Page 14 of Harvest His Heart (Alphas Fall Hard Collection #6)

Chapter

Twelve

ANSON

The road home gleams wet under the headlights, rain whispering against the glass, faint country music playing.

Lacey’s small hand stays wrapped in mine, her pulse still unsteady, but she’s breathing … she’s alive. That’s all that matters. Every time lightning flashes, I squeeze her hand—just to remind myself she’s real.

She smiles up at me in return, slowly coming back to herself. Shoulders dropping, face relaxing, eyes swirling amber and moss instead of numb and lost.

The ranch comes into view, clouds splitting open, light spilling across the land like forgiveness. Steam rises off the dirt, the air thick with rain, iron, and pine.

I kill the engine, come around to her side, and lift her out of the truck, blanket still around her. She’s light as a breath in my arms, damp hair sticking to her cheeks.

I pause in the doorway, breathing her in—the faint perfume of rain and fear, and underneath it, something clean and sweet. The scent of courage. Of her.

“You’re safe now,” I murmur against her temple. “You hear me? He can’t touch you ever again.”

Wood smoke and apples greet us inside the cabin. The hearth’s empty, but the warmth still lingers, waiting. I set her down on the couch, kneel to unlace her boots, my hands gentle as when I work with newborn calves or foals.

A knock at the door. Patrick and Ash, rain dripping from their hats.

Patrick’s expression says it all before the words leave his mouth. “Self-defense. No charges. Case closed.”

Relief rolls through me, slow and heavy. I lean against the doorframe, finally aware how taut I’d been wound. Wet leather and smoke drift toward my nose—fortifying. Proof the worst is over. For the first time, I believe it.

Ash claps my shoulder, gives Lacey a look full of brotherly concern. Like she’s a part of the family now. After everything that happened, I hope this is what she still wants. “Hell of a storm, Anson. Glad you both came out breathing.”

“Us too,” I manage, voice thick.

When the door closes, the quiet feels alive. The kind of silence that has weight and meaning. I build a new fire—warm glow, crackling warmth—filling the room with comfort, tranquility.

Lacey’s still trembling, hands folded in her lap, when I close the distance. “I don’t even know how to come down from that,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to. Not alone.” I reach for her, trace my thumb along her jaw, feel the shiver that runs through her.

She leans into my hand, turns her head, kisses my palm, soft lips tracing over rough flesh. Her eyes shine like rain on stone. The air is thick, alive with the impulse to unite, comfort each other in every way. But she has to make that call.

“Still with me?” I ask, bringing her eyes back to mine, banishing the distant look.

Her voice is a whisper. “Always. Please, Anson, I need you.” It comes out somewhere between a sob and a promise. Fragile as butterfly wings, powerful enough to knock me over.

I gather her close, lift her again, and carry her to the bedroom. Every step feels sacred, like healing and fate merging. Pain and destiny giving new meaning to past hurts.

When I lay her down, she looks up at me, wide-eyed, unguarded, inviting. I brush a lock of hair from her face. “If I go too fast, you tell me.”

“I will,” she says, “but you won’t.”

We move slow this time. No fear, no ghosts—just heat and heart and the kind of trust you don’t earn easy. I take my time memorizing every sound she makes, every place she shudders under my touch. Mine to protect. Mine to please. Mine to love.

Each sigh a renewal, every kiss a promise of our future.

She touches my scars like they’re constellations she’s memorizing, and I start to believe there’s beauty in the damage after all. Like she rebuilds me with each caress, makes me the man I need to be for her. Forever.

Buried in her heat, wrapped in her arms, I’m a new man.

Hot breaths mingling, eyes locked, fire burning between our souls as I take and give in equal measure, tenderness thrumming through every motion.

We come together, easy surrender, trembling flesh, gazes still held and souls locked together.

Like nothing I’ve ever felt before and can never let go.

“Love you, Pepper,” I whisper, kissing the tip of her nose, cupping her soft cheek, adoring everything about her.

She curls against me, whispering the only answer I need, skin warm, heartbeat steady, letting me be her harbor, her calm after the storm. Outside, the rain has eased into quiet dripping from the eaves.

