Page 64 of Her Redeemed Protector

“Oh, Dad will flip when he sees this!” I laugh, thrilled by the thought.

“I didn’t forget about Chase, either. We missed out last time we were there.”

“And what about you?” I nudge.

“I was hoping you’d make something amazing with this bread. Maybe that blueberry jam you’ve been talking about?”

“Sounds like a plan. You know, good things come to those who wait,” I say in the tone of a wise man. Then I pull him into another hug, planting a kiss on his cheek.

I let him set the basket on the kitchen counter.

“Shall we?” he suggests, offering his arm with a charming bend.

Linking my arm with his, we head out to enjoy the evening. Together at last.

He drives us out of the city, where the land opens to reveal a lakeside gem. “This is beautiful, Hux,” escapes my lips. The restaurant, bathed in mellow lighting, showcasing the lake without disturbing its nocturnal murmurings.

My dating history is threadbare. The last time I had a romantic dinner for two, I was toasting to a new relationship in Helena, sadly fading away before it could truly blossom.The sensation had slipped from my memory—how one can become immersed in a man’s presence with the world receding like a low tide.

As we dig into a three-course spread, we swap tales from the pastures of our childhoods. Hux starts with a vivid picture of a rescue at his ranch, a calf stuck in the mud and his folks’ all-out mission to pull it free. He talks, and I can feel the grit of that day, the respect for his parents’ quick thinking and big hearts. “I never forget that,” he says, the eight-year-old boy with mud-stained boots still alive in his eyes.

Then, I drift into tales of the old days at Mitchell Ranch. Before everything got turned upside down with West Sun, it was mostly smooth sailing. I share with him the adventures of riding alongside Dad, moving the herd to greener grounds, and sometimes spending weeks in the saddle. Coming in from the fields felt like a fanfare of affection, where my mother’s hug and meals awaited, and flowers scattered around the house like little smooches from nature.

“You were close to your mom?” Hux’s question is a mild probe into my heart’s chambers.

“Yes, I was,” I affirm, the image of her strength and grace as vivid as the day. “She wasn’t always a rancher.”

“Your dad told me she was from Chile.”

What had Dad found in him to confide so much? Secrets of a life I believed Dad cherished, now entrusted to the man beside me. I toggle between astonishment and a sense of belonging.

I recount, “She was quick to learn, daring. A real horsewoman speaking their language. The animals, they just gravitated to her.”

The flicker in Hux’s gaze is brief but telling. There’s a story perched on the edge of his tongue that rolls back into shadow each time he nears its telling. It’s the same restrained expressionI observed during our very first encounter when my own story of loss seemed to brush against a wound in him. Now, under the restaurant’s muted glow, it feels like that story is catching fire again, just needing a bit of air to get going.

“Last night, you said there was a lot more you wanted to tell me,” I offer gently, hoping to ease the words out of their hiding.

“This is a date. It’s your night,” he deflects with subtle insistence, his reluctance a fortress around his sorrows.

“Hux, come on. We’re here not just to enjoy these lovely meals,” I assert, with a meaningful glance toward the remnants of our dessert, now empty plates and lingering sweetness.

He meets my gaze, his eyes pools of unspoken gratitude for the space I’m holding open for him. But he steers us back to safer topics, chatting about his dad and the horses—stories he tells with a laugh. It’s clear it’s not his father’s memory that weighs on him tonight.

“I’d love to take you there someday, to Starfire. We could ride all day,” he finishes, with a note of finality that invites no further question.

But I’m not deterred. “Who did you lose, Hux?” I redirect the conversation, not as a detour but as a bridge back to him, to the heart of his silence.

He pauses, visibly taken aback by my directness, and glances around as though the weight of every stare in the room has suddenly found him. “Come on, let’s go somewhere else,” he suggests, his voice steady despite the storm I see brewing behind his eyes.

“Don’t dodge the tough stuff.” I hesitate, not wanting to get up even though he’s ready to pull my chair back.

“No, we’ll talk. Just… not here,” he assures me, and I relent. He places a hand on my back, leading me with calm resolve.

Hux steers us to the lake’s far side. Here, the night reigns supreme, only the distant twinkle of village lights offering a bridge back to the rest of the world. It’s an ethereal spot, seemingly unfit for discussions of grief. Yet, it feels right. Whatever burdens we share here add to the beauty between us, however laced with pain.

He motions for me to sit on the hood of his car and drapes a blanket around us.

“Better?” he asks, wrapping his arm around me.

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