Page 13 of Protected By the Mountain Man

“Kat,” Owen started, hesitant, his eyes tracing the grain of the wood on the porch before meeting mine. “I know what you said after the funeral, but…maybe it is time to sell the ranch. You've been carrying this all on your shoulders, and?—”

“Stop.” My voice was firm, even as something inside me splintered at the suggestion. “I know it's hard. Hell, I know better than anyone. But this land…this is more than just soil and grass. It's our legacy. Ben bled for this place.”

Owen's gaze softened, and he leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. “I get that. But sometimes, fighting doesn't mean clinging to what was. It can mean finding a new path forward.”

I mulled over his words, the coffee forgotten in my hand. Memories flooded in—Ben laughing as he saddled up a horse, teaching me to ride when we were kids, his face alight with pride every time he spoke of the ranch's history.

“Ben never gave up,” I whispered. “He kept it going through droughts, through the recession, through Mom and Dad’s accident…through everything. This ranch has seen generations of Martins. It's not just land; it's where our family's roots are tangled deep. And I…I wasn't here when he needed me most. Like—I know I was here when he died, but before, when things started to spiral…I was off sowing my wild oats.”

“Kat, you had your own life to live. Ben understood that.”

“Did he?”

“Of course. But he'd also want you to be happy. And if running this place into the ground is gonna break you, then what's the point?”

“Because it's worth the fight. Because I owe it to him, to us,” I said. “It's not about being happy, Owen. It's about honor. It's about family. And I'll be damned if I let go without a fight—in his memory, for our future.”

Owen shrugged, the lines on his forehead deepening with a mix of concern and resignation. “All right, cousin. Just remember you’re not alone in this.” He got up, standing tall in his worn-out jeans. “But I gotta head out, got work piled up to my ears.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, forcing a smile. I appreciated Owen’s help, sure…but something about his attitude rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe Bandit was onto something.

“Anytime. Just…think on it, yeah?” He shrugged. “Don't let pride be your downfall, Kat.”

With those parting words, he strode off. I sank back into my chair, alone with the weight of the ranch pressing down on me like the overcast sky threatening rain on an already sodden field. The silence was broken by the sound of the school bus rattling down the road, its engine fading as it dropped off its last passenger.

My niece, trudging up the drive like every step was a battle.

“Livy!” I called out, brushing the stress aside for her sake. As she approached, backpack slung over one shoulder, I stood and held up my mug. “How 'bout some hot chocolate?”

She offered a half-hearted smile, her face drawn and tired—too tired for a kid her age. It broke my heart seeing her like this, so I tried lightening the mood as I followed her into the house. “You should've seen Bandit today, trying to scare off Owen. That dog's got more bark than sense.”

She glanced over her shoulder, expressionless. Bandit had come closer to her and whined softly, but she didn’t so much as look at him.

“I’m good without hot chocolate, Aunt Kat. I’ve got homework to do anyway.”

I bit my lip, trying to hide my concern. “Okay…just let me know when you’re done, alright? Lasagna for dinner tonight.”

She left without another word and I heaved a sigh, my own fatigue settling in. I needed another jolt of caffeine—something to keep me upright and thinking straight. I’d been doing as much investigating on my own as I could, sure…but managing a ranch, running a business, and trying to solve a murder all at once was a pretty damn hard juggling act.

After pouring myself another cup of coffee, I stepped back out onto the porch and sat back in my chair. I wrapped my hands around the mug, the warmth barely registering against the chill setting into my bones. As I stared out at the horizon where the sun dipped low, I tried to shove away the hopelessness clawing at my insides. The future was uncertain, and each passing day weighed heavier on me.

Maybe Owen was right. Maybe it was time to call it and sell.

Just then, the sound of tires on gravel snapped me out of my reverie. “Damn it, Owen, what now?” I muttered, half-expecting to see my cousin's truck coming back up the drive.

But it wasn't him.

The truck was old—a beater, with a Semper Fi bumper sticker on the rear window. I flashed back to that horrible day, Ben bleeding out in my arms as salvation steered toward us…

What the actual fuck was Gabe Mitchell doing at my house?

I glared at the invisible figure in the truck, a cloud of dust obscuring him until he got out. He stepped onto the gravel driveway and the sinking sun caught in his messy chestnut hair. The sight of him, all easy confidence and rugged edges, sent an unwelcome flutter through me.

I didn’t want to have these stupid feelings for Gabriel fucking Mitchell.

“Stop it, Kat,” I chided myself silently. It annoyed me how much he’d filled out—how much I liked the look of him in a t-shirt, with those tattooed arms all tan and muscled. There was something about him that made my heart race—a feeling I despised. It made me feel vulnerable and exposed, and I hated that more than anything.

Yet as he leaned against his truck, as if waiting for permission to approach, I couldn’t help but stare.

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