Page 17 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Audra

Beckett hadn’t said a word to me in three hours.

Not since breakfast, when he’d loaded that table with enough food to feed half of Garnet Bend, then walked out before I could thank him properly.

Now he was everywhere I looked—fixing fence posts when I fed the dogs, checking equipment when I cleaned kennels, hauling feed bags when I refreshed water bowls—but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

The cold snap had broken overnight, leaving the kind of mild fall weather that made Montana almost pleasant.

But the warmth didn’t touch the chill between us.

He was furious. I could see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the white-knuckle grip on his hammer, the way his jaw clenched every time he glanced my direction.

Mad that I’d been sleeping in that shed. Mad that I hadn’t asked for help. Mad that Todd’s sister had been right under his nose, starving and freezing, and he hadn’t known.

I couldn’t blame him. The anger was easier to handle than the hurt I’d glimpsed underneath it.

Every couple hours, though, he’d break his silence just long enough to show up with food.

A granola bar shoved into my hand while I mucked out stalls.

A bowl of soup that appeared on the barn’s workbench while I was organizing supplies.

Now, as I refilled the cats’ water dishes, he materialized beside me with a plate—orange slices arranged in a half-circle, crackers, cheese cut into neat squares.

He set it on the feed bin and crossed his arms, waiting.

“Beckett, I’m fine.”

“Eat.” One word, flat and final.

I peeled off my work gloves and picked up an orange slice. The sweetness flooded my mouth, and I had to close my eyes against the sensation. When had fruit started tasting like luxury?

He didn’t move until I’d eaten half the plate. This pattern—the silent feeding—felt like penance. His or mine, I wasn’t sure.

“If you keep this up, I’ll get fat,” I said, trying for lightness.

He was already turning away but paused at my words. “Would love to see you with a lot more meat on your bones.” The admission came out rough, like it had escaped without permission. Then he stalked back to the barn before I could respond.

I sat there on an overturned bucket, the last orange slice halfway to my mouth, trying to process what had just happened.

For so long, survival had been a solo mission.

Having someone monitor my food intake, care whether I was warm enough, worry about my weight—it felt foreign and overwhelming and wonderful all at once.

But then he disappeared again, and I didn’t see him for the rest of the morning.

Then he vanished into the main barn, and I didn’t see him for hours.

By afternoon, I took a break, leaning against one of the horse stalls. Maybe it was all the food my body wasn’t used to, but I was tired. Jet padded over and settled against my leg, his solid warmth grounding me.

“I sleptin an actual bed last night,” I told him, working my fingers through his fur. “Clean sheets that smelled like fabric softener instead of mildew. A real pillow instead of a shirt rolled up. I’d forgotten what that felt like.”

His tail swept across the hardwood.

“And after Beckett woke me from that nightmare in the shed, I actually slept the rest of the night. No more bad dreams once I got to Lark’s bed.

” I scratched behind his ears the way he liked.

“Probably because I finally felt safe. How messed up is that? Takes someone literally breaking down a door and carrying me to safety for me to actually rest.”

The irony sat bitter on my tongue. All those months of running, checking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows, and the first real rest came after my worst fear—being discovered.

“But Lark comes back next week.” The words felt heavy in my mouth. “I can’t live in her house. I can’t just squat in her bedroom like some kind of parasite.”

Part of me actually wanted the shed back. Miserable as it was—and God, it had been miserable, the cold, the cement floor—at least it had been mine. My choice. My secret. I could leave if I needed without a word.

“Maybe it’s the food in my system, but I feel like I could have lasted longer out in the shed.” Even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself. “A few more weeks, maybe. Until the real winter hit. Or until…”

Footsteps approaching made Jet’s ears perk. Beckett filled the doorway, work gloves hanging from his back pocket, a streak of dirt across his jaw.

“We’re done for today. Going to town.”

I blinked up at him from the floor. “We are?”

“Yes, we’re going grocery shopping.” He said it matter-of-factly, like this was routine. Like we were normal people with normal lives. “Can’t have you living on peanut butter.”

Shame heated my cheeks as I remembered him finding that nearly empty jar. “Other than the money you gave me, Lark hasn’t paid me yet. I don’t have much money for?—”

“I’ll cover it.” His jaw tightened when I opened my mouth to protest. “Call it an advance if that makes it easier to swallow. But you’re getting real food.”

Pride and practicality went to war in my chest. What was I going to do? Pride left me twenty pounds underweight and sleeping in a shed in the middle of Montana.

“I’m keeping track of every penny.”

“Fine.” He was already moving toward his truck. “Get your jacket.”

The drive into town passed in comfortable silence. I hadn’t even made it into Garnet Bend yet; I’d just been so focused on survival. I could see the appeal of the small town.

Garnet Bend’s main street dozed in the Tuesday afternoon quiet.

An elderly couple walked a pair of beagles.

Someone was stringing lights on the coffee shop—early for Christmas, or maybe they never took them down.

The hardware store’s owner swept his front stoop.

Small-town rhythms that felt like they belonged in another universe from the one I’d been living in.

The grocery store sprawled bigger than I’d expected, trying to be everything to everybody in a town too small for specialty shops. Beckett grabbed a cart and headed straight for produce like a man on a mission.

