Page 82 of Promised to the Cowboy

“Hey, sweetheart.” My thumb strokes absent circles over my bump. “I know today was scary, but I’m going to protect you. I’ll always protect you.”

The promise steadies something inside me, even as it breaks my own heart.

If I stay, my father has one more way to hurt Gabriel. One more pressure point to use against the Suttons. One more reason to turn an already vicious fight into something personal.

The decision arrives so quietly that I mistake it for peace.

My breathing steadies, but the ache in my chest intensifies.

Because I know what I have to do.

I don't know how long I sleep.

When I wake again, the room is dark. For one confused second, I don't know why.

Then I hear the slow, steady rhythm of someone breathing beside me.

I turn my head.

Gabriel.

He’s asleep on his side facing me, one arm draped possessively across my waist, his hand resting just beneath the curve of my stomach as though even asleep, he’s protecting us both.

My chest aches. He didn’t wake me. He simply slipped into bed beside me, as though he couldn’t bear to leave me alone tonight.

The bedside clock glows just after two in the morning. Outside, the ranch lies wrapped in silence.

I study him for a long moment, memorizing him. His dark hair is tousled from sleep. His lashes rest against his cheeks. His face is relaxed in sleep, making him look younger.

A fresh sting burns behind my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He doesn’t hear me. His fingers tighten slightly against my waist. Even asleep, he’s holding on.

Carefully, I slide my hand beneath his wrist and lift. I pause as he murmurs something I can’t make out and shifts closer.

I freeze.

After a few seconds, his breathing deepens again. I ease his arm onto the mattress beside me. He doesn’t wake.

I sit up slowly, keeping every movement deliberate. The mattress barely moves. Gabriel sleeps on as I slip from the bed.

My jeans are draped over the chair where he must have left them after helping me into bed. My shirt hangs beside them. Everything folded. Everything cared for. Like he couldn’t stop looking after me, even while I slept.

I blink hard. If I let myself think about him, I won’t be able to do this.

I dress silently and slip quietly into the hallway. The house is silent. Most of the lights downstairs have been switched off. Only the glow above the stove spills into the hallway, leaving the rest of the ranch wrapped in shadows.

I pause outside the spare room. The door creaks softly as I ease it open. Moonlight spills across the quilt.

I kneel beside the bed and reach underneath. My fingers close around the handle almost immediately. I don’t even have to search. The bag slides free with hardly a sound. Still zipped. I never unpacked. Not really. A toothbrush in the bathroom. A few clothes hanging in the wardrobe.

But the bag stayed exactly where I shoved it that first night. Ready. Waiting. As though some part of me never believed I’d be allowed to stay.

Guilt washes over me. Yesterday, they told me I was family, even after they learned who my father was. And I was quietly keeping one foot out the door.

I straighten, take one last look around the room, then quietly close the door behind me.

The keys feel impossibly loud in my hand as I slip them into my pocket.