Page 13 of Make Me Yours
“Sure, you don’t,” I teased, grinning. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
She arched a brow. “And yours?”
My stomach dropped. I should’ve deflected. Should’ve laughed it off. But Emma had always been the one person I could unload on without feeling like I’d shattered some image of myself I had to maintain. The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I… I slept with Sawyer. On the cruise.”
Her eyes went wide, then narrow with wicked delight. “Oh, Lilly Mitchell. And here I thought you were still pining from a distance.”
“Yeah, well.” I twisted my napkin in my lap. “It just… happened. And it might… happen again.”
Emma leaned in, lowering her voice. “Then you need to be careful. Sawyer’s a good man, but you know what they say about him. Afghanistan left its mark. He’s not built for forever. Fun is one thing. A baby? That’s another.”
Her words hit harder than she realized. I kept the smile on my face, but my stomach dipped, heavy and low. Because all I could think about was the little white packet still buried in my purse—the Plan B pill I’d bought after Hawaii.
The one I never took.
I shoved the thought down deep, swallowing against the knot in my throat. The rest of lunch slid by in a blur of town gossip, easy laughter, and promises that we’d do this more often.
Emma nudged me with her hip as we slid out of the booth. “You’re coming to the twins’ birthday party, right? Don’t make me hunt you down.”
I forced a grin, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Even if that world would include Sawyer James being there too.
When I got back to the shop, the sun was sliding west, painting Main Street in honeyed light. I moved through the motions—restocking tulips, trimming stems, pretending to focus.
Sunny padded at my feet, her head resting on my shoe as if to anchor me. Emma’s warning wouldn’t leave me, circling tighter until it pressed beneath my ribs.
I told myself I felt fine. Told myself Sawyer had been careful last night. Told myself one missed pill wasn’t the end of the world.
But deep down, under all our confessions and laughter, I knew Emma was right. There were things I couldn’t say to anyone—not to her, and definitely not to him. And those things weren’t going away.
Chapter Six
Crossing the Ridge
Sawyer
The mudroom carried the sharp scent of old leather and settled dust. Even this evening, Lilly’s perfume still lingered in the air, stubborn as a memory, no matter how often I washed the sheets.
Bracing a hand on the wooden bench, I pulled on my boots, the heel catching before it slid home with a dull thud. The house was silent around me, the silence that pressed in and reminded me just how empty these walls were.
Then came the cry: a long, ragged howl cutting across the ridge, sharp and empty. A second answer yelped back, closer now, and I could’ve sworn I heard a low, wolf-deep timbre woven into the coyote’s lament. My spine stiffened. Coyotes were a nightly chorus out here—but wolves…wolves had a way of making themselves at home if hungry.
Old instincts flushed through me before reason could catch up. My hand snaked to the shotgun propped in the corner, fingers wrapping the cool barrel. It was overkill for a simplenight ride, but SEAL training left its scars unseen—you learn to respect the dark, to treat every whisper as a threat until you’re proven wrong.
My phone buzzed against the bench with a text from Easton.
Easton: You headed into Billings tomorrow? Need a ride. Want to hit the Harley Store.
I let out a humorless chuckle. Figures. If he weren’t tinkering with his Harley motorcycle, he was loading up on gear he’d never use.
Me: Sure. Appointment at eleven. Be ready early.
Pocketing the phone, I tightened my grip on the shotgun. The heft grounded me—but also made me shake my head. What the hell am I doing? Acting like I’m about to breach a compound instead of stepping out to see a woman. Except with Lilly, the parallels weren’t far off.
I forced the thought down as I eased the back door open. Cold night air slammed in, crisp as broken glass, carrying another lonely coyote’s wail. I slipped onto the brick pathway heading for the stable, shotgun balanced at my hip.
Out here, the darkness belonged to no one. Worse, it was all too easy to pretend this was just another mission—structured, finite, without expectation. Easier than admitting I was sneaking into enemy territory—her territory—because God help me, I couldn’t stay away.
