Page 14 of Protected By the Mountain Man

“Can I help you? Or is standing there part of your daily workout routine?” The words came out sharper than I'd intended, but Gabe just being here, uninvited, was enough to put me on edge.

Gabe pushed off from his truck, a frown furrowing his brow. “Came to check on you.”

“Check on me?” I scoffed and crossed my arms over my chest. “I'm fine. Thanks for the concern, but you can leave now.”

He didn't budge. “How are you holding up, really?”

“Get off my land, Gabe,” I snapped, not in the mood for small talk or whatever game he thought we were playing. His presence, so unwelcome yet so undeniably affecting, was the last complication I needed.

“Kat, I?—”

“Did I stutter? Leave—or I’ll have to get the shotgun, and you can be damn sure I know how to use it.”

And with that, I spun on my heel, storming back into the house before he could say another word. The door slammed behind me, echoing my frustration.

Alone again, with my racing heart and the heavy silence of the ranch, I leaned against the door, willing myself to forget the look in his eyes—concerned, yes, but something else too. Something that stirred a warmth in me no fall breeze could snuff out.

I’d missed Gabe in the weeks since Ben’s death…and I didn’t like that at all.

SIX

Gabe

It had been weeks since Kat had warned me off her land with a shotgun, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about her.

In fact…that had just made me more intrigued. Because hell—in Montana, a girl threatening you with a shotgun is basically foreplay.

I’d come to Millie’s Diner intending to pick up food for dinner with my dad, but somehow I’d ended up using this time to spy on Kat Martin. Leaning against the cool, chipped counter, I absently thumbed my phone screen, flicking through the endless feed of smiling faces and filtered sunsets. It wasn't like me to get caught up in the social media circus, but there I was, skimming through the pictures on Kat's profile. I couldn't help myself; after everything that went down, I just needed to know she was…I don't know, surviving?

Of course, I wasn’t just making sure she was surviving. I was already a few years back in photos—which was, frankly, embarrassing. I scrolled through pictures of her eating ice cream with her niece, riding her horse in a field, standing on a movie set with her mare—whose name, I learned, was Sundance. Kat had grown into a beautiful woman with a wild life. I couldn’t?—

“Order up, Gabe!” Betty announced, snapping me back to reality as she slid a hefty paper bag across the countertop toward me. Instinctively, my phone vanished into my pocket, though not swiftly enough.

Betty fixed me with a knowing look. “You got a thing for Kat Morgan now?”

“Thing? No, no, I…” I stammered, heat crawling up my neck. Damn. Busted by Betty Thompson, of all people. The woman could spot a lie faster than a grease fire in her kitchen. “I was just checking in on her, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” Betty replied, clearly not buying what I was selling. She leaned against the counter opposite me, arms folded.

“It's just…” I exhaled, my voice a shade above a whisper, “since Ben passed, I can't shake it off.” I avoided her gaze, focusing on the formica counter. “I was the one who drove her to the hospital that day. And watching Kat break down—I don't know. It sticks with you.”

“I see.” Betty's tone softened. “So you’re worried about her.”

“Yeah,” I said, meeting her eyes again. “It was rough. And now…I want to reach out, but after what happened with Ben that summer…” My words trailed off, heavy with regret. Shit, it was nearly a decade ago, but I recalled it like it was yesterday. The memory of fists and fury, the sound of bone meeting bone, still haunted me. I didn’t even remember what we’d fought about—just that Owen Martin had been egging us on, the asshole. “I don't think I have the right to just waltz back into her life.”

“Fair enough.” Betty nodded slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. “After everything, I didn't think you two would ever speak again, let alone share a car ride. We all heard who dropped her off at the hospital, and we were all surprised.”

“So was I,” I admitted. “I?—”

The vibration from my pocket was sudden, distracting me. I pulled out my phone, the screen lighting up with Dad's picture. A frown creased my forehead—he was waiting for me to swing by with dinner; I wasn't dragging my feet or anything.

“Hey, Dad,” I answered, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. “Everything okay?”

“Son, calm down, I'm fine,” he said. “But let's skip dinner tonight. Mandy thinks maybe it's not the best idea.”

Mandy was his in-home nurse—which instantly set alarm bells going off in my head. I leaned back against the counter, the bag of food suddenly feeling like dead weight in my hand. “What's up? You sick or something?”

“Nothing serious, just a little under the weather. Maybe you can find another use for all that grub?” His voice had that twist of mischief I'd come to recognize, even when he was playing it casual.

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