Page 9 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Chapter Seven

Webb

I was already outside, chopping wood like it owed me money, when I heard the cabin door slam open behind me.

It was early, just past sunrise, and the air still had that hint of coolness to it that would be gone by the time the sun reached full strength. I liked mornings out here. They were quiet and simple. Then again, everything made sense when you were swinging an axe.

Or at least ithad been quiet. Just then, Gabby exploded out the front door like she’d just realized she was late for a meeting — barefoot, hair everywhere, wearing a t-shirt two sizes too big, and moving with the frantic energy of someone who’d just remembered she hadn’t peed in eight hours.

She spotted me near the woodpile, eyes wide and wild.

“Where’s the—” she gasped, waving one hand in a panicked circle.

I pointed with the axe toward the trees. “Back that way. It's the little stall with a half-moon on the door. Can’t miss it because it's the only one here.”

She didn’t wait for more detail, just took off like a shot, her arms pumping as she muttered something about organs shutting down and bladders not being loyal.

I went back to chopping, trying not to laugh, until I heard the wooden door creak open and then slam shut behind her.

I raised my voice, calling out just loud enough for it to carry. “Watch out for the spiders!” I left it a beat, then added, “And toilet snakes.”

A muffled shriek came from the stall.

I couldn’t help it, it was just too amusing a situation not to wind her up, especially after last night. I let the axe rest and leaned on the handle, chuckling like a damn idiot.

It wasn’t that I enjoyed scaring her. Okay, maybe it was alittle that. I had brothers, it was what we did best. But mostly, it was the fact that she kept surprising me in all the best, worst, and most—what I'd come to learn—Gabby ways.

Last night, she’d marched through heatstroke and lies and spider-induced panic like a disaster magnet in lipstick and borrowed boots. And now she was facing her greatest enemy: the rustic toilet.

“Welcome to the cabin, you little menace.”

I’d already checked the outhouse for anything beasty, so I knew she was okay. I was going to have to remind her not to walk around barefoot outside, though.

The stall door slammed open with enough force to scare off half the local wildlife.

A beat later, Gabby stormed back into view, barefoot, wild-haired, and visibly rethinking every decision that had led her to this moment.

The red wig was thankfully gone, and her real hair was sticking to her face in sweat-damp strands.

She looked half-feral and entirely offended by life.

She stomped up to me with the look of someone who’d just gone twelve rounds with nature and lost every single one.

“There are things in there,” she snapped, her voice sharp and scandalized.

“Yep,” I agreed, tossing another piece of wood onto the pile. “That’s why it’s outside.”

“You said snakes and spiders after I went in.”

“Well, yeah. I had to wait for that dramatic timing.”

She gaped at me like I’d just confessed to war crimes. “I panicked, Webb. I thought I saw a leg. Not aspider leg, aperson's leg . ”

“Was it moving?”

“No, but it had a vibe.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. She looked down, suddenly realizing she was completely barefoot, standing on pine needles, twigs, and the vague possibility of a venomous reptile.

Her eyes snapped back to mine. “You didn’t remind me not to go out barefoot.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t think I had to. You’re in a bayou-adjacent forest, Gabby. We’ve got copperheads, fire ants, palmetto bugs the size of small sandwiches, frogs that scream when you step near them, and raccoons withattitude . You’re lucky nothing took your toes for rent.”

She, of course, picked up on the thing I hadn't expected her to. “Frogs thatscream?”

“Like banshees. They're total drama queens.”

She froze, looked at the grass between us and the cabin, then back at me.

“I’m not moving.”

I raised a brow. “You’ve made it this far. Ten more steps won’t kill you.”

“They might. There could be, like, athousand snakes and spiders watching, just waiting for me to take a single barefoot step. I haveterrible luck if you haven't noticed , Webb. I’ll be the one who gets bitten on the pinky toe and has to be airlifted out of here.”

“And you want me to... what? Throw down a carpet?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re gonna have to carry me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Like in my arms?”

“Princess-style,” she clarified, her eyes daring me to say no.

I stared at her, arms crossed. She crossed hers right back.

Then, in a quiet voice, she added, “Please.”

And just like that, sigh included, I set the axe aside, walked over, and bent slightly. “All right, let’s go, menace.”

“You’re a saint,” she praised me quietly, climbing into my arms like this was a scene in a romance movie gone horribly,horribly wrong.

“Don’t push it,” I warned, stepping carefully over a patch of grass. At the same time, she clutched my neck and dramatically lifted her feet like the ground was lava. Because of course she did.

Carrying Gabby wasn’t hard. She didn’t weigh much, not with how skinny she was from stress, adrenaline, and God-knows-what kind of PI diet she’d been surviving on.

What made it weird was the way she curled into me like a panicked possum, legs tucked, arms looped around my neck like she was clinging to a life raft.

Every time I stepped over a stick, she made a little noise in her throat like she was expecting it to rise up and bite her.

When we reached the porch, she let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “See, look at me, surviving. Thriving, even.”

I grunted and carried her over the threshold like we were starring in the world’s worst honeymoon.

“Okay,” she tapped me on the shoulder once we were inside. “You can put me down now.”

I started to, then hesitated—mostly because she was still sticky with aloe, and I didn’t trust my grip not to send her sliding straight onto the floor.

She must’ve felt it, too, because the second I tried to shift her, one leg slipped, and sheyelped.

I caught her in both arms just before she could fall—and for a moment, we both froze.

Her face came to a stop about six inches from mine.

I could smell coconut, aloe, and whatever soap she’d used.

