Page 9 of Ranger’s Oath (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #5)

GAGE

T he scrape against the balcony glass hasn’t left my head.

It lingers like a warning. Sadie pretends she doesn’t hear it, but I know better.

I saw the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her pupils widened.

She might try to bury fear beneath defiance, but I read people for a living.

She heard it. She felt it. And it rattled her.

Which is why I don’t give her a choice. Within an hour I’ve got her packed, Dalton and Deacon sweeping the penthouse, and Rush on comms. By dawn, we’re moving her to the Galveston headquarters, which is also a working ranch.

She argues but this time I don’t bend. Not with a tracker fresh out of her jewelry and proof someone got closer than we thought.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters as I guide her into the SUV. “Dragged out of my sister’s home in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Do you Rangers even understand the concept of subtlety?”

“Subtlety is what got that bug on your wrist,” I say, sliding in beside her. “You want subtle, you hire a PR firm. You want to live, you listen to me.”

She shoots me a look sharp enough to cut, then folds her arms. “You’re infuriating.”

“Good. Infuriated means alive.”

Dalton chuckles from the front seat. “You two need separate vehicles or just a referee?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter.

Sadie leans closer, voice low and honeyed. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t glued to your side.”

She’s teasing, but the words strike deeper than she realizes.

My wolf prowls in the darkest corners of my mind, restless and hungry, and it takes everything in me to keep him from coming forward.

I lock my jaw, fix my stare on the window, and count the lights along the causeway to keep from looking at her again.

I lose track at twelve. It rattles me more than it should, and I unclench my fist slowly, hoping she does not notice the slip.

The drive out to the ranch is long and quiet, the causeway giving way to flat stretches of land and pockets of trees.

The city lights bleed away in the rearview until it’s only the black stretch of highway and the hum of tires on concrete.

The causeway arches over the water, the Gulf glinting silver under a pale moon.

On the far side, neon gives way to flatland—wind-bent grass, scattered cattle, oil pumps bowing like sentinels.

The farther we go, the darker it gets, the kind of dark that eats headlights.

Sadie stares out the window, but I catch the way her reflection tightens each time the horizon empties further.

Sadie keeps her chin high, pretending she’s indifferent, but every now and then I catch the way her hands tighten in her lap or how she blinks longer than she needs to, as if holding herself together by sheer force of will.

She wants me to think she’s brave, and she is, but I can sense the cracks forming beneath that polished armor.

The ranch that serves as the Galveston headquarters isn’t pretty.

It’s not ugly either, just another working spread you might find anywhere in the county.

Built for security, not charm. Concrete walls, bullet-resistant windows, layers of surveillance inside and out.

When we finally roll through the gates, Sadie lets out a low whistle.

“Cozy,” she says. “Like a luxury prison.”

I help her out of the SUV. “As safe as Rush and Cassidy's penthouse was, this is safer by a long shot.”

"And so much more room and privacy to bury the bodies," adds Dalton with a chuckle.

“Maybe, but at least in the penthouse, I had a view.”

“You’ve got a view here. Just instead of the ocean and the lights of the boardwalk, you've got rolling hills, blue skies, horses, cattle and miles and miles of miles and miles.”

Sadie tilts her head, a hint of mischief lighting her expression. “So romantic.”

I catch the spark in her eyes but keep my tone steady.

“It’s not romantic, but it is solid and beautiful in its own way.

You’ll have your own room with an attached bath and enough space to feel comfortable.

Every inch of it is locked down. My team runs shifts around the clock, and every system has been upgraded.

No one gets within striking distance of the ranch house without me knowing first.”

Her eyebrows arch. “So I’m supposed to sit in a gilded cage and… what? Knit?”

“If you like, but your main focus is to stay alive,” I say flatly.

She rolls her eyes and sweeps past me towards the house. The sway of her hips is either deliberate torture or an accident I can’t unsee. Either way, it makes my jaw tighten.

The ranch house itself sprawls across one level, wide and imposing with seven bedrooms, each with its own attached bath, an enormous chef’s kitchen at the heart, and a great room big enough to hold the whole team when strategy demands it.

