Page 24 of Her Redeemed Protector

SAVANNAH

I can’t tell how long it’s been since Huxley left with my father. The clock seems irrelevant in the monotonous rhythm of the hospital. I haven’t moved, frozen in the same position on this uncomfortable bed.

Oh, my father!

He meant well, I know that. His words, though rough around the edges, were his way of dealing with the shock of seeing me lying here connected to all these machines. But bringing up Mom and the accident at ‘the bend?’ That was a low blow. I’m amazed the heart monitor didn’t start blaring. Maybe I kept it under control because Hux was here, cushioning the blow. Or rather, easing Dad’s hard love.

A contented feeling settles in my chest. It was Hux, for sure. I’m a dreamer whose reality matches the dream exactly as imagined. I’m experiencing firsthand what it’s like to have a man who is both a solid rock to lean on and a soft pillow to rest against. It feels incredible. So damn incredible that not only is my heart rate staying steady, but I’m also drifting off to sleep.

As I close my eyes, my phone rings. I grumble, peeking atthe number flickering on the screen. The moment I connect, my anger flares, hot and swift. “Stop calling me, or I swear I’ll put a bullet in your brain myself!” I spit out.

“Savannah, I saw you on the news. Are you?—”

My finger acts on instinct to end the call, but even seconds filled with Fabian Gill’s voice pries open old wounds.

We’ve known each other since we were kids. He was from a neighboring village—charming, energetic, and ambitious. After our breakup, he moved to the city, amassed a fortune, and married a financier’s daughter. Our relationship remained friendly, and we stayed connected, partly because of their daughter, Kayla. That delightful girl was one of the many children I used to babysit at Lakefall Valley.

Then, the Mitchell Ranch fell into debt. We lost track of the number of loans we applied for as droughts continued to plague us, pushing us deeper into financial distress. Among those vying for our property, Fabian appeared to be the least of all evils. In exchange for a portion of our land, he offered hard cash and ended up owning half the ranch.

But he sold us out. He never admitted betraying us, claiming he was tricked. But in the end, he survived, and the Mitchell Ranch sank.

Lakefall Valley,Montana – One year ago

The rhythmic pounding of hoofbeats echoes through the valley, harmonizing with the rustle of leaves surrounding us. Seclusion comes naturally here, not out of loneliness but out of a communion with nature that can only be described as sacred.

I hold little Kayla, ensuring her secure grip on the saddle, while my most trusted mare Misty guides us back home alongthe main trail of the ranch with a steadfast trot. Meanwhile, my two loyal canines forge ahead, their wet fur and the sound of their splashing paws reminding me of the rain that had fallen overnight.

The house looms in a short distance. I take Kayla off the saddle, letting her ride on my shoulder instead as I lead the horse back inside the stable.

“Did you enjoy that?” I ask her.

“Yes, passing the streams was so cool!” she claims, full of innocent eagerness. “Can I have pancakes now?”

“Of course.”

Out of nowhere, a car comes speeding in, crudely navigating the driveway to reach our location.

“That’s Mommy!” Kayla remarks.

The unexpected arrival of Juliet Gill disrupts the upbeat flow of our morning. Her quick and purposeful pace as she retrieves Kayla is laden with an emotion I can’t decipher.

“Let’s go home, honey,” Juliet says. She never minded me spending time with Kayla, so this is abrupt. But at least she doesn’t seem intoxicated.

“How about the pancakes?” Kayla yawps.

“I’ll make you some,” Juliet determines as she straps Kayla into her child seat.

“But Savannah adds M&Ms,” Kayla insists, but she is stopped by a gesture from her mother.

Juliet looks at me. “She’s not supposed to be here, and she’s not supposed to eat chocolate.”

I frown, defending myself, “Well, Fabian dropped her off.”

The woman ignores me, revving her car away.

I yell, “And it’s not chocolate, it’s M&Ms!”

In the wake of her swift departure, I go into the house. Dad is in the kitchen preparing his slow roast.

---