Page 12 of Her Redeemed Protector

HUXLEY

The overgrown path gradually gives way to open fields, and we finally reach the outskirts of the farm. My instincts surge, sensing that Bethany is close by.

“Hux!” Jack points at the driveway.

A girl dashes toward a white truck, her legs moving in a frantic, uneven rhythm. It’s Bethany!

Relief floods through me, only to be replaced by a sinking dread as we spot a familiar blue truck parked just a few yards away. We move faster than the spread of a wildfire. Yet, as we draw closer to her, we slow down.

“Bethany?” I call calmly, my hands raised slightly. Beyond her wariness, I can see the exhaustion etched on her face. Behind me, I sense Jack scanning the area.

“No sign of Lance Anderson,” he murmurs.

I exhale low, keeping my focus on Bethany. “My name is Hux, and this is my friend Jack. Your mom sent us to find you.”

The way she clutches the truck handle, she looks ready to bolt at any moment. I reach into my bag and retrieve Mono, her plush elephant, holding it out for her to see. Her eyesimmediately widen with recognition, but fear still mars her expression.

“We’re here to help you.” I extend the toy to her.

Her grip on the truck handle relaxes as she slowly reaches for Mono. She snatches the toy from my hand and darts to the other side of the truck, hiding.

I hang back a couple of paces, watching as Jack approaches her, greeting her and signing as he does. His posture is relaxed, his steps measured.

Clutching the elephant to her chest, Bethany gradually steps back into view. Jack kneels to her level, his hands moving fluidly as he speaks. For the first time, my partner mesmerizes me. He’s introducing me to her now. Bethany’s eyes, wide with curiosity, study me.

“Hux has been talking to Mono all morning,” Jack jokes aloud, letting me approach her.

I crouch, too, extending my hand. After a brief moment of hesitation, she shakes it as a smile breaks across her face, a precious moment of trust that I treasure during each rescue.

As she begins to sign again, Jack watches her intently. “Hux, she says her father is in the barn,” he relays, “There’s a woman in there too, a kind woman, helping her escape.”

“Stay here with Bethany, and call Zander.”

Jack agrees. “You find Lance and that woman. I’ve got Bethany.” He wraps his jacket around the girl’s small shoulders then reaches for his phone.

With Bethany secure and no immediate danger in sight, my senses begin to tune into stimuli from a greater distance.

Hooves.Soft yet urgent.

I dash toward the origin, Glock poised in hand.

And I freeze, rendered speechless. A woman rides bareback on an enormous horse, without even a lead rope. Lance Anderson curses and swears in frustration, but he’s as powerlessas a calf cornered by a seasoned cowboy—or in this case, cowgirl. Her mastery over the horse is nothing short of extraordinary.

“Lance Anderson, on your knees!” I shout, my gun trained on him. As I approach, the woman guides her horse to retreat, letting me handle the man. I pin Anderson to the ground and drag him to a nearby corral, securing him with flexicuffs. He’s staying put until the sheriff arrives.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” I say, looking up at the woman and squinting against the bright sky. “Bethany mentioned you helped her.”

“I’m fine. Where is she?” Her face is obscured by the shadow of her hat.

“She’s with my colleague out front. She’s safe.”

With that, she removes her hat.

I pause, momentarily transfixed as the sunlight washes over her features, accentuating her striking appearance. They say everyone has a doppelgänger somewhere in the world, but the woman perched atop the towering stallion is more than a mere look-alike. She’s a haunting reflection from my past, her visage eerily familiar, drawing me back to Operation Jaguar Strike.

“Hey, relax, I won’t do to you what I did to that bully,” she quips. Perhaps she notices how stiff I am in my suit, which looks out of place on a farm, and assumes I’m wary of the horse. I choose to let her think so despite horses having been a part of my life during my Starfire days. Right now, I need a moment to gather my thoughts.

The woman’s amusement is evident in the slight curl of her lips at my lack of response. “I’ll take him back to his stall,” she says, her hand stroking the horse’s neck.

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