Page 54 of Cowboy
"I'm sorry," she whispers, starting to pull away. "I shouldn't have?—"
"Don't," I interrupt, keeping her close. "Don't apologize. I've wanted to do that for so long."
She looks up at me, vulnerability clear on her face. "Really?"
I nod, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Really. But, Caoimhe, we don't have to rush anything. We can take this as slow as you need."
She's quiet for a moment, considering. Then she leans her forehead against mine. "I don't know if I'm ready for... everything. But I know I want this. I want you."
"Then we'll figure it out together," I promise. "One day at a time."
Caoimhe nods, a small smile playing at her lips. She opens her mouth to say something else, but is cut off by a cry from upstairs.
"Caoimhe!" Saoirse's frightened voice echoes through the house.
In an instant, Caoimhe is on her feet, rushing toward the stairs. I follow close behind, my heart racing. As we enter the guest room, we find Saoirse sitting up in bed, tears streaming down her face.
"Shh, it's okay," Caoimhe soothes, gathering the girl into her arms. "I'm here. You're safe."
I hang back in the doorway, not wanting to intrude but ready to help if needed. As Saoirse's sobs subside, I hear her whisper, "I dreamed they came back for us."
My heart clenches at the fear in her voice. Caoimhe meets my eyes over Saoirse's head, her own gaze filled with determination.
"No one's going to take you away," she says firmly, to both Saoirse and me. "We're safe now. Ciarán and I will make sure of it."
As I watch Caoimhe comfort Saoirse, I'm struck by the strength of this woman. Despite everything she's been through, she's still fighting, still protecting. And I swear to myself that I'll do whatever it takes to keep them both safe, to help them heal.
The road ahead won't be easy, I know that. We still have Dylan to deal with, and the rest of the trafficking ring to bring down. But looking at Caoimhe and Saoirse, I know it's worth it. Whatever challenges come our way, we'll face them together.
As Saoirse's breathing evens out and she drifts back to sleep, Caoimhe carefully extracts herself from the bed. She looks exhausted, the emotional toll of the day clearly weighing on her.
"You should get some rest too," I say softly as we step out into the hallway.
Caoimhe nods, running a hand through her hair. "You're right. It's been... a lot."
I hesitate for a moment, then ask, "Do you want me to stay? In case she has another nightmare?"
Caoimhe looks at me, gratitude and something else, something warmer in her eyes. "Would you? I'd feel better knowing you're here."
"Of course," I reply without hesitation. "I'll take the chair."
As we settle in for the night, Caoimhe in the bed and me in the armchair by the window, I can't help but reflect on how much has changed in such a short time. A few weeks ago, I was still searching desperately for any sign of Caoimhe. Now, she's here, safe but carrying scars both visible and hidden.
I watch her as she falls asleep, her face finally peaceful in slumber. I vow silently to do whatever it takes to keep that peace, to help her and Saoirse heal and build a new life. As for Dylan and the others responsible for their suffering... Well, they'd better pray the police find them before I do.
With that thought, I lean back in the chair, letting myself drift off to sleep, ready to face whatever tomorrow brings.
As morning breaks, I wake with a crick in my neck from sleeping upright in the armchair. For a moment, I'm disoriented, then the events of yesterday come rushing back. I glance over at the bed where Caoimhe lies sleeping, her face more relaxed than I've seen it since her return. Saoirse is curled against her side, one small hand clutching Caoimhe's shirt even in sleep.
I slip quietly from the room, heading downstairs to put on coffee. The house is quiet, peaceful, but I can't shake the feeling that this calm is temporary. Dylan is still out there, and as long as he is, Caoimhe and Saoirse aren't truly safe.
My phone buzzes as I'm measuring coffee grounds. It's Jerry.
"Got something for you," he says without preamble when I answer. "A possible sighting of Dylan in Vienna three days ago."
My heart races. "How solid is it?"
"One of my guys was working out there. Bastard was using the name Patrick Murphy, staying at some fancy hotel like he hasn't got a target on his back."
