Page 68 of Her Redeemed Protector

“So, this was the way to Mitchell Ranch, too?” I steal aglance at Savannah, noting the shadow of bitterness that crosses her features at the mention of the ranch.

“Yes. The bend is only a mile away. Mom and I were so close to home, but it wasn’t meant to be,” she replies, her voice threaded with a regret that everyone would feel in her shoes, yet I know it’s one she has learned to live with.

The road begins to climb, and the snaking turns cut sharply through the landscape. I ease off the accelerator, pacing myself. When we finally arrive, Savannah gestures toward a path that nearly blends into the surrounding wilderness.

We leave the vehicle and begin trailing down the slope, the earth soft beneath our boots. Savannah’s pace slows, and a contemplative smile spreads across her face.

“This was it,” Savannah murmurs reverently. “I loved every inch of this valley, except here. But I’ve come to terms with it being the place where she passed. And now, bringing these beautiful flowers for her…” Her hands carefully place the bouquet of yellow roses at the base of an ancient ponderosa pine.

“Hey, Mom. It’s me. Dad can’t make it, but I’m here with Hux.” She gestures to get closer, and I kneel beside her in solidarity.

The air is still—not evoking somberness but reflection. It’s a rare moment for me, a break from the usual pressure of danger and physical exertion. I won’t change a thing about my role at Red Mark. I’m still dedicated to giving my all until my body can no longer bear the weight. Yet, this moment reminds me of the simplicity I’ve long left behind—the place I once called home.

Savannah inhales deeply, and a flicker of anxiety crosses her features.

“You okay, Sav?” I reach for her hand, fingers weaving through hers.

She lets out a slow, steadying breath, the furrow deepening between her brows. “I’m just… thinking about Dad.”

Her hands fuss over the bouquet, adjusting the placement of the flowers with a delicate touch, striving for a perfection that feels just out of reach. She caresses the velvety rose petals, continuing, “Flowers were Mom’s life, her joy. Since she passed, Dad and I made sure this spot never lacked blooms, even in the coldest winter months.”

“He’ll come back here, I’m certain of it.” The words are a gamble, but my intuition about her father, Al, tells me he won’t forsake the memories of his wife.

“I hope so. It’s still too painful for him right now, though,” she murmurs. “The ranch was never the same without her. Even the weather seems to mourn her departure. Summers grew hotter and longer, while winters became fiercer and unpredictable.”

She gives a small, rueful laugh, her voice catching. “Despite everything, Dad and I kept fighting, held on. But sometimes, it’s hard to accept when the battle’s over, and you’re left standing on the losing side.”

Her shoulders start to shake with silent sobs. Right there, I witness the deep connection she holds with the ranch, perhaps an even stronger bond than her father ever had. I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her.

“I’m not perfect, Hux,” she says. “Even if you see me as some sort of mentor, I’m still haunted by what could’ve been.”

“I understand,” I murmur, stroking her arm. “We’re here for each other, right? You can trust me.”

She leans into me, her entire being seeming to relinquish her burdens into my care. I kiss her cheek, granting her the space toexperience this wave of emotion. Her head rests against my chest, her tears warm and poignant. I give the moment to her, allowing her grief and resilience to permeate the still air around us.

Gradually, her sobs subside as she strives to articulate her thoughts. “And Hux, this place still haunts me sometimes.” She gazes up at the start of the slope as if imagining the horror of the crash that claimed her mother.

“It does?” I prompt, encouraging her to share.

“Like when you pulled me from my truck that day. I really thought I was with her then. I don’t exactly know what I did, but I remember begging her to stay with me.”

She had spoken those words aloud in my arms. I give her hand a squeeze to emphasize my support. “I hope I gave you the comfort you needed then.”

She looks up at me. “You did, and more.”

I respond with a kiss, feeling a surge of pride that I could offer her solace instead of burdening her with my needs. Yet, I know I’m about to ask a great deal of her—with my request for her help in transforming my angry wish into something more constructive. It’s a big ask, one that weighs on my conscience.

We linger in the quiet of each other’s presence for a while. Then, with affectionate respect, Savannah leans forward to place a kiss on the bark of the ponderosa pine just above where the bouquet rests. “Love you, Mom,” she whispers. As she turns back to me, her smile is radiant, almost catching me off guard with its intensity.

While observing her genuine contentment, admiration swells within me. Savannah’s strength, her ability to find grounding in the face of loss, strikes me as real and powerful.

“Let’s go back then,” she suggests, and I nod.

As we make our way back up the slope, a question forms in my mind. “Would you like to visit the ranch?” I suggest,thinking it might help her find closure, considering it’s not far from here.

“No, I’d rather not,” she replies simply.

“You’d rather let it go?” I probe, curious if she’s considering releasing her hold on the place.

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