Page 12 of Sniper Daddy
After the main course, while the women clear plates and the kids play near the fireplace, I catch Gavin and Silas’s eyes. I tilt my head toward the far corner. They follow me.
“Anything on Viktor Lane?” I ask, voice low.
Silas keeps his tone even. “We dug deep. He’s not as clean as he looks. Business owner on paper, but he has ties to some shady financial circles. Shell companies. Large cash movements. Nothing we can pin on him yet, but it lines up with what Piper said about seeing things she shouldn’t have. He’s been calling every precinct in the state, playing the worried father. But there are gaps in his story. We’re still looking.”
Gavin adds, “He has money and connections. If he wants her back, he won’t give up easily.”
I nod once, jaw tight. “She stays here. No one tells him anything. Not until she decides.”
Silas agrees. “Your call. We have her back.”
I glance over at the table. Piper is laughing at something Daisy said. The sight eases something in my chest. She looks happy. Safe. I want her to keep looking like that.
The rest of dinner passes in comfortable noise. Dessert is Emma’s apple pie, warm with ice cream. Piper eats two slices. When she catches me watching her, she smiles shyly and offers me a bite from her fork. I take it. The women notice. They share knowing looks but don’t tease. Not yet.
As the evening winds down, people start heading back to their cabins. Goodnights and hugs are passed around. Harper squeezes Piper’s shoulder. “Come back anytime. Even if Boyd tries to keep you locked away in that quiet cabin of his.”
Piper laughs. “I will.”
I help her up and hand her the crutches. The walk back is slower. The sun has gone down and the mountain air is cool. I stay close, ready if she needs me. When we reach the cabin, I unlock the door and help her inside.
She sinks onto the edge of the bed with a tired sigh. “That was nice. Really nice. They’re all so kind.”
“They like you,” I say.
She looks up at me. The firelight catches in her eyes. Something shifts in the air between us. The tension that’s been building for days suddenly feels heavier. I’ve wanted to kiss her for weeks. Every time I helped her eat. Every time she laughed at something I said. Every time she looked at me like I was her safe place.
I can’t hold back anymore.
I cross the room in two steps. She doesn’t pull away. I cup her face gently with both hands and lean down. The kiss starts slow, careful. I don’t want to hurt her. But when she sighs against my mouth and kisses me back, something inside me breaks open.
I kiss her deeper. She tastes like apple pie and safety and everything I didn’t know I needed. Her hands come up to grip my shirt. I tilt her head back slightly, tasting her, learning her. She makes a soft sound that goes straight through me.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. I rest my forehead against hers.
“I’ve wanted to do that for days,” I admit.
She smiles, a little breathless. “I’ve wanted you to.”
I kiss her again, softer this time. Slower. Like we have all the time in the world.
Because here, in this cabin, on this mountain, we do.
And I’m going to make sure she knows she never has to run again.
EIGHT
PIPER
The first rays of morning light filter through the cabin windows, soft and golden. I wake slowly, blinking at the wooden beams overhead. For a moment I just lie there, taking in the quiet. My body still aches, but it’s a dull, manageable kind of pain now. The sharp, breath-stealing agony from the first few days has faded into something I can push through. I feel stronger. More like myself.
Boyd’s still asleep in the chair beside the bed. He’s been sleeping there every night, refusing to leave me alone even though I told him days ago that I would be fine. His head is tilted back, arms crossed over his broad chest, rifle leaning against the wall within easy reach. Even in sleep he looks ready. Protective. It makes something warm bloom in my chest that I’m not ready to name yet.
I decide right then that today I want to do something for him. He has taken care of me nonstop. Feeding me. Helping me wash. Reading to me. The least I can do is make him breakfast.
I slide out of bed as quietly as I can, wincing when my cast thumps against the floor. The crutches are right where Boyd leftthem. I grip them tightly and make my way to the small kitchen area, moving slowly so I don’t wake him. Every step still hurts, but I’m getting better at ignoring it.
The kitchen is simple and neat, just like the rest of the cabin. I find eggs in the fridge, bread on the counter, and a cast-iron skillet hanging on the wall. I crack eggs into a bowl, whisk them with a fork, and start heating the skillet. The familiar motions feel good. Normal. For the first time since the crash, I feel useful.
