Page 9 of Stitch & Steel

Nine

BELLA

The once quiet cabin had become a fortress overnight.

Steel bolts on the back door. Motion sensors blinking along the eaves. A perimeter plan that looked straight out of a military op. Logan and his crew worked all day in silence, methodical and focused, like they were fortifying a stronghold.

And maybe they were.

The sun had dipped low behind the treeline now, casting long golden streaks across the porch.

I sat in the old rocker next to Gran, sipping sweet tea that tasted like memories.

Logan’s men—gritty and inked and rough-edged—sat in a loose circle just beyond the porch steps, nursing heavy liquor, some lighting cigarettes and watching the smoke curl lazily into the air like it had nowhere else to be.

It should’ve felt jarring. A war camp.

Instead, it felt like family.

Scout curled by my feet, breathing deep, belly full from the scraps Gran had snuck him under the table.

I looked out over the rolling hills, fireflies beginning to blink one by one in the dark.

It was peaceful .

Or it should have been.

But something tugged at my chest—tight and aching. Like a goodbye that hadn’t been said yet.

I took another sip, then glanced at Gran. “Do you think you should still be out here, Gran?”

She looked over, her eyes clear and sharp tonight. “What do you mean, sugar?”

“This place,” I said gently. “It’s… remote. Big. A lot to manage. What happens when it’s too much?”

The words came out before I could soften them. I saw Logan shift out of the corner of my eye, his gaze lifting sharply from the railing.

The men stilled, just a bit. Even the smoke seemed to hang heavier in the air.

Gran didn’t flinch.

Instead, she leaned back in her chair, gaze drifting toward the distant ridgeline like it was the edge of a memory.

“I’ve lived in a lot of places,” she said softly. “But none of them were home the way this one is.”

Silence settled like a blanket.

“When I was a girl,” she continued, voice slow and warm like molasses, “I met a boy. Not your granddaddy—he came later. No, this one… he was wild and kind and had a smile like mischief bottled up.”

“Bella,” she said gently, “this land... this mountain... it’s not just where I live.

It’s where I belong. When I was eighteen, I met a boy.

Not your granddaddy,” she added with a faint smile.

“Before him. His name doesn’t matter—not yet.

What matters is the way he made me feel.

Wild. Alive. Like I could touch the stars if I climbed high enough. ”

I squeezed her hand, staying quiet. She was starting to repeat herself… her mind still there but signs it was slowly slipping away…

“He was military. Just passing through. We fell hard, and fast. Spent the whole summer together—barefoot through the creek, wildflowers in my hair, sleeping under the stars. He had a motorcycle that sounded like thunder, and he’d take me flying up these mountain roads like we were the only two people in the world.

” Her hand trembled on the teacup, just slightly. I reached over and held it.

Logan leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“He asked me to wait for him. Told me to finish school, that he’d come back for me. I did exactly what he said. Every day I waited. But he never came. We had one perfect summer,” she said, her voice breaking just a little. “Then he went back. And he never came home.”

The night breathed around us, soft and still.

Her voice broke a little on that last word.

“I never found out if he died... or just drifted on. No letter. No call. Just... gone.”

The porch went deathly still.

Logan’s men stopped drinking. Even the breeze seemed to hush.

“It broke me in ways I didn’t understand until years later,” she said. “But I never stopped loving him. Not even after I married your granddaddy. That man gave me a good life. But my heart… part of it always stayed up on this mountain. I never stopped loving that ghost on a motorcycle.”

The night breathed around us, soft and still. Bear, who hadn’t said a damn thing all night, cleared his throat.

“This mountain holds him, Bella. The breeze in the trees, the creek, the smell of honeysuckle in the air... it’s all his. And I’ll be damned if I let this mind of mine take that from me before the world does.”

When she finished, there wasn’t a dry eye on the porch.

“If you ever want to know what happened to him,” Logan said, his voice low and gruff, “just say the word and give me a name. I can find out.”

Gran blinked at him, eyes glassy. “Thank you, darlin’. That’s kind of you. But… it’s like the greatest treasure I’ve ever had—locked deep in my heart. And after all this time? I’m not sure if knowing would bring peace… or just break me all over again.”

Bear nodded, tipping his bottle toward her in quiet respect. Even him, the quiet fiercest one of them, with tattoos down to his knuckles, blinked hard and turned his head to the trees like he was too tough to let anyone see.

Not even the pledges could hide it. One of them wiped his eyes with the hem of his shirt.

Logan hadn’t moved.

But I could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. The idea of Gran selling the place clearly didn’t sit right with him. To a man like Logan, leaving wasn’t just letting go. It was surrender.

And men like him didn’t do that.

When Gran leaned back and rested her head on my shoulder, I exhaled softly, my eyes drifting over the cabin, the trees, the sky so full of stars you could almost believe in magic.

I didn’t know what the right choice was yet.

But I knew one thing for certain?—

This mountain wasn’t done telling its stories.