“Basics are fine,” I said as vegetables started piling up. Carrots, broccoli, peppers in red and yellow and green. My mouth watered. I used to cook with fresh ingredients like this all the time; I could think of half a dozen recipes off the top of my head that I would love to make.

“You need real food.” He tested the ripeness of avocados with surprising expertise. “Not just whatever’s cheapest. Besides this morning, when was the last time you had something that wasn’t a sandwich?”

I shrugged one shoulder, not answering.

I watched him shop with the same focused intensity he brought to everything.

Checking expiration dates, comparing prices, but always choosing quality.

When I reached for the small milk container, he replaced it with a half gallon.

When I picked white bread, he added whole grain. Every bargain choice got upgraded.

“Beckett, I can’t afford this,” I protested as chicken, ground beef, and pork chops joined the growing mountain.

He stopped, hands gripping the cart handle, and really looked at me. “Then I’ll pay for half, and maybe we can have some meals together.”

I stopped for a second. Cooking for two was almost easier than cooking for one. It made sense. But it also meant spending more time with him. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“Plus, I can’t stay in Lark’s house indefinitely. If I move in to a hotel”— which I wouldn’t because I couldn’t afford it and they checked IDs —“it won’t have a big fridge or a stove.”

He stopped. “I have a plan. I know trust doesn’t come easy to you, but for right now, I’m asking you to go with me on this, okay? Trust me because I’d like to do something for a friend’s sister in the same way I believe he would’ve helped mine.”

“Do you have a sister?”

“Two, actually. One older, one younger.”

I nodded. “Okay, if you have a plan, I’ll trust you.” And hope I didn’t regret it.

At the cereal aisle, he turned to me. “What kind do you like?”

“I don’t need?—”

“What kind, Audra?”

Something in his voice, gentle under the gruffness, made my throat tight. “Honey Nut Cheerios.”

He grabbed a box, then added granola. “For yogurt,” he explained, like this was normal, like broken women living on borrowed time deserved yogurt with granola.

By checkout, the cart held more food than I’d bought in the last year combined. Real food. Fresh food. The kind I used to buy when life was normal, when my biggest worry was using lettuce before it went bad.

“Thank you,” I managed as he loaded bags into the truck.

He just nodded, but I caught him adding something to the last bag—a small bouquet of wildflowers that made my eyes burn.

The drive back, he took a different route. Instead of heading to Lark’s, Beckett turned down a dirt road that curved around the far side of the property. I’d never been back here, had assumed it was just unused land.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer, just kept driving until a small cabin appeared among the pines. Tiny, maybe four hundred square feet, with a covered porch and windows reflecting afternoon sun.

“What is this?”

Beckett parked and got out without answering. I followed, confused, as he grabbed grocery bags and headed for the front door. That was when I noticed my backpack on the porch.

“Beckett…”

“It’s not much,” he said, unlocking the door. “Hasn’t been used in a while. It needs cleaning, but I checked it out earlier, so no critters. It’s got heat, electricity, running water. Real bed.”

I stepped inside, and my knees nearly buckled.

A studio space with an actual bed in the corner—not a cot or a sleeping bag but a real bed with a headboard and everything.

A kitchenette with a stove and a refrigerator that hummed with electricity.

A table with two chairs. A door that led to what had to be a bathroom—a private bathroom with a door that closed.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s yours.” He set grocery bags on the counter, looking everywhere but at me. “While you’re working here. Lark mentioned it ages ago, this old rental cabin she never uses.”

Four walls. A roof that wouldn’t leak. A door that locked. Heat that didn’t require risking my life to reach my car in the middle of the night. I pressed my hand against the wall to keep from falling.

“The heater’s ancient,” he rambled, uncomfortable with my silence. “Takes forever to warm up. And the hot water heater’s small, so quick showers. But everything works. I checked this morning.”

“This is amazing.”

“There are extra blankets in that chest. The stove’s older than dirt, but it works. And I already moved your things from Lark’s, figured you’d want privacy?—”

I crossed the space in three strides and kissed him.

It was meant to be quick—a thank-you my words couldn’t express. But the instant my lips touched his, something ignited. His hand came up to cradle my face with impossible gentleness, thumb brushing across my cheekbone like I was made of spun glass.

Then he kissed me back, and the world stopped.

Slow and thorough and devastating. Like he had all the time in the universe to learn the shape of my mouth. He settled his other hand at my waist, not pulling or demanding, just anchoring me to this moment. My hands found their way to his flannel shirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric.

He kissed me like I mattered. Like I was worth protecting.

When we finally broke apart, my legs were liquid and my lips felt swollen. His thumb was still painting gentle patterns on my cheek, and I realized I was clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

“I should—” His voice came out wrecked. He cleared his throat. “You should get settled.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He walked over to the door, then paused. “There’s a dead bolt. A good one. I put it in today so you could feel secure. And I’m in the guest house if…if you need anything.”

Security. Safety. Someone who gave a damn just across the property.

“Beckett?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you. For everything. For this. Do you want me to make you some dinner?” It was the least I could do.

“Another night.” He looked at me for a long moment, those storm-gray eyes holding something soft and complicated and terrifying. “Get some rest, Audra. Real rest. You’re safe here.”

Then he was gone, leaving me alone in my new temporary salvation.