Chapter Four

‎The ride to the clinic passed in tense, heavy silence.

‎Azriel kept both hands locked on the steering wheel of his truck, his eyes fixed on the winding mountain road. Beside him, Kat pressed the blood-soaked bandana against her arm, keeping her eyes glued to the window as the pine trees blurred past in the fading twilight. Neither of them said a word, but the silence inside the cab felt charged, thick with the unspoken tension from the creek.

‎When the truck pulled up outside the small medical clinic, Azriel cut the engine. He didn't rush to open her door, maintaining that deliberate, frustrating distance between them.

‎Kat opened her own door, stepping down onto the gravel, and walked up the clinic steps with her head held high. Azriel followed three paces behind her, his heavy work boots thudding softly against the floorboards as he pushed the front door open.

‎The small waiting room smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol and fresh lavender. Dr. Harlan stepped out from the back examination room, wearing his usual wire-rimmed glasses and a dark blue sweater, his curly hair slightly tussled.

‎"Well, evening, you two," Harlan said, his warm smile instantly shifting into a look of concern as his eyes fell on Kat’s arm. "Katrina? What happened?"

‎"A little argument with a rusted barbed-wire fence," Kat replied, trying to sound casual despite the throbbing sting in her forearm.

‎"She slipped on river rocks because she was trying to haul thirty feet of dead fence alone after three hours of heavy timber work," Azriel chimed in from the doorway. His tone was flat, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he leaned back against the wall, watching them with a cold, unreadable glare.

‎Kat shot Azriel a sharp side-eye before turning back to Harlan. "I was managing just fine."

‎Harlan let out a gentle, knowing sigh, gesturing toward the examination table. "Come on back, Kat. Let's take a look at it before it decides to get infected."

‎Kat followed Harlan into the examination room, sitting down on the paper-lined table. Harlan gently unwrapped Azriel’s bandana, evaluating the long, jagged cut.

‎"The good news is it isn't deep enough for stitches," Harlan said smoothly, reaching for a bottle of antiseptic and a clean gauze pad. "The bad news is this is going to sting."

‎Kat gritted her teeth, keeping her spine straight as Harlan cleaned the wound. She refused to make a sound, though her knuckles turned white against the edge of the examination table.

‎From the doorway of the exam room, Azriel remained standing, his tall figure framed in the doorway. His icy eyes stayed locked on her, tracking every subtle twitch of her jaw. He didn't speak, but his presence was heavy, a constant, grounding weight in the room.

‎"When was your last tetanus shot?" Harlan asked, applying a thick layer of antibiotic ointment.

‎"About four years ago," Kat answered, her voice tight.

‎"Good. You're covered there," Harlan smiled, wrapping a neat white bandage around her forearm and securing it with tape. "I want you to keep this clean and dry for two days. And no heavy lifting for forty-eight hours."

‎Kat groaned slightly. "Harlan, I have an entire pasture to clear—"

‎"Harlan's right," Azriel interrupted from the door, his deep voice slicing through her protest. "If you tear that open again while cranking a winch, you won't be clearing anything for a month."

‎Kat turned her head, holding Azriel’s dark gaze. "I didn't realize you were my doctor now, Azriel."

‎"I'm not," Azriel replied coldly, stepping away from the doorframe. "I'm just a guy who doesn't want to waste his evening driving you back and forth to the clinic."

‎Harlan looked between the two of them, a faint, amused glint behind his glasses, though he wisely kept his mouth shut. He handed Kat a small tube of ointment and a fresh roll of gauze. "Take it easy tonight, Kat. Go home, get some rest."

‎"Thank you, Harlan," Kat said genuinely, stepping down from the table and grabbing her jacket.

‎They walked back out to the truck in the cool evening air. As Kat reached for the passenger door, she paused, looking over the hood at Azriel as he pulled his keys from his pocket.

‎"You didn't have to wait in the doorway," Kat said softly, her tone dropping its defensive edge for a brief moment.

‎Azriel paused, his hand resting on his truck door. He looked at her across the roof of the cab, his dark eyes shadowed in the moonlight.

‎"My mother would have had my head if I left you here," Azriel said smoothly, his voice flat, erecting that cold, impenetrable wall right back up between them. "Get in. I'll take you home."

‎Kat’s jaw tightened. The brief crack in his armor from the creek was completely gone, replaced once again by the distant, guarded man who refused to let anyone close.

‎"Fine," Kat said, sliding into the passenger seat and pulling the door shut.

‎The drive back to Rosewood Acreage was steeped in a thick, suffocating quiet.

‎Kat leaned her head against the cool windowpane, watching the shadowed silhouettes of the pines sweep past under the pale moon. Her arm throbbed with a dull, steady ache beneath Harlan's neat bandage, but her mind was far more exhausted than her body.

‎Beside her, Azriel drove with a quiet, practiced ease, his large hands resting loosely at ten and two on the steering wheel. He didn't turn on the radio. He didn't glance her way. He simply existed in his own dark, stoic orbit—a man who built walls as naturally as he cut timber.

‎When the truck tires crushed over the gravel of her driveway and rolled to a stop in front of the dark farmhouse, the sudden silence inside the cab was deafening.

‎Kat unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. She hesitated for a split second, her pride warring with the quiet manners her grandfather had raised her with.

