Page 11 of Protected By the Mountain Man

We spent hours swapping tales, our laughter echoing in the night. Stories of Ben and Kat crept in, laced with nostalgia and a twinge of regret. Back when life was simple, and our biggest worry was being late for curfew.

“Ben's murder though…” Chris's voice trailed off, his smile fading like the light around us. “It's left a damn void. Kat and Livy…they're carrying too much.”

“Kat's strong,” I muttered.

“Strong doesn't mean invincible,” Chris countered. “Worries me that the Sheriff isn't taking this seriously enough.”

Chris's words hung in the air, heavy as the Montana night. But we didn't talk anymore about it; there was nothing more to say.

We would watch out for them. I was damn sure of that.

Hours slipped by, and the stock of beer in my fridge dwindled to nothing. Chris eventually slumped over, his snores soft but steady. I managed to talk him into going inside and crashing on the couch, and I tossed a blanket over him and killed the lights before trudging to my room.

I should've been out cold in seconds, the way I usually was after a few. But not tonight. Tonight, my eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, my mind racing along with my pulse. Kat's face haunted me—the raw grief in her eyes, the kind of pain you don't just shake off.

“Damn it,” I whispered into the darkness, rolling onto my side. Maybe I should check on her, make sure she was getting by alright. She didn't want me there, she made that clear enough—but what if she needed someone?

And hell, it wasn't just about making sure she was okay. I was drawn to her, this magnetic pull I couldn't explain. She wasn’t the same girl I’d picked on back in high school—no, she'd grown fierce, her spirit burning bright enough to rival the sun.

Kat had transformed from that awkward teen into something else entirely, stepping up to fill shoes far too big for anyone. I admired her for it, respected her. And I wanted?—

“Stop,” I told myself, rolling over. Wanting was dangerous territory. Wanting led to all kinds of trouble I couldn't afford.

But damn if I didn't want to see her, even if it was just to assure myself that the fire hadn't gone out. That she was still fighting, still standing strong amidst the chaos that had swallowed her whole.

“Sleep, Gabe, sleep,” I murmured, flopping back down.

But sleep was a stranger tonight, and thoughts of Kat were insistent houseguests refusing to leave.

FIVE

Kat

Life was hard after Ben’s death.

I guessed that was normal…life was always hard after a loved one died, right? But with the weight of the ranch and now raising a preteen girl on my shoulders, it was worse. Overnight, I’d gone from being a single woman with my whole life ahead of me, to being a single substitute mom with the burden of a failing ranch.

I didn’t know if I would survive it.

I’d been avoiding the post office for weeks, but I knew I eventually had to deal with what I knew was waiting…and somehow, it was still worse. With each envelope I plucked from my PO box, the weight grew heavier—overdue bills, final warnings.

They were badges of my failures.

Ben had counted on me to take care of Livy when he was gone. I was failing her.

I was failing myself.

I shuffled through the envelopes, the numbers and red letters blurring together. Ben's death had hollowed me out, left me grappling with the remnants of a life cut short. I should have been starting that new job in Texas, but instead, I was here, drowning in dust and debt on a ranch too big for one person to handle. Livy needed me, though, and I couldn't abandon her—not now, not ever.

A slip of paper fluttered to the floor—a contrast to the colorful barrage of overdue notices. No name, no address, just a block of typed text. I peered at it, turning it over in my hands…and my stomach lurched as I read the words.

It’s time to sell, or there will be consequences.

My hands shook as I gripped the note, a chill slicing through me that had nothing to do with the fall weather.

Someone was watching us, waiting, ready to pounce.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice a little too sharp as I approached the counter. The guy there, Hank, with a name tag that screamed “I'm new here,” fidgeted and looked up.

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