Page 32 of Harvest His Heart
Suddenly, headlights slice through the gaps in the wall. A truck engine roars outside.
Anson’s voice booms through the wind, “LACEY!”
Cary snarls, dragging me back further, gun to my ribs. “Call him off or I’ll?—”
The door explodes inward. Anson bursts through, soaked, furious, weapon raised.
“Drop it,” he growls, looking up through the ladder opening. Brown Stetson, face fierce but cool as the Grim Reaper.
Cary swings the gun toward him. I twist against his other hand, hair screaming at the pressure, biting the inner arm still gripping me until he lets go. I scramble away.
Anson fires first—clean, controlled.
Cary wails, staggers back, and grabs his shoulder. No mortal wound. But?—
One, two, three steps…
Crack! Rotten boards splinter under his weight. His scream echoes as he plunges through the caving floorboards with a sickening thud.
A bellow erupts below—the bull, massive and feral. Booms and cracks. Cries and howls until the barn goes silent, dust floating up through the rafters. Anson’s face is stone-hard as he climbs the ladder to me.
Then silence, save for the rain hammering the roof. I sag against the wall, shaking.
Two strides, and I’m in Anson’s steel-band arms. Spice and smoke, soft words and hushed breaths. Safe, secure.
He holsters his weapon, cups my face delicately, eyes roving over me. “You hurt?”
“No,” I whimper, breath shuddering. “Just scared.”
He pulls me hard against him, voice breaking. “It’s over, Pepper. You’re safe. He can never hurt you again.”
Patrick and Ash burst in moments later, flashlights sweeping the lower level of the barn and up into the hay-filled loft.
One look at the pit below, and Patrick mutters, “Guess nature took care of the paperwork.”
Anson doesn’t look down. He just keeps me pressed to his chest. Like we’re the only two people in the world. Like he can shield me from the storms outside as well as the ones within.
Rain pounds the roof harder, determined to wash everything clean.
Silence stretches between heartbeats.
“But Ro?” I whisper.
“Ro?” Anson sounds confused. “Safe at home with Willow. Why?”
“Thank God!” I say, knees finally giving way. He holds me, becoming my strength.
“Cary had her phone. Texted me with it to get me out here. I thought for sure he had her hostage once I arrived, and he revealed himself.”
Ash looks up through the trapdoor, brows furrowing. “Her phone was missing when I left. Thought she lost it. Kids being kids.” His hands fist, face darkening. “To think he got that close to our families.”
“And all because of me,” I sag against Anson.
“No, because ofhisevil.Hemade those choices, not you.”
“And now,” Ash adds. “He won’t be making any more.”
“Thank God.” My voice trembles. Anson strokes my cheek, stares warmly into my eyes. “Storm day and a half, but don’t stop touching me …ever.”
