Page 27 of Daddy's Girl

"It wasn't exactly a hardship." I feel my cheeks heat. "I mean—the corner was, but the rest..."

His laugh rumbles through the quiet room. "Good to know." He sets the first aid kit aside, then hesitates, an unusual uncertainty crossing his features. "I have something for you."

He crosses to the dresser, opening the top drawer and withdrawing a small object. When he returns to the bed, I see it's a stuffed animal—a wolf, once gray but now faded to an indeterminate shade, patches worn thin on its muzzle and ears. One ear is singed black at the tip.

"Our house burned when I was nine," Jack says, turning the small wolf in his massive hands. "Electrical fire. Started in the kitchen while we were sleeping." His jaw tightens. "Dad was out—with another woman, we found out later. Mom got all five of us boys out, but there wasn't time to save much else."

I reach out, fingers brushing the blackened ear. "This was in the fire."

He nods. "One of the only things that survived. Mom gave it to me when I was four." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Used to tell me wolves protected their pack, no matter what. That I was her little protector."

The image of young Jack clutching this small wolf makes my throat tighten.

"I took it with me when I enlisted." He shakes his head. "Caught hell from the other guys. Big man with a little stuffed animal. But it reminded me what I was fighting for. Who I was."

He holds it out to me, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "I want you to have it."

The weight of the gesture nearly crushes me. This isn't just a gift—it's a piece of his history. One of his only connections to his mother. Something that survived fire and war to reach my hands.

"Jack, I can't—"

"You can," he interrupts gently. "And you will. Because it matters to me that you have it." He places the small wolf in my hands. "Something to remind you that you're safe. That you're protected."

Tears blur my vision as I cradle the worn toy against my chest. "Thank you," I whisper, inadequate words for the magnitude of what he's given me.

He gathers me close again, careful of my ankle, arranging us so my head rests on his shoulder. "We need to establish some ground rules," he says after a while, voice rumbling beneath my ear.

"Like what?"

"Like you don't put yourself in danger." His arm tightens around me. "You don't leave the mountain without telling me where you're going. If you're scared or uncertain about anything, you come to me first." He tilts my chin up, eyes serious. "Not because I want to control you. Because I need to know you're safe."

I nod, understanding the difference now between David's controlling demands and Jack's protective boundaries.

"There's something else you should know," he continues, voice dropping lower. "Billy from the ranger station mentioned someone's been asking around about a young woman matching your description. Red hair. Early twenties."

Ice forms in my stomach. "David."

"Possibly." Jack's expression hardens. "Billy said the guy claimed to be your brother, looking for his 'mentally ill sister' who needed medication."

"I don't have a brother." My fingers tighten around the stuffed wolf. "How would he even know to look here?"

Jack's jaw tightens. "Don’t know. You said you had stuff from your dad. Something that had my name on it."

The memory hits me—David "helping" me sort through Dad's belongings, insisting on organizing his office while I dealt with clothes and personal items. "Yes. He helped me pack up Dad's things."

"Your father was a saver. Sentimental. Old letters. Photos." Jack's eyes narrow. "If this guy went through his stuff, he might have found references to me. To this place. Might have gone back to your place…found more specifics."

The safe feeling from moments before fractures, reality intruding like cold water. "He won't stop looking," I whisper. "He can't risk me sharing those recordings. I should go. I don’t want to get you involved in—"

Jack's hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I didn't know I'd shed. "Let him come," he says, voice deadly quiet.

The fierce protectiveness in his tone should frighten me. Instead, it wraps around me like armor, stronger than any lock or weapon.

"Now," he says, shifting to a lighter tone. "Tell me more about rocks, baby. The Petoskey ones."

I blink at the subject change. "Why?"

"Because they matter to you." He settles more comfortably against the pillows, drawing me against his chest. "And anything that matters to you, I want to know about. Everything about you, Delaney. The good, the bad, the fucking rock collection. All of it."

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