Page 27 of Protected By the Mountain Man

“I have to go,” I cut him off, because if I didn't end this call now, I might just spill everything.

And then what? He couldn't fix this for me. No one could.

“Alright. Take care of yourself, Gabe,” Dad said, a hint of resignation in his voice.

“Yeah, I will,” I replied, thumb hovering over the end call button.

Then the whole world seemed to stop.

Because someone in the house was screaming.

My heart pounded, my body moving on instinct. The scream was muffled—then it was followed by Bandit’s frantic barking as he shot off toward the house. Adrenaline kicked in, every muscle tensing as years of training snapped me into high alert.

“Shit,” I muttered, ending the call without another word. The phone was back in my pocket before I was fully standing, instinct propelling me towards the house.

“Kat! Livy!” I called out, voice rough with fear and urgency.

Bandit's barks turned to howls, a desperate soundtrack to my sprint. The dog was smart; if he was going nuts, something was definitely wrong.

“Damn it,” I grunted, closing the distance, ready to face whatever was going down.

Whatever it was, I'd be damned if I let any harm come to Kat or Livy.

Not on my watch.

ELEVEN

Kat

I’d gone out to try to escape Gabe—at least for a moment—but being apart from him had just made me feel worse.

I slammed the tailgate of my truck shut, the clang echoing across the yard as I hefted the grocery bags into my arms. I’d been a complete jerk, as if avoiding him could somehow make these unwanted feelings vanish. I'd been so short with him earlier, my words clipped, my gaze averted.

It was a crappy defense mechanism, and it left a sour taste in my mouth.

With a deep breath, I allowed myself a quick glance toward the barn. No sign of Gabe. His truck squatted there though, old and reliable as the day is long. He had to be here somewhere. Maybe inside, taking a break or fixing something that didn't need fixing just to avoid me.

“Damn it,” I sighed, shifting the bags to one arm as I reached for the door. “You're going to apologize, Kat. And mean it.”

The screen door creaked as I pushed it open. Inside, I'd draw a line under this foolishness—offer an olive branch, or a beer.

Anything to smooth over the awkwardness I'd caused.

“Hey, Gabe,” I rehearsed quietly, “about this morning—I was out of line. Let me make it up to you.” I could practically hear his low chuckle, the one that rumbled from deep within his chest and made my insides do somersaults.

Not helpful.

But I had to apologize.

It wasn’t his fault he starred in my dirty dreams.

The groceries thunked onto the counter, pulling my thoughts back to the present. I glanced down the hallway. “Hey Livy, is Gabe still out there?”

She didn’t answer, even though I could’ve sworn I’d heard her. I craned my neck, trying to spot Bandit's wagging tail or hear his excited yapping. “Livy, where's Bandit? He usually can't wait to steal a carrot or something.”

Silence hung in the air, dense and unwelcome.

“Kiddo?”

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