Page 52 of Protected By the Mountain Man

“Okay,” she finally agreed with a sigh, standing up and