Page 83 of Protected By the Mountain Man

A shadow, running across the plains.

Gabe stood beside me, hands in pockets, a clean white button-up hugging his broad shoulders just right. “Looks solid,” he said, nodding.

I blinked away tears, quick and sharp. “It looks great,” I managed, voice thick. The sign wasn't just wood and paint; it was a symbol, a start of something new.

The Benjamin Martin Memorial Equine Center.

The words etched on the sign made my heart ache with a bittersweet twist. Today was more than just a day; it was the kickoff party for this new chapter, a legacy to honor Ben and to keep the ranch he’d loved thriving.

“Good.” Clay swiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on his forehead. “I'm gonna go inside, grab a beer. You two good out here?”

“Sure thing,” I called after him as he ambled towards the house. He clapped Gabe on the shoulder in passing, a silent message between men.

I wasn’t sure what it meant yet, but I had a feeling Gabe was up to something.

Gabe watched him go, something unreadable in his gaze. The ranch was alive with change, and I wondered what churned behind those green eyes. But then he turned to me, his smile easy, and any questions I had melted away in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

“I love you, spitfire.” Gabe's voice pulled me back. He swept me into his arms, his grip sure and strong.

Laughter bubbled up as I met his kiss—playful, alive. But the kiss deepened, grew urgent, and a thrill raced through me, raw and real. I pulled away, breathless, my laughter barely masking the tremor in my voice. “Careful now, you'll ruin my makeup before everyone gets here.”

“Wouldn't want that,” he teased, but there was an edge to his voice—a flicker of something I couldn't place.

We started walking toward the house, our fingers lacing together, hands fitting like they were made for each other. His thumb brushed mine.

“Something on your mind?” I looked up at him, trying to read the lines of his face.

“Me? Nah, I'm good. Better than good.” He winked. He winked, and I knew then that he was absolutely hiding something.

“You’re being weird,” I scoffed.

“Trust me,” he said. “Today's a good day, Kat. A really good day.”

As we approached the house, the sound of laughter and the soft thud of a ball hitting the ground drew our attention. Gabe's father was there, his tall frame more robust than in months past, the evidence of recovery in each step he took without a walker. His face broke into a grin, and he waved with the kind of vigor that spoke volumes about his regained strength. It reminded me of my father, and of Ben—a reminder of people I’d lost.

“Look at you, old man!” Gabe called out. “On your feet at last.”

“Hey, I might be old, but I'm not out,” his dad shot back. He reached down to pet Bandit and the dog sat down in the grass, tail wagging, ball still in his mouth. Gabe’s dad smiled…then his eyes found mine, serious for just a moment. “Heard about Owen and Nia’s trial ending—and the guilty verdict. That Everett Jones finally got what was coming to him.” He paused, the weight of his next words hanging between us. “How does it feel to finally be done with it all?”

I sighed. “We can finally start fresh, and start our life together.”

His dad looked at Gabe then, an unspoken conversation passing between them. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth—a knowing, cryptic thing. My brow furrowed. “What's going on?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty head about,” Gabe's father teased, winking conspiratorially at his son.

“Men,” I muttered under my breath.

“Need a hand in here!” Livy's voice pulled my focus. She stood at the front door, hands on her hips, her brow furrowed. “People will be here soon and Clay’s too grumpy to be any help.”

I started toward her, but not before catching Gabe’s dad pulling him close, whispering something that made Gabe beam. “Proud of you, son.”

My heart swelled, and I couldn't help but smile too as I walked into the house.

“Thanks, Dad.” Gabe's voice followed me, warm.

The sound of engines and car doors slamming signaled the start of the party, echoing through the house just minutes after I went in to help Livy. People trickled in, a wave of enthusiasm washing over the ranch. Betty Thompson, her beau in tow, beelined for the kitchen, dishes stacked high with more food than we'd need for a week.

“Got enough pies to feed an army, Kat!” Betty called out, pride shining in her eyes.

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