Page 13 of Her Redeemed Protector

As Lance Anderson starts hurling insults at her again, she flips him the finger without even glancing his way beforeturning her horse around. I can’t help but chuckle at her boldness.

Just then, a couple of deputies arrive, and I nod to them, indicating they should handle Lance Anderson. Feeling the tension of the last few hours lift, I make my way into the barn. Inside, I pause and watch her as she leads the horse into a stall, murmuring praises to the gentle giant. My admiration for her deepens.

I approach her, still keeping my distance, pretending to be wary of the horse. “I’m Huxley Cometti. Thank you for rounding up that man. You were incredible.”

A sweet smile spreads across her face, unraveling me like a thread being pulled from a seam.

“I’m Savannah Mitchell. The owner of this farm hired me to care for their horses in their absence. I discovered Bethany hiding in the barn. When that man tried to take her, I stopped him,” she explains with a firm tone.

“Clearly,” I respond, still in awe of how she managed to neutralize Lance Anderson. Despite his size, nearly three times hers, her ingenuity in leveraging the horse’s power was outstanding. Rarely have I witnessed such a seamless collaboration between human and animal, achieving an outcome that would put the most coveted wranglers to shame.

I step forward and extend my hand. “Thank you for saving Bethany,” I say with genuine gratitude.

She blushes and wipes her hands on her overalls, hesitating to take my hand. “I’m sorry, I’m so filthy.” Her eyes dart from my suit to my freshly polished loafers.

I chuckle. “Hey, I wear a suit for many reasons, but keeping people at bay isn’t one of them. Especially not after what you’ve done.”

Her cheeks remain flushed with a lingering hue of embarrassment. “Who knows what I’ve rolled in,” she jokes,glancing at the barn floor. “Trust me, you won’t want to smell like me.”

Despite the sweat and dirt that mark her as a true cowgirl, the earthy smell of hay mixed with her own natural scent elicits an invigorating response from me, both physically and emotionally. I know I should let this go before my reaction drives me to act impulsively. But I can’t just turn around and leave!

“Try me, Ms. Mitchell,” I encourage, my hand still extended toward hers.

She finally takes my hand, nibbling her lower lip. “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you suddenly smell like livestock and hard work, you can’t blame me.”

“Blame you? I’d consider it an upgrade,” I tease, giving her hand a friendly shake.

Her grip is rough from work, a trait I find alluring. I’ve never been drawn to the pristine, untouched sort. It’s as if her hands tell stories of hard-earned days, resilience, and strength. Wait… am I already contemplating falling for her? The thought catches me off guard, yet it might not be the reckless impulse I feared. The transition feels gentle, sparking a sensation in my chest like a herd of happy kittens purring.

With glee plastering her face, she says, “Nice to meet you…sorry, what was your name again?”

“Huxley.” The name feels stiff on my tongue, too formal, given the circumstances. “Hux. Call me Hux.”

“Nice to meet you, Hux,” she says as if testing the name on her lips. “Call me Savannah.”

Our close proximity heightens my awareness. When I first saw her out there, everything about her screamed ‘Valentina.’ But as my first impression fades, I begin to see Savannah for who she is—the woman who bravely saved a little girl in such an extraordinary way. Her eyes, a soft shade of brown, radiatewarmth and confidence, overcoming any earlier olfactory concerns. Her long hair, secured in a ponytail, catches the dim barn light, giving it an inviting glow. Perhaps it’s the residual awe from her actions, but there’s an undeniable intensity about her that draws me in.

“You sure you’re not hurt?” I ask.

“A few bruises might show up later, but I’m fine,” she assures with a slight shrug.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” I gesture to the door, a hint of amusement still in my voice.

After a string of misguided attempts—trying to rebuild my love life with the wrong people, resorting to desperate measures born of loneliness—it’s refreshing to find myself walking beside someone who, unexpectedly yet effortlessly, buoys me from the depths. The feeling is so liberating that I want to linger by her side. I’m not outright saying I’ll pursue her… or perhaps I might if the opportunity arises. She isn’t wearing a ring.

For the love of God!

Where did my discipline go? When did my mental resilience disappear? Now is not the time to entertain such thoughts.

At the front of the farm, paramedics and deputies are bustling with activity.

Bethany spots Savannah under Jack’s watchful eye and dashes toward her, only to be intercepted by a paramedic. Undeterred, Savannah approaches with a reassuring demeanor. In their exchange, Bethany excitedly shows Savannah Mono. It’s a touching sight, witnessing their fluent and empathetic communication. This woman is a continuous revelation.

Savannah turns to me, her big brown eyes brightening. “She said you brought her that elephant toy?”

I nod, smiling. “Yes. With her mother’s blessing.”

Bethany then takes a step closer to me. Her exhaustion hasn’t gone away, but she looks calm now. She unties a ribbon with a small bell from Mono’s neck and gives it to me.

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