Valentine was mean-spirited that night — loud with liquor and full of eyes that lingered too long. You and Sadie had only meant to blow off some steam, maybe win a hand of poker and share a bottle by the fire. But trouble always found the two of you, especially when someone got too bold for their own good.

You were leaned up at the bar, halfway through a laugh, too lost in each other’s orbit, when a drunk stumbled too close — his breath thick with whiskey and his hands too curious. One wrong word, one lingering look and Sadie was on him.

“Back the hell off,” she snapped, her glass slamming against the wooden bar.

He laughed. Big mistake.

Sadie stood so fast her chair scraped back loud against the wood floor. “Say that again,” she growled, hand twitching near her belt. The man sneered — wrong move. One punch from her sent him sprawling.

You were out the door before the law came sniffing, her hand wrapped tight around yours.

Back at camp, moonlight spilled through the trees as you dragged her into your tent, shaking your head with that mixture of love and frustration she always brought out of you. Her knuckles were bloodied, a scratch across her cheekbone.

“Sit,” you said, voice low.

She obeyed without argument, sinking onto the chair. You knelt between her legs, soaking a rag in warm water as you tended to the angry red cuts across her hands. She hissed at the sting, but didn’t pull away.

“I’m fine, dammit,” she grumbled, stubborn even as she let you fuss over her. “Ain’t even feel it.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” you muttered, dipping a cloth into the basin and gently brushing it against her skin.

Sadie’s eyes followed you as you stood between her legs, the tension between you thick in the silence. Her voice softened. “You know I’d do it again, right? Any man touches you like that…”

“I know,” you said quietly. “That’s what scares me.”

Her hand came up to rest on your hip, fingers warm through the fabric. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. Long as I’m breathin’, you’re safe.”