“Storm’s done,” I whisper, stroking her hair.

She smiles against my chest. “No more running.”

“No more fear,” I echo, kissing her temple.

By early evening, the clouds are gone. Sunlight spills through the windows, gilding everything in the warm gold of a mountain sunset—the kind you only notice when you’ve got something to lose.

Ash swings by with Ro in tow, the kid clutching a tin of cookies like a trophy. Couldn’t wait to visit us again, needed to see with her own two eyes that Lacey’s okay.

She blushes when I thank her, mumbling something about frosting colors and how Willow says we’re heroes. Lacey kneels, hugs her tight, promises more baking lessons.

Rosie apologizes for forgetting to text, then losing her phone. I eye Ash, a question in my narrowed gaze. His steady nod tells me he’ll fill me in later on how much the little girl knows. Ro offers to show her the pumpkin patch now, in person, and where the Harvest Festival will take place.

“Is that okay?” the girl asks Ash, eyes wide.

“Only if Lacey feels up to it.”

“Would love to,” my woman says, eyes darting to me. Still seeking reassurance—but lighter now, like the fear’s almost gone.

“We’ll follow along a few steps behind,” I offer, referring to Ash and me. “Just in case you ladies need us.”

Thank you is written in her relaxed grin and glowing cheeks. Ro grabs her hand, tugging her along.

Watching them, I feel something inside me settle—like I never truly understood home or family until this moment, like everything’s finally locking into place.

Later, after Ash and Ro head back to their cabin, Lacey and I walk the fenceline along the dewy grass. The air smells fresh—wet earth, hay, a hint of rich, ripe apple drifting from the orchard.

Faramir and Pearl graze by the creek, tails flicking lazily. Peace. For a moment, back in that barn, I’d forgotten how it felt.

“Patrick says it’s official,” I tell her. “Everything’s squared away.”

She stops, fingers brushing mine. “Then it’s over?”

“It’s over,” I say, and I mean it. “He’s gone. You’re free.”

Her hand tightens in mine. “We’re free.”

We keep walking until the sun dips behind the ridge. For years, I thought solitude was safety. But now, looking at her, hair golden in the dying light, I understand it was just another kind of cage. She didn’t just survive the storm. She brought me through mine.

At the cabin, she turns to me, eyes glowing amber in the light. “You were right, you know.”

“About what?”

“Storms don’t last forever.”

I tip my hat back, smile slow. “Maybe not, but I’ll be damned if you didn’t make it through prettier than the sunrise.”

She laughs, soft and real, and the sound just about knocks the breath out of me.

After dinner, we sit on the porch swing together with steaming mugs of cider, the world quiet again. Lacey wraps her hands around her drink, face relaxed, blossoming with a newfound calm. Like a heavy weight has been lifted.

The stars creep out, shy after all the thunder. But when they take over the show, they twinkle vividly against the light-free black velvet sky.

Lacey stares in wonder, breathless as she says, “Never saw anything like this in Seattle. This is breathtaking. Do you ever get used to it?”

I remove my Stetson, set it on the table beside me, and crane my head heavenward. “Nope, it’s like the beauty of the Lone Grizzly Mountains, the prairie lands at sunset, and your face by the glow of firelight. Too stunning to remember, too beautiful to forget.”

Her eyes burn with love, body melts as she places her head against my shoulder. “A farmer and a poet.”

“A cowboy and a lover, and the only protector you’ll ever need.”

“From life’s storms, inside and out,” she adds, looking up at me, eyes dropping to my lips.

My head dips, takes her mouth tenderly. Comfortable silence settles between us as we listen to the crickets chirp, eyes returning to the astronomical marvel overhead.

“Feels strange, doesn’t it? To have peace,” she says.

I wrap an arm around her, kiss the top of her head. “Get used to it, Pepper. This is what forever feels like.”

A breeze drifts through, carrying the scent of apples and rain.

I tighten my hold, the warmth of her pressed against me.

The storm’s over, but she’s still my shelter, and I’m hers.

The fire crackles low in the metal firepit, stars hum overhead, and the whole valley smells like renewal.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise over a world that finally feels like home.