Off to the side there’s a den lined with books and maps, a space Rush uses when planning long nights.

I steer Sadie into the room assigned to her.

It’s spacious enough not to feel like a cage, with its own sitting area and plenty of light.

Dalton checks the windows while Deacon sweeps electronics.

We control this place, but I want to do everything I can to ensure her safety.

Sadie tosses her bag on the couch and spins once, arms wide.

“All this effort just for me. Admit it, Remington, you enjoy playing bodyguard.”

“I don’t play,” I say, dead serious.

She stops spinning and studies me. “That’s the problem. You don’t play at all.”

Dalton coughs to hide a laugh, shoulders shaking as he tries to hide his amusement.

My glare nails him in place until he mutters something about checking the perimeter and makes a hasty exit.

Deacon lingers just long enough to trade a knowing look with me, then shakes his head and slips out as well.

The room goes quiet, and suddenly it’s just me and Sadie, the air heavier for their absence.

Sadie glances at the clock and shakes her head. “Too early to sleep. Too late to argue.” She pushes up from the couch, bare feet silent on the floorboards. “Come on, Ranger. Even you need caffeine.”

Against my better judgment, I follow her out the side door to the porch. The night is velvet-dark, the fields spread wide under a thin sweep of stars. She pours two mugs from the thermos someone left near the steps, then hands one to me.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she says. “I know where the kitchen is.”

I take the cup, steam curling up between us. For a long moment we drink in silence, listening to the quiet hum of insects in the grass. The porch light throws a soft glow across her hair, turning it bronze at the edges.

“This,” she says at last, “doesn’t have to feel like prison.” She gestures at the wide horizon. “If you want me to stay alive, I need to believe I have some control. Otherwise I’ll push until something breaks. That’s who I am.”

Her words land harder than she probably intends. My wolf stirs, restless at the honesty. I keep my voice steady. “Define control.”

She lifts her eyes to mine, steady and unflinching. “I choose when I work. I choose how people see me. If I have to live inside your perimeter, then I need a say in how that looks. Even if it’s small.”

I weigh her words, the soldier in me bristling, the man in me knowing she is right. Finally I nod once. “You want something concrete. Fine. You get access to the security feeds for your wing. Limited, but real. If someone approaches, you’ll see it as fast as I do.”

Her lips curve, slow and genuine. “That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not everything either,” I counter, clipped.

She sips her coffee, smile lingering. “I can live with that. For now.”

For the first time since we left Galveston, the tension between us softens.

She leans back against the rail, hair stirring in the night air, and I find myself watching her longer than I should.

My hand flexes around the mug before I force it to stillness.

One concession given, a hundred battles ahead.

But tonight, for this sliver of quiet, it feels like a truce.

She sits and pats the cushion beside her. “Sit. Unless standing around looking broody is part of the job description.”

I don’t move. “I’m not here to relax. None of us are. We're here to ensure your safety.”

“Clearly.” She stretches her legs, leggings tucked into cowboy boots and a slouchy tank top sliding to show just enough to make me swallow hard. “But if you keep pacing like that, you’ll wear a groove in the floor. Sit. Talk. Pretend to be human for ten minutes.”

Against my better judgment, I sit. Not too close, not far enough either, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her presence brushing against me.

She smells faintly of the oiled leather from her boots, familiar and distracting in ways I don’t want to admit.

The quiet hum of her breathing pulls at me, a reminder that she’s here, alive, stubborn, and completely under my protection.

It steadies me even as it tempts me to forget why I need to keep my distance.

“Better?” she asks, tilting her head.

“No,” I admit. “Worse.”

Her lips twitch. “Because you can’t stand me, or because you can’t stand yourself when you’re around me?”

I meet her gaze, steady. “Both.”

Her laugh is soft, genuine, and it cuts straight through my defenses. “You're honest; I’ll give you that.”

She adjusts her position, kicking off her boots before tucking her legs under her. “You know, most men in your position would at least try to charm me. You? You glare and growl.”

“I’m not most men.”

“Thank God for that,” she says with a sly grin. “I’d be bored to tears if you were predictable.”

