Page 88 of Cole

He grinned. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

Janice curled into Cole's side, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her. The steady beat of his heart under her ear was better than any lullaby.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For coming for me. For not giving up."

"I'll always come for you," Cole said, his voice rumbling in his chest. "Always."

She wanted to ask what that meant, wanted to talk about what happened next, about the feelings growing between them that neither of them had time to examine. But exhaustion pulled at her, and his warmth surrounded her, and for the first time since the kidnappers grabbed her from the hotel room, she felt safe.

Sleep claimed her between one breath and the next.

37

Janice woke to afternoon light slanting through the cabin windows and Cole's steady breathing beneath her ear. She lay still for a moment, savoring the peace, the safety, the simple comfort of not being alone.

Cole's eyes opened, finding hers immediately. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." She smiled despite everything. "How long were we out?"

"Couple of hours. You needed it." His hand moved through her hair, gentle and soothing. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Actually, I am." Janice sat up slowly, her body protesting but manageable. She looked around, good memories filling her as she thought of the past four months. But everything has its time, and she knew her time here was over. "I’m ready to leave. I’m ready to say goodbye to this place."

"I'll help."

As they climbed out of bed, she noticed him wince. “Oh shit, Cole! I forgot about your injury!”

“It’s fine. I checked, and the stitches held. It’s just a little sore.”

She hurried into the kitchen and brought a glass of water and another pill. “I had plenty of antibiotics and OTC pain meds stashed here in case they were needed. Take these.”

He rolled his eyes but took the proffered pills and swallowed them. After offering his thanks with a light kiss, they worked together, packing the last of the things she hadn’t grabbed when they fled the cabin.

Cole's hand found hers. "You’ve been so courageous living here."

Janice laced her fingers through his, holding on. "I loved it. I wouldn’t want to live alone like a hermit all the time, but it was good for me." Then she snorted. “I’m not sure how I was courageous.”

"Courage isn't the absence of fear. It's doing what's right despite being terrified." He squeezed her hand. "You've got plenty of that."

They finished packing, and as he hauled the last items to his SUV, Janice moved through the cabin one last time. She touched familiar surfaces, saying silent goodbyes to a place that had been her temporary home. Here, she'd found strength she didn't know she possessed, discovered that she could stand alone, and learned that isolation wasn't the same as loneliness.

And she'd found Cole. This man who'd risked everything to save her, who'd held her while she slept, who looked at her like she was brave instead of broken.

"Ready?" Cole asked gently, standing by the door with her packed equipment.

"Almost." Janice pulled on her coat and stepped outside into the cold afternoon air.

The forest was quiet and peaceful, showing no signs of the violence that had occurred just miles away. Snow blanketed everything in pristine white, and the mountains rose in the distance, eternal and unmoved by human drama.

Movement at the tree line caught her eye.

The red fox stood there, his white-tipped tail distinctive even from this distance. He sat in the snow, watching her with those intelligent amber eyes, as if he'd come to see her off.

Janice's throat tightened with emotion. She'd talked to this fox dozens of times over the past months, had documented him and his mate, had watched him establish territory and prepare for winter. He'd been her companion in isolation, a reminder that she wasn't truly alone even in the wilderness.

"Hey, friend," she called softly. "I'm leaving now. But thank you. For the company. For reminding me that wild things can thrive if we just give them the space to be themselves."

The fox cocked his head, considering her words. Then, with the easy grace he’d so often shown, he stood and trotted closer. Not too close… but near enough that she could see the details of his face, the thick winter coat, the bright eyes that held something almost like understanding.