Page 29 of Her Redeemed Protector

She clenches her fists, and her jaw sets in frustration as if she’s ready to leap off the bed and confront him. “He’s my ex.” There’s a pause, and her lips part as if she’s about to continue, weighing her words carefully. Finally, she exhales sharply and adds, “He played a part in the loss of our ranch.”

Now, that explains why Al was so agitated. And perhaps the ‘stress’ the nurse mentioned earlier had something to do with this ex of hers.

“Has he been bothering you too?” I ask, my voice edged with a protective menace. If he has, I’ll deal with him myself, and he’ll learn the hard way what it means to leave her alone.

She shakes her head. “No. But I’m surprised he’s here in Helena.”

The knock on the door precedes the entry of a nurse. With a sympathetic tilt of her head, she says, “I’m so sorry, but I must let you know that visiting hours have ended.”

We both acknowledge her.

I brush Savannah’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Fingers crossed, by then, the docs will have busted me out of this hospital hoosegow,” she jests with a wink.

My shoulders shake with laughter. “I’m sure you’ll be allowed to go home then.”

Without warning, she leans forward, wraps her arms around my neck, and plants a kiss on my scar. “Thank you,” she breathes, her lips brushing against my skin, waking up pores that had been dormant since my injury.

“For what?” I ask, even though her grateful eyes already tell the whole story.

“For everything. For saving Bethany, for helping my dad, and for putting up with me.” Her lips linger close to my cheek.

That kiss, so sincere on a mark of my past, carries a message of acceptance. She doesn’t see the scar as a flaw but as part of who I am.

As I start to leave, stepping through the doorway, I hear her.

“Hugs,” she states, as if the word paints a pair of open arms.

I pause, a bit puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

“Hux. It sounds like ‘Hugs,’” she explains with a grin.

A smile breaks across my face. Hugs—what a fitting coincidence for the affection she evokes in me. I’d give her that hug in a heartbeat, and perhaps, if destiny is kind, many more.

As I walk away from her, I wonder what Savannah has truly done to me.

There’s something disarming about feeling needed, about being able to fulfill her needs—no matter how minor. This feeling, this reward, transcends the abstract notions of love and connection.

Finding a girlfriend has never been a challenge. Attraction has always been the main draw. Women have come and gone,offering everything from fun and gratification to the promise of lifelong companionship.

But finding a true partner, someone who serves as an ever-fresh oasis that sustains, cleanses, and restores me, is a more profound quest. Adventure and closeness often thrive on shared interests, which we can find through compromise. Yet, I seek a woman who is both fire and water, someone who will push me to my limits yet hold me with safeguarding hands.

Did I experience this completeness with Valentina? She was my refuge among life’s chaos, but her absence has reshaped what I seek in a partner.

With that thought, I picture myself sifting through the ruins of what was. My heart seeks a skilled hand, both robust and tender, capable of reforging the shattered pieces.

Is Savannah the one?

I don’t want a rebound reaction to be the reason for saying yes—a choice swayed by mere moments of wonder and fleeting sparks. But by now, time has lost meaning. I’ve wasted years searching for a mythical current that might carry me to the shore of a sheltered cove. But such a haven does not exist unless one crafts it.

12

HUXLEY

Walking into the maternity ward, I’m surrounded by walls painted in bright colors, and there are murals of storks and smiling clouds floating above as if watching over the new lives in their care. Somehow, it feels like stepping back in time to when I was a kid, awkward and wide-eyed, in a similar ward awaiting my baby brother’s arrival.

My bed still feels like the back of a porcupine as I endured another restless night. My thoughts were punctuated by Savannah Mitchell’s words, stirring my mind. Yet, this morning offers a clean slate.

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