Page 9 of Sniper Daddy
“You’re good at this,” she says quietly. “Taking care of people.”
I meet her eyes. “I’m good at protecting what matters.”
She doesn’t look away. The air between us feels thicker for a moment. Not uncomfortable. Just… aware.
A few more days pass like that. Slow conversations. Small comforts. She tells me bits about her life before. How she worked as a bookkeeper. How she saw something she shouldn’t have. How her father is the reason she ran. I listen to every word. I don’t push. I just let her talk when she’s ready.
I tell her more about the compound. About the Sunday dinners. About the garden Daisy tends. About the way the men and women here have built a family out of people who had nowhere else to go.
She listens like she’s picturing it. Like she’s starting to see herself in that picture.
One evening, after Eli leaves from his check-up, she looks at me and says, “I think I might be able to trust you, Boyd.”
I nod once. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
She smiles, tired but real, and settles back against the pillows.
I stay in the chair, rifle close, heart steady.
She’s healing.
And I’m right here for every step of it.
SIX
PIPER
I wake up to the soft crackle of the fire and the low murmur of male voices near the door. For the first time in days the pain in my leg feels more like a deep bruise than a screaming fire. My ribs still ache when I breathe too deeply, but the sharp edge has dulled. I feel more like myself. Less like a broken thing someone dragged out of a wrecked car.
I push myself up slowly against the pillows. Boyd is already turning toward me, like he sensed the movement before I even made a sound. He’s been doing that a lot. Anticipating what I need before I ask. It should feel strange. Instead it feels safe.
“Morning,” he says quietly. His voice is always low, like he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet of the cabin.
Eli stands beside him, holding a pair of metal crutches. “Good timing. I brought these. Thought you might be ready to try moving around a little today.”
My heart gives a small, hopeful jump. I’ve been stuck in this bed for what feels like forever. The idea of standing on my own two feet, even if one is in a cast, makes me want to cry with relief.
Boyd crosses the room and helps me sit all the way up. His hands are careful, one on my back and one steadying my good leg. “Take it slow. No rushing.”
Eli sets the crutches against the bed. “We’ll go easy. The cast is solid, but your ribs are still healing. Balance is going to feel off at first.”
They both help me swing my legs over the side of the bed. Boyd supports most of my weight while Eli positions the crutches under my arms. The first time I put pressure on my good leg, the room tilts a little. Boyd’s arm slides around my waist instantly, holding me steady.
“I’ve got you,” he says. Simple. Steady. No fuss.
I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay. Let’s try this.”
The first few steps are awkward and painful. My left leg is heavy in the cast, and my ribs protest every time I shift my weight. But I’m moving. Actually moving. Boyd stays right beside me, one hand hovering near my elbow, ready to catch me if I stumble. Eli walks on my other side, giving quiet instructions.
“Small steps. Lean into the crutches. Good. That’s it.”
By the time I make it across the room and back, I’m sweating and breathing hard, but I’m grinning like an idiot. Boyd doesn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth softens in that way I’m starting to recognize as his version of pleased.
“You did good,” he says.
Eli checks my pulse and nods. “You’re healing faster than I expected. Keep using these a little each day. No overdoing it. Boyd will make sure of that.”
Boyd gives a single nod, like that’s already decided.
