

“Yeah, I'm here,” I replied, eyes still fixed on the house. “Kat's back.”

“Well, I was just saying it’s good to hear she didn't run you off yet. She's tough as nails, that one—just like her mom,” Dad added with a hint of nostalgia. “It's a damn shame you couldn't have been closer with the Martin kids. And Ben…I always wished you two had time to make amends.”

A heavy weight settled in my chest at the mention of Ben. The past clawed its way up my throat, and I swallowed hard against the emotion. “I know,” I said, my voice rough around the edges. “I should've been a better son, a better friend.”

“That's not what I mean,” he sighed.

It wasn’t like that helped. He’d told me I was a disappointment a million times before; before the Marines, before his stroke, before Ben and Kat’s parents died.

Silence settled on the line. I wrestled with the weight of my dad's disapproval, with the fact that no matter what I did, it was never enough to erase the past.

“Gabriel,” my dad finally broke through the quiet. “In my book, you’ve proven yourself. If Katrina hasn’t accepted you as you are…that’s alright. I’m proud of you, son. You’re not a failure.”

“Feels like I am,” I muttered.

“You okay?” Dad probed, his voice laced with concern. It felt like a weight on my chest. I didn’t want him to worry.

“I’m fine,” I lied, because what else could I say? The truth? That I was sitting out here wrestling with ghosts and guilt while trying not to think about how close I'd come to kissing Kat, and how that would've been the biggest mistake of my life?

“Son—”

---