Chapter 32

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‎The heavy flatbed truck came to a smooth stop at the top of the snow-covered driveway, its idling engine letting out a low, steady rumble that echoed softly across the quiet expanse of Rosewood Acreage. The amber glow from the truck’s headlights illuminated the frosted cedar porch of the farmhouse, where warm light still flickered gently from the living room windows.

‎Kat gathered her velvet shawl around her shoulders, her movements deliberate, calm, and completely unhurried. Inside the warm cab, the air remained dense with the scent of pine resin, cold iron, and the heavy heat radiating off the man sitting beside her.

‎Azriel put the truck in park, his broad hands remaining firmly gripping the steering wheel. He kept his dark, carved profile turned toward the snow-covered windshield, his jaw set in that familiar, unyielding line. His silence was an absolute wall, completely closed off and giving away nothing of what he was thinking after their brief exchange on the ridge road.

‎Kat reached for the heavy chrome handle of the passenger door. She didn't let her gaze linger on his dark silhouette, nor did she allow her mind to wander back to the quiet tension that had filled the truck during the drive up the mountain pass. She was back on her own land, firmly anchored in her own independent life, entirely determined to leave the chaotic events of the Christmas Eve banquet behind.

‎"Thanks for the ride, Woodsman," Kat said, her clear, calm voice carrying a light, completely steady tone that restored the professional boundary between them. "And for taking care of Harlan down at the mill."

‎Azriel didn't offer a courteous nod or a casual holiday wish. He took a slow, heavy breath, his broad chest rising against his dark canvas coat as white steam drifted faintly into the warm cab.

‎"Lock the door behind you," Azriel said flatly. His deep, rough voice carried that familiar, low rasp—dry, direct, and stripped of any personal inflection.

‎"Drive safe down the ridge," Kat replied smoothly.

‎She stepped out of the elevated cab, her boots crunching softly into the fresh, crisp layer of snow covering her driveway. She pulled her velvet coat tightly against the biting mountain wind, closing the heavy truck door with a solid, metallic latch.

‎Kat didn't look back as she walked up the wooden porch steps. She listened to the heavy crunch of his snow tires as Azriel shifted the flatbed into reverse, guiding the truck cleanly down the winding driveway before the low rumble of his engine faded into the quiet mountain night.

‎Pushing open the heavy oak front door, Kat stepped into the warm, cedar-scented living room of her farmhouse. The embers in the woodstove were still glowing a soft, warm orange, casting long, peaceful shadows across the braided rug.

‎Kat hung her coat and scarf on the iron rack by the door, unlatching her gold locket with a firm, deliberate touch. As she stood alone in the quiet warmth of her home, her heart gave a single, quiet thud against her ribs—a lingering, traitorous pulse that hit her despite the careful distance she maintained.

‎Kat drew in a slow, deep breath of the quiet room air, instantly brushing the feeling aside with cool, unshakeable composure. She adjusted the fire poker, tossed a fresh block of birch onto the embers, and locked the heavy front door, keeping her mind entirely clear, her farm secure, and her independence intact.

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‎Kat was sitting by the glowing hearth in her flannel sleep shirt and dark wool trousers, sipping a mug of chamomile tea and letting the heat of the woodstove work the chill out of her bones. The house was blissfully quiet, the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock the only sound against the soft whistle of the wind down the chimney.

‎Then, a sudden, frantic racket erupted from the south pasture barn.

‎The sharp, terrified squeals of her winter hogs and the chaotic thumping of hooves against wooden stalls echoed through the quiet night air. Kat set her mug down so fast the tea sloshed over the rim. She jumped to her feet, pulled on her heavy boots and dark canvas work coat, grabbed her flash lantern, and bolted out the back door into the knee-deep snow.

‎She shoved open the heavy sliding door of the barn, swinging her lantern beam across the dark interior.

‎The sight made her blood run cold. Two large, lean mountain coyotes had squeezed through a rotted timber gap near the feed trough. One was snarling, snapping aggressively at the panicked sheep trapped in the corner pen, while the other was actively clawing at the wooden latch of the pigpen. Dust, loose straw, and frantic animal cries filled the freezing air.

‎Kat raised her lantern, letting out a sharp yell to startle them, but the coyotes barely flinched. The larger one turned its glowing yellow eyes toward her, low-slung and growling, blocking her path to the tool rack where the pitchforks were stored.

‎Panic hit her like a physical blow—a sudden, dizzying spike of adrenaline that shattered her usual cool composure. She was alone, the temperature was dropping, and her animals were seconds away from being mauled. Her mind raced, searching for an immediate solution. She couldn't handle two wild predators with just a flash lantern, and Harlan was miles away, asleep on the couch at the mill office.

‎Only one name hit her mind with absolute, unyielding certainty.

‎Without wasting another second, Kat backed out of the barn, slammed the heavy sliding door shut, and threw the iron latch into place to keep the coyotes contained inside. She didn't bother going back to the truck—the driveway was slick with fresh ice and starting the engine would take precious minutes she didn't have.

‎She ran.

‎Kat surged across the snow-covered pasture, her boots breaking through the thick frost crust, taking the shortcut through the pine boundary line that separated Rosewood Acreage from the Ashford parcel. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, her lungs burning in the freezing night air, but her focus remained fiercely locked on reaching the old timber homestead at the end of the ridge road.

‎After ten exhausting minutes of pushing through the heavy snowbanks, the dark, sprawling log structure of the Ashford  homestead emerged from the pines. A single amber lamp was lit on the wide front porch.

‎Kat scrambled up the porch steps and pounded her gloved fist against the heavy oak door. "Hello! Please, open up!"

‎Within seconds, the latch clicked, and the heavy door swung open.

‎Adeline Ashford—Azriel’s mother—stood in the doorway, wrapped in a thick wool shawl over a dark nightgown. Her silvery-gray hair was tied in a loose braid, her warm, maternal eyes widening in immediate concern as she looked at Kat’s flushed face, snow-covered boots, and frantic breathing.

‎"Kat, child! What on earth is wrong?" Adeline asked instantly, stepping forward to catch Kat by the arms.

‎"Adeline... I'm sorry to bother you," Kat gasped out, struggling to catch her breath as white steam billowed into the dark doorway. "Coyotes got into my lower barn... they're trapped inside with the livestock, and I can't get to the tools."

‎Adeline didn't hesitate for a single beat. She pulled Kat inside the warm, cedar-scented hallway, stepping toward the base of the timber staircase that led to the upper floor.

‎"Azriel!" Adeline called up the stairs, her voice clear, commanding, and ringing through the quiet house. "Get down here right now! Kat needs you at the acreage!"

‎From the dark upper hallway, heavy, rapid footsteps echoed instantly across the floorboards.

‎Less than five seconds later, Azriel descended the wooden staircase three steps at a time. He had already pulled on his dark work trousers and heavy flannel shirt, his dark hair messy, his carved, granite face pale with immediate, intense urgency as his icy blue eyes locked straight onto Kat standing in the foyer.