Hours later, the ranch seems to have settled into an uneasy quiet.

The team moves through their rotations with practiced discipline, footsteps muffled in the halls and silently moving along the perimeter.

I make a slow circuit of the security feeds, once, twice, and then a third time because my instincts refuse to let me stop.

Every screen shows calm, every sensor reads clear, but the stillness feels deceptive.

The scrape at the penthouse balcony echoes in my head, sharp and insistent, like a reminder that we were never as safe as we wanted to believe. If someone was trying to spook us, they succeeded.

I make my way back to Sadie’s room to check in.

Light spills from under her door, proof she hasn’t settled.

Inside, she’s curled on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees and a half-finished glass of wine on the table, looking like she’s daring exhaustion to catch her.

There’s tension in her posture, but also a flicker of determination that keeps her eyes fixed on the screen.

“Have you seen your sister?”

She nods. “Yes, and we’re planning our escape. We’ve got costumes and everything.”

“Breaking the rules already?” I ask, shaking my head.

She glances up, unruffled. “Didn’t realize babysitting me was part of your job.”

“Everything’s part of my job.”

She closes the laptop with a snap and sets the glass down. “And what if I don’t follow your rules?”

“Then I make you.” The words leave me in a low, dangerous growl, meant to rattle her composure. But instead of shrinking, her eyes deepen with something fierce, daring me to follow through. Her wolf must recognize mine as her fated mate, but I doubt she understands what she's feeling.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Don’t push me, Sadie.”

She rises slowly, leggings hugging her legs, her feet scuffing the rug as she steps into my space, so close I feel her heat. “Maybe I want to push you, Gage. Maybe I want to see if the man who glares like a storm can do more than scowl.”

Her voice glides smoothly but carries an edge that cuts through me, coaxing and commanding all at once.

The beast inside me rouses with a growl of hunger, clawing to break free.

I lock my grip on the back of the couch, knuckles straining, the only barrier keeping my hands from closing that last inch of distance to her.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I rasp.

“I think I do.”

Her face tilts up, close enough that I can feel the pull of her presence like a current trying to drag me under.

The air between us is tight with hunger and warning, sparking across my skin.

I lean down despite every rule screaming at me to stop, close enough to feel the heat of her breath.

Her lips part in silent invitation. My wolf claws, demanding I take, but I lock my body still.

“Say it,” I rasp. “Tell me you want this.”

Her eyes flare, wide and defiant. “I do.”

For a heartbeat I hover there, the decision tearing through me like shrapnel. Then I wrench myself back, the restraint nearly breaking me in half. Desire rakes through me, but I force the words out, rough and raw. “Not like this. Not when you’re cornered.”

I stop, the restraint nearly tearing me apart.

My hands curl and flex, aching to seize her, to drag her flush against me until there is no space left.

She leans in with a subtle sway, lips parted, her eyes daring me to break my own rules.

The heat between us coils tighter, every breath charged with the promise of what would happen if I gave in.

“Say it,” she whispers. “Say you don’t want me.”

I can’t. I don’t. Desire rakes through me, heat flooding every vein, but I rip myself back a step, chest heaving as if I’ve just pulled away from fire. My gaze lingers on her parted lips a moment too long before I force the words out, rough and raw. “Go to bed, Sadie.”

Her eyes flash triumph and fury all at once. “Coward.”

“Still breathing,” I retort, the words rough as gravel.

She follows me with her eyes, voice sharp. “That’s your problem, Remington. You think living is the same as feeling. It’s not.”

I pause at the door, fighting the urge to turn back. “And you think feeling won’t get you killed.”

Her lips curve, slow and taunting. “Maybe I like the risk.”

Outside in the hall, I brace a hand against the wall, sucking in air like I’ve run a mile.

My wolf hammers against my control, furious at restraint.

My fist curls tight, then opens again, slow and deliberate.

The crack in my armor is small, but I feel it widening.

Every nerve screams to go back inside, to finish what we started.

My body aches with it, a low thrum I can’t shake.

But I don’t. I can’t. If I give in, there’s no pulling back.