Page 9 of Protected By the Mountain Man

“Who the hell was that?” Owen's voice brought me back to the moment, his presence comforting. At least he had my back—even if nobody else did.

“He said he’d been working with our family,” I muttered. “You don’t know him?”

Owen shook his head. “Didn’t seem familiar. Are you okay?”

“Just freaked me out,” I admitted, watching as the taillights of the luxury vehicle disappeared down the driveway. “He was too interested in whether I lived alone out here.”

“Creep,” Owen muttered. “You want me to move back into the house for a bit?”

I hesitated, the offer tempting. But Owen…he drank an awful lot, just like his dad. It was nice having him around every so often, but I didn’t know if that would be good for us in the long term. “No, Livy and I—we're okay. Thanks, though.”

Owen seemed disappointed, maybe even a little hurt, but he nodded. “Alright, if you're sure. Let's head back inside.”

“Right behind you,” I replied, tucking the business card into the pocket of my jeans. Everett Jones and his fancy resorts were about to get a closer look from this rancher's sister. If Sheriff Callahan wasn't going to dig deep enough, then I'd do it myself.

For Ben. For Livy.

For all of us who called this stubborn piece of Montana home.

FOUR

Gabe

The crisp mountain air bit into my skin as I swung the ax down with a satisfying thunk.

Another log split clean in two, adding to the pile that was supposed to get me through winter. I wiped sweat from my brow, my muscles protesting the morning's labor. It was only September, but Silver Ridge didn't mess around when it came to cold.

“Smells like an early winter,” I muttered to myself, stacking the last of the wood against the side of the cabin. The place wasn't much to look at—a rough-hewn structure hidden an hour away from town—but it was mine, and it kept the Montana chill out.

I stepped inside, the door creaking on its hinges behind me. My boots left prints on the wooden floor that I'd sweep up later. I glanced around the room—sparse and unadorned, save for the furniture I’d built myself. Spartan living never bothered me; it was the clutter in my head I couldn't tidy up.

Heading to the kitchen, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, the cold bite of the bottle seeping into my palms. It was a feeble attempt at numbing what came next—the memory of Ben Martin’s funeral.

It had been a somber affair, and despite not being wanted, I'd shown up—out of respect, or maybe just for old times' sake. Dad had insisted on going, his stubbornness legendary even if he was barely mobile since his stroke. Seeing him in that state, struggling to move, tore through me.

But he was a Mitchell, and Mitchells didn't back down. Not even from death itself.

I stayed at the back during the service, out of sight but not out of mind…especially not from Kat. Hell, I could feel her disdain from a hundred yards away. She had every right; I'd given her plenty to hate. But when I saw her standing there, so damn strong and unwavering like she was holding up the world…something shifted.

“Damn it,” I muttered, leaning against the counter. “You got no business thinking about her like that.”

But I couldn't help it. The way grief had carved out the softness in her, left her with this raw, fierce beauty—it caught me off guard. Kat wasn't the clumsy kid I’d made fun of anymore. She was a woman forged in the fires of loss, and it only made her more…

No.

I took a swig of beer, trying to wash down thoughts that had no place here.

The knock on the door was unexpected. Brow furrowed, I wiped my hands on my jeans and made my way across the room, wondering who had reason enough to trek all the way out here. Normally the only person who came to visit unannounced was Clay, a recluse like me from up the road—but this sounded like business.

I swung the door open and found Chris Langley on the other side, his deputy uniform a big difference from the usual t-shirt and jeans he wore over here. I cocked an eyebrow, but still invited him in.

“Officer,” I jibed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey, Gabe,” he started, stepping inside. “Sorry to drop by unannounced.”

“Never mind that. What's going on? You're lookin' all kinds of serious.” My throat tightened with a mix of suspicion and concern. Chris wasn't just a buddy—he was a cop, and cops didn't show up in full uniform to shoot the breeze.

“Let's sit down for a bit, alright?” Chris suggested, his gaze steady.

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