Page 72 of Her Redeemed Protector

“Breakfast at three.”

She nods. Those wee hours ain’t no thing to her.

“Hux? You in?” Micah turns to me.

I pause, my grin wide. “Might be a tad rusty, haven’t played cowboy lately. But hell yeah, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

26

SAVANNAH

The Starfire Ranch embraces me like a dream, coaxing me to linger in bed despite having spent the night imagining myself doing some serious herding.

Following everything that transpired at Lakefall Valley, I never thought I’d find myself waking up under a country quilt, breathing in the pure, brisk air that carries the distinct scent of dew-soaked grass only found on a ranch that has weathered hundreds of seasons.

I help Bianca carry our breakfast to the table, a spread that could rival any country feast. Toast, jam, sausages, bacon, eggs, the works, along with an array of freshly squeezed juices.

I eye the colorful bottles curiously, and Bianca says, “All from our own harvest. Mountain berries, cherries, and carrots.” She points to each one.

“Amazing, Bianca!”

“Where’s Hux?” Micah asks, loading up his plate with a hearty helping of scrambled eggs. He’s seven years younger than his brother, brimming with youthful energy, and in his physical prime. I can’t help but notice the similarities betweenthem, the sharp, defined features that seem to run in the family.

“Still getting ready,” I answer.

“He’s forgotten how cowboy gear works!” Micah chuckles. Suddenly, his attention shifts to the footsteps approaching. “Speak of the devil!”

My stomach momentarily forgets about Bianca’s breakfast, churning with reactions that have nothing to do with digestion. Hux has swapped his usual suit for a checkered shirt and jeans, cinched with a worn leather belt. There’s nothing quite as stirring as seeing a man dressed in clothes that speak of ruggedness and hard work, with muscles subtly defined under the fabric.

“Good morning,” Hux greets us, his voice tickling me with that familiar, rough-edged tone of having just woken up. But this time, there’s a subtle undertone that hints at the outdoors.

“Morning, darling,” Bianca pats him on the shoulder, her eyes lingering on the belt. “I haven’t seen you wear that in a long time.”

Hux glances at me as he sits next to me, murmuring, “It’s my dad’s.”

I run my fingers over the chunky buckle, remarking, “It looks good on you.” I feel a strong connection to his history, yet I can’t ignore the heat building at the base of my core. I’m already imagining the clink of that buckle when I undress him tonight.

After breakfast, Bianca sees us off. We head to the stable, where Ranger and Ruby bark excitedly, meeting the Comettis’ herding dogs for the first time. Under Micah’s keen observation, the dogs greet each other. Micah comments, “They seem to get along, but I’ll probably have Gunner keep ours with him, let them stick with the cattle this morning.”

Only those with a trained eye can spot the subtle body language in dogs. I notice it, too. Ranger, while staying quiet, subtly tries to assert his dominance, even as Micah’s pack has already established their alpha.

As we gear up the horses, I feel an overwhelming sense of belonging, like I’ve finally found my tribe. Hux’s horse, a magnificent black stallion with a striking white snout, towers beside us. Misty, already seeming like his best friend, nuzzles against him. With a shared enthusiasm, we ride out, the cold morning air invigorating, filled with the earthy smells of the ranch—fresh hay, leather, and the distant scent of pine from the surrounding woods. It’s a world apart, a place where every breath feels like a new lease on life.

Soon, the dawn breaks, mist hangs over the fields, and the light paints the landscape in a smooth, pinkish hue. We embark along what Micah refers to as the ‘Fire Trail,’ a rugged path leading us eastward and marked by the traces of countless hooves that have beaten this route. It’s one of the two main arteries of the ranch, its counterpart being the ‘Star Trail’ that winds through the northern pastures.

Hux’s attention is momentarily captured by a silhouette in the distance, an old cottage that stands in contrast to the modernized structures peppering the rest of the ranch. This one, forgotten by time, wears its dilapidation like a badge of history. As we pass, I notice Hux’s posture stiffen, tension evident in the way he holds the reins. His gaze lingers on the cottage even as we leave it behind.

“What’s there?” I ask, curiosity piqued by his distraction.

“An old foreman’s quarters,” he murmurs, his tone dismissive. With a shake of his head, he urges his horse forward to rejoin the group.

We traverse the rolling valleys and undulating hills,crossing over babbling streams that cut through the landscape. The morning dew clings to the grass, making the terrain slick under the horses’ hooves. Keeping the herd close becomes a dance of precision and guidance.

“What do you think, Sav?” Micah asks as we reach the crest of a hill, the vast expanse of the ranch unfurling before us. “South or southeast?”

Surveying the stretch of greenery, I weigh our options. “Southeast,” I decide, pointing to where the land rolls more gently. “Especially since these guys are a new mob,” I nod toward the cluster of sheep, their wool dotted with morning dew.

“Southeast, it is,” Micah confirms, and we adjust our path accordingly.

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