Page 17 of Stealing the Runaway Bride

She looks toward the armchair in the corner. "Where will you be?"

"Right here."

"All night?"

"Every second."

She studies me as though she’s searching for the lie. She won’t find one.

Juliette crawls beneath the blankets without another argument. I pull them over her, tucking the heavy wool around her shoulders. My hand lingers against her forehead, and her eyes flutter shut beneath my touch.

"You’re safe," I tell her.

The words come out carved and final.

"Cag?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't stop carving that hawk."

I freeze, my eyes going to the dashboard of my truck in my mind's eye. "How did you know about that?"

"I saw it when I climbed in. It’s beautiful. You should finish it."

I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat. "Maybe I will."

I walk over to the chair and sit down, my eyes fixed on the door. I’m tired. My body aches with a tension that sleep won't fix. But as I listen to the steady rhythm of Juliette’s breathing, the anger and the fear start to recede, replaced by a cold, hard determination.

Black Aspen can take our water. They can threaten our land. They can try to buy the world.

But they aren't taking her.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my whittling knife and a fresh piece of cottonwood I picked up earlier. I look at the wood, feeling the grain under my thumb. For the first time in three years, I know exactly what I’m going to make.

I’m going to make a magnolia.

And I’m going to finish it.

The night air is cool, drifting in through the cracked window of the loft. I can hear the distant lowing of the cattle, the sound of the wind through the pines. It’s a peaceful sound, but I know it’s just the eye of the storm.

The surveyor will be back. Black Aspen will send someone worse.

And when they come, they’re going to find out what happens when you try to take something from a Kramer.

I glance over at the cot. Juliette is fast asleep, her face relaxed, a slight flush still on her cheeks from earlier. My cock stirs again, a slow, heavy throb. The restraint is killing me. The need to be inside her, to fill her with everything I am, is a physical weight in the room.

But I’ll wait. I’ll give her time to decide whether this can become more than the place she escaped to.

I start to carve, the thin curls of wood falling to the floor like snow. Each stroke of the knife is a vow. Each shaving is a promise.

I’m still carrying what happened at that altar, but it no longer feels like the only future I’m allowed to have. Now there’s Juliette, and I intend to stand beside her.

And anyone who comes to tear it down had better come ready.

The hours tick by, marked by the slow movement of the moon across the sky. My hands are steady, my mind focused. The magnolia starts to take shape in the wood—delicate petals, a sturdy stem. It’s a contradiction, just like her.

As the first hints of grey start to touch the horizon, I set the knife down. The flower isn't finished yet, but the foundation is there. The heart of it is solid.