Her hair—herreal hair, finally free from that God-awful wig—was soft and messy and stuck to my shoulder.

Gabby’s eyes met mine, wide and a little panicked, like she wasn’t sure whether to thank me or headbutt me.

I cleared my throat. “You good?”

“Yeah,”she said, voice squeaky. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... you know, gravity.”

“Big fan of gravity,”I muttered and finally eased her down onto her feet.

She stumbled once, caught herself on the edge of the table, and immediately looked around as if she needed something to doquickly.

“I’m making breakfast,”she declared, already bee-lining for the tiny kitchen like she hadn’t just asked me to princess-carry her over “snake-infested”grass.

“Sure you are,”I said sarcastically, following at a safe distance.

“I’m capable,”she added, flipping open a cabinet. “I’ve done hard things. Things that’d make a normal person quiver, like surveillance, research... oh, and filing my taxes without crying.”

“Impressive.”

She grabbed a carton of eggs, a small skillet, and what might’ve once been butter but now looked more like something from a science experiment. “I’m going to make you the best damn scrambled eggs this backwoods horror cabin has ever seen.”

“That’s a high bar.”

She turned on the single-burner stovetop. It made a noise like a dying cat.

“Confidence,”she pointed a wooden spoon at me, “is key.”

I leaned against the doorframe and watched her stir the eggs with intense focus. They sizzled and thensmoked . Like, really smoked.

“Um, is the pan supposed to be glowing?”

“Oh no—oh no no no?—”

Gabby scrambled to yank the skillet off the heat, accidentally flinging half-cooked eggs onto the counter. A tiny flame flickered at the edge of the burner, and she yelped, blowing on it like it was a birthday candle.

I walked over, hit the kill switch on the burner, and grabbed a nearby dish towel to smother the smoldering spot.

The room was filled with silence and obviously smoke, and there were eggs everywhere.

Gabby stood frozen with the wooden spoon still in hand, face redder than her sunburn.

“So,”I deadpanned. “Surveillance, research, and taxes.”

She groaned. “Don’t, justdon’t.”

I smirked. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll make breakfast.”

She pointed the spoon at me again. “Only if I get to fight the next spider.”

“You got it, mayhem.”

After the breakfast fire hazard was extinguished—literally and emotionally—I gave Gabby some space to recover her pride.

She spent ten minutes trying to scrub egg off the wall with a sponge that had seen better decades.

I didn’t say a word. Not about the eggs, not about the flaming burner, and definitely not about the dramatic “I’m capable”speech that preceded both. She needed a win, so I gave her one.

“Well,”I tossed her a towel and a plastic jug, “how do you feel about taking a bath?”

Her eyes lit up briefly, then narrowed. “Wait, is this like an actual bath?”

I pointed out back. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“We’ve got a bucket, the well pump, a place to stand, and privacy.”

She looked at me like I’d just suggested a sacrificial ritual.

“Gabby,”I said flatly, “you’ve been sweating for two days, and you currently smell like panic, eggs, and fear. It’s either a bucket bath, or I dump you in the well.”

Her mouth opened and closed, andthen she grabbed the towel and stomped toward the door.

“This better not awaken something in me,”she muttered.

Ten minutes later, she came back inside, dripping and wrapped in the towel like a defeated burrito.

Her hair was soaked, her legs were wet, and her face was pink from cold water and what I guessed was an emotional reckoning.

“That,”she hissed, setting the bucket down with dramatic finality, “was the most humbling experience of my adult life.”

I nodded solemnly. “It always is.”

She collapsed into the chair by the fire, pulled the blanket off the back, and wrapped herself up like a cocoon. Then she went quiet.

I didn’t push, knowing that whatever was on her mind was best left to her saying it when she wanted to.

Eventually, she spoke. “I didn’t run because I was scared of Maddox.”

I didn’t turn, just listened as she spoke.

“I mean, I was, but not at first. I thought I was being careful. I backed up everything and sent copies to three people—two of whom I trust and one I know would have a panic attack if anything happened to it. I’d watched him, and I had proof.

Enough to make noise, maybe even enough to bury him if the right people paid attention. ”

She paused as I glanced back. Her eyes were on the fire, and her face was unreadable.

“But then they came to my house.”

My spine stiffened at the thought of her being so vulnerable.

“They tried to get in, but I caught them on my security cameras and could see they were armed. They didn’t get in—the place is basically a panic box—but they were organized and tactical. It wasn’t a scare tactic anymore, it was like a retrieval mission.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.

She nodded. “I knew if I stayed, they’d come back better prepared, and I couldn’t risk them catching me before I figured out where to go. So, I grabbed my drives, turned off my phone, bought a burner, and ran.”

She looked over at me finally, her voice quieter now. “You were the only person I could think of who’d take me seriously and not call the cops or try to fix it with, like feelings and group chats.”

I didn’t say anything right away. I just looked at her, this woman who, twenty-four hours ago, I would’ve said was shy, sweet, and harmless.

Now, I wasn’t so sure. There was steel under that sunburn and fight beneath the sarcasm and fear.

And she was trusting me with it.

“Thank you,” she said, almost too softly to hear.

I nodded once. “You did the right thing coming here.”

She gave a half-smile. “Even with the spiders?”

I smirked. “Especially with the spiders. They toughen you up and put hair on your chest.”

Gabby exhaled, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Her shoulders dropped like the weight of the last few weeks had finally been spoken aloud—and maybe, for now, that weight had been handed off to someone else.

I let her sit in the silence because sometimes, that’s the safest place to land.