‎"Thanks for the ride," Kat said, keeping her voice even and level. "And... for the bandana."

‎Azriel didn't look at her. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on the dark front porch of her house. "Keep it. You've got blood on it anyway."

‎Kat let out a quiet, tired exhale. "Right. Of course."

‎She opened the door and stepped down into the crisp, biting night air. She closed the door behind her with a firm thud, fully expecting him to rev his engine and speed off down the driveway the second her boots hit the gravel.

‎Instead, the truck engine went dead.

‎Kat paused near the front porch steps, turning her head to look back in surprise.

‎Azriel stepped out of the driver's side, his tall, imposing figure illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight filtering through the trees. He pulled his leather tool belt and her bundle of heavy barbed wire out of the truck bed, slinging them over his broad shoulder without asking for permission.

‎"What are you doing?" Kat asked, her brows furrowing as she watched him march past her toward the front porch.

‎"Carrying your tools to the porch so you don't tear your arm open trying to haul thirty pounds of iron with one good hand," Azriel said flatly.

‎He set the heavy roll of wire and the tool belt down near the wooden front door with a heavy metallic clatter. He straightened up, towering over her on the top step, his expression completely unreadable in the dark shadows.

‎"I can manage my own tools, Azriel," Kat said, crossing her uninjured arm over her ribs.

‎"Clearly," Azriel replied, his tone laced with a faint, razor-thin edge of sarcasm. He stepped down one stair, bringing his face level with hers. The sharp scent of cedar, pine, and cool night air clung to him. "Harlan said no heavy lifting for two days, Katrina. That means you stay off the tractor, you leave the fence alone, and you let your arm heal."

‎Kat tilted her chin up, holding his icy gaze without yielding an inch. "And what if I don't? Are you going to drive down here every morning to babysit me?"

‎Azriel froze. For a fraction of a second, his dark eyes dipped down to her mouth, a sudden, dark heat flickering in their depths before he snapped his jaw shut. The air between them pulled taut—electric, charged, and dangerously close.

‎Azriel took a deliberate step backward, putting two full paces of cold night air between them as he retreated toward his truck. The guarded wall slammed back down, impenetrable as ever.

‎"I have my own business to run," Azriel said, his voice dropping into a low, grounded rumble. "What you do to yourself on Arthur's land is your business. Just don't expect my mother to keep coming out here to pick up your slack."

‎"I never asked her to," Kat fired back softly, her heart beating a little faster against her ribs. "And I never asked you, either."

‎Azriel reached his truck, opening the door and resting his hand on the frame. He looked back at her over his shoulder, his dark silhouette framed against the vast, starlit valley.

‎"Get some sleep, city girl," Azriel said quietly. "You look like hell."

‎Before she could throw a wooden porch tile at his head, Azriel slid into the cab, fired up the engine, and backed out of the driveway, his red taillights fading into the thick fog of Pine Valley.

‎Kat stood alone on the porch, her chest heaving, staring down the dark, empty road long after the sound of his engine had died away.

‎She touched her wounded arm, feeling the steady, rhythmic thrum of her own pulse beneath the bandage. He was infuriating, arrogant, and stubbornly guarded. But as Kat turned the key in her front door and stepped into the warm, quiet farmhouse, she couldn't wipe the faint, defiant smile off her face.

‎Kat walked inside, shutting the heavy oak door behind her and sliding the deadbolt into place. The familiar scent of dried lavender and old cedar wrapped around her, instantly cutting through the biting chill of the night.

‎She set Harlan’s tube of antibiotic ointment on the entry table and made her way into the kitchen. The house was dead quiet. She filled a small kettle with tap water, placed it over the gas burner, and struck a match to light the stove. While the water heated, she carefully unbuttoned her torn, blood-stained flannel shirt and tossed it into the laundry basket, replacing it with a loose, soft cotton sweater that didn't rub against her freshly bandaged arm.

‎When the kettle whistled, Kat poured the hot water into an old ceramic mug with a spoonful of honey, holding the warm mug between her palms as she walked into the dusty living room.

‎She sat down on the edge of the velvet sofa, letting out a long, ragged exhale that seemed to drain the last remaining energy from her body. Her muscles throbbed from the hours spent cranking hydraulic jacks, hauling timber with Adeline, and fighting the rusted wire down at the creek. Her forearm pulsed with a steady, manageable sting, but Harlan’s bandage held firm.

‎Looking around the shadowy living room, her eyes settled on a framed, faded photograph resting on the mantlepiece. It was Arthur, standing proudly in front of this very farmhouse thirty years ago, holding a pair of rusted shears with a bright, triumphant smile.

‎Kat took a slow sip of her hot tea, feeling the warmth spread through her chest.

‎She had survived her first real trial on the farm. The barn crossbeam was raised, the main structure was safe for the coming freeze, and she was learning the rhythm of the land bit by bit. Pine Valley was hard, unpredictable, and full of people who were protective of their world—some warmer than others—but it was starting to feel less like a daunting challenge and more like a home she was actively earning.

‎Kat finished her tea, rinsed the mug in the kitchen sink, and clicked off the single oil lamp in the hallway. She climbed the creaking wooden stairs to her bedroom, pulled the thick wool blankets up to her chin, and closed her eyes, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

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