Page 109 of Her Redeemed Protector

“Yeah, I’ve got this,” I assure him, gripping the crutch and making my way toward the house. If I’m honest, his presence steadies me more than the crutch itself.

“Mama Saltamontes!” Rodolfo’s voice carries across the yard, easing the ache in my bones. He rushes to me, his eyes flickering with concern and mischief. The nickname, Grasshopper Mom, brings a smile to my face—it harks back to the days at Mitchell Ranch, when I was as jumpy, in a good way, as the critters themselves.

“Easy there,” I chuckle, balancing myself with a hand on his small shoulder. His embrace is cautious, mindful of my condition, yet filled with the unrestrained affection only a child can show.

Rodolfo steps back, his gaze dropping to my swollen foot, which is now securely wrapped in a medical brace. His lips twitch into a grin, teasing.

I roll my eyes, but laughter bubbles up inside me. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad, is it?” I tease back, shifting slightly to give my foot an exaggerated flourish.

“Looks like a burrito in there.” He pokes lightly at the brace.

“Just one?” I quip, leaning against the doorframe. “Feels like I got the whole enchilada platter down there.”

He laughs, a rich, rolling sound that fills the space between us with something light. “Well, at least you will not be hungry.”

I shake my head, the corners of my mouth lifting in spiteof the ache. “You’re impossible,” I say, though my tone is affectionate.

Rodolfo’s smile mellows, his hand reaching out to squeeze mine, mimicking Huxley. With a final glance, he steps aside, making room for my dad, who has been watching us with a patient smile.

“Saltamontes.” Dad pulls me into an embrace, his kiss landing like a feather on my forehead.

“Do I remind you of someone?” I nudge him with a wink.

Dad chuckles, the sound rich with nostalgia. He’s undoubtedly recalling the times he stubbornly used a crutch, disliking the feel of his prosthetic. Those days are behind him, thanks to the replacement Dr. Palmer crafted, which he still boasts about from time to time.

Dad and Rodolfo head toward the kitchen, their voices fading into the clatter of cups, leaving me and Huxley alone in the quiet hallway. Huxley adjusts his pace to mine as I hobble along with my crutch. Upon reaching the stairs, his hands cradle me, lifting me effortlessly.

“You’re my prisoner now,” he declares.

I extend my wrists toward him. “Cuff me, officer.”

Resting his head on my chest, he stifles his laughter while carrying me toward our bedroom. Just as he’s about to place me on the bed, I stop him.

“Can you stay like this, please?” I ask.

“You like it?” he murmurs, tightening his hold as if confirming that he’s cradling me protectively. “Like this?”

“Yeah. I love the sensation of being rescued by you,” I murmur.

I wish he understood how I felt when he scooped me out of that rusted freezer and held me close. It was as if God had sent his mightiest angel, wrapping me in a sheltering embrace—wings like the softest feathers, arms radiating strength.

He nods in understanding. “No more ‘I’m fine, Hux,’ or ‘I’ve got this, Hux’?” he playfully prods.

“No, no more.” Resisting love is pointless when he’s by my side. “I really like it here, in your arms.”

He leans down to steal a kiss. Just as Rodolfo’s footsteps echo on the stairs, he lowers me onto the bed, then drapes a blanket over me, tucking it in. The kid bursts into the room, presenting me with a cup of tea.

“Gracias, cariño,” I thank him, setting it on the bedside table.

The boy replies, his energy undiminished, “Pop-pop and I are going to the shop.” He delights in calling my dad ‘pop-pop.’ He told me it rhymed with ‘Bon Bon Bum Bubble Gum Pops,’ a well-known Colombian candy brand. The call brings a smile to Dad’s face every time.

Rodolfo adds, “We will buy flowers for you!”

Dad appears in the doorway, his expression theatrically dismayed. “Hey, it was supposed to be a secret.”

“But you said she likes flowers,” Rodolfo protests, a picture of confused innocence.

“Yeah, so we surprise her,” Dad replies, the amusement clear in his voice despite the feigned exasperation.

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