Page 36 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Malcolm

Gideon was on the floor, cross-legged in the hay, a bottle tucked in one hand, his other arm curved protectively around something small and woolly. The lamb suckled greedily, tiny hooves twitching as it fed.

There was hay in Gideon’s hair. A smear of formula down one sleeve. His hair was pushed back in that careless way they always got when he was focused on something. He looked tired. Worn thin and running on instinct.

Beautiful.

The man who thought he was too much. Too broken. Too lost.

I had never in my life seen anything more right.

He murmured something low to the lamb. I couldn’t hear the words, just the cadence, soft and rhythmic. Whatever he said, the little thing relaxed in his arms, belly full and eyelids drooping.

Gideon waited until it finished before easing it into a towel-lined crate beside him. Tucked the edges around its tiny frame. Ran one hand gently over its side, lingering there even after it had closed its eyes.

I stepped forward, careful not to startle the animal, and crossed to the edge of the straw-lined space. Kneeling beside him, I reached for the lamb with slow, gentle hands. “Mind if I take a look?”

Gideon shifted, holding the bottle with one hand while I checked the kid over—ears cool, but not ice-cold anymore. Body a little warmer than I expected. Still too thin. But breathing was okay.

I brushed a hand down its side. “No frostbite, no broken bones. Might be touch-and-go, but… you’ve done a damn good job with him.”

He looked down, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. “I'm not sure I've done enough.”

I shook my head. “You don’t see it, do you? What matters is that he's still here because of you. That's more than enough.”

I nudged the crate a little closer and watched as he lowered the lamb into the towel-lined space. It curled in on itself, small hooves tucked close to its belly, and let out a tiny breath. Almost a sigh.

I stood and offered him a hand. He took it, fingers warm against mine, and rose to his feet.

“You were made for this, you know,” I said.

He glanced down at the lamb, then up at me. “I didn’t believe that before. But I do now.” He paused. “I just needed someone to tell me.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

He frowned a little. “What do you mean?”

“You showed me,” I said.

His brow lifted, just a little. Like he was searching for a comeback and couldn’t find one. Then he leaned into me, resting his forehead against the crook of my neck.

I closed my eyes. Curled one arm around his back, hand settling at the curve of his waist.

We stood like that for a while, breathing in sync. The barn was quiet, except for the faint rustle of hay and the soft, steady sound of the lamb’s breathing.

He smelled like earth and sweat and shampoo. Warm. Familiar now.

I pressed my nose into his hair. Inhaled.

He hadn’t said the words yet.

But maybe he didn’t have to.

Maybe I already knew.

He shifted slightly, pulled back enough to look up at me. His eyes were soft, uncertain. Like he was weighing something.

“Malcolm?”

“Yeah?”

His hand came up, fingers brushing lightly over my chest, then curling into the fabric of my shirt near the collar. His lips parted. Hesitated.

“I lo?—”

A weak noise cut through the air—half cough, half bleat.

Both of us froze.

Gideon’s head snapped toward the crate. The lamb stirred, let out another frail, breathy sound.

“I—one sec,” Gideon said, already moving. He knelt beside the crate again, hands gentle but sure as he checked the lamb over, murmuring something too soft to catch.

The moment slipped out from between us—not broken. Just… waiting.

I watched him, heart full to the brim.

He hadn’t said it.

Not yet.

But I still heard it.

I watched him go—gentle hands brushing over the little body, fingers pressing lightly against its side to check for breath.

I could’ve said it then. The words were right there.

But this— letting him find his own way to it —this felt more important.