Page 37 of Her Redeemed Protector

As the door closes behind him, I realize I’m already counting the minutes until I see him again.

14

SAVANNAH

Huxley’s absence carves out a silence in my life that lasts an entire week. My father’s presence and the antics of our dogs provide a distracting routine, yet the days stretch on. He’s out on a case in Idaho, near the Canadian border. Our brief phone call was a fleeting connection that has left me yearning. But I understand he needs his space to focus, and the last thing I want is to be a hindrance.

As dusk gives way to another evening without news from Huxley, I console myself with the familiar aroma of Dad’s renowned roast chicken. He forks a couple of tender pieces onto my plate.

“So,” he begins, breaking the stillness, “Ivy Connor has been spreading the word about you? The education minister seems quite keen on expanding the animal therapy activities at the Disability Services.”

“Yeah. I’m chuffed!” I say.

Ivy Connor, former Montana Attorney General and wife of Mark Connor, Hux’s boss, recently visited the center. Having learned that I volunteer there, she came to see how I was doing. Meeting her in person was surreal, especially sinceHux and I had discussed her son’s dramatic rooftop rescue that day on the way to the hospital. Ivy does more than offer friendship. She actively champions my services, using her esteemed reputation to secure substantial endorsements.

“And how about that llama farm you mentioned?” Dad asks, his tone slightly skeptical. He’s amused by the idea of what he terms ‘exotic’ creatures roaming the hobby farm Mark has got going. The conversation came up when I was talking with Ivy.

“A different choice, but it intrigues me,” I chuckle. My crew of four-legged friends hasn’t met such fluffy counterparts yet, but I’m confident they’ll be as eager for the adventure as I am if Mark calls on us.

Dad sits back, carving into his chicken thigh. I watch his weathered hands—the very hands that taught me to work the land. Helena has been good to us, but God, how I miss Lakefall Valley.

I ask him, “You fired up about your new gig?”

Thanks to his new prosthetic leg, he’s poised to tackle an urban farming project on the edge of town. They’ve offered him a position akin to that of a foreman, trusting in his experience.

“It’s a start,” he says, then bites into a steaming potato. “Ain’t the same as the open range back at the old Mitchell’s, but I reckon it’s time for your old man to dig in again. And I’m not just talking about planting petunias.”

I grin back. Whatever his role, I’m sure he’s going to be in the thick of it. Once a rancher, always a rancher, no matter where the pasture lies.

Settling in with a plate that reminds me of gatherings after a long day’s work, he looks across the table, curiosity in his creased eyes. “So, you’re gonna head out to Starfire when Huxley rides back into town?”

“I might, if he asks.” I push the food around my plate. “But first, I need to head back to Lakefall Valley and lay some flowers for Mom. It’s been too long.”

Dad stands, his movements slow as he retrieves a beer from the fridge.

“What do you think, Dad?”

“It’s a good idea. You should go.”

His reply is terse, and I don’t press, seeing the pain that crosses his features. He hasn’t set foot in the valley since we left for Helena, perhaps unable to face the reality that the ranch is no longer ours.

A commotion outside snaps us out of the moment. Ranger and Ruby’s barks ring with an urgency reserved for familiar visitors. Then, a knock on the door.

“Savannah!”

The voice sends a shock of joy through me. It’s bright, bubbly—the unmistakable sound of youthful exuberance from a child reunited with a long-lost playmate.

After swinging the door open, I’m met with the beaming face of little Kayla. “Kayla? What are you doing here?” My gaze darts around, searching for her parents, but I find nothing.

She leaps into my arms. “I missed you so much!” So carefree, there’s no trace of the distress she showed at her mother’s house that day.

The barking continues in the background, and she begs, “Please, let me play with them.”

In her presence, I become a complete softie. My entire being simply crumbles, overwhelmed by the desire to spoil her. I guide her inside, switching on the backyard light.

Ranger and Ruby jump around us in excitement. Kayla’s giggles fill the air, her small arms pulling the dogs into an embrace, squealing out their names.

“How did you get here?” I ask. “It’s eight o’clock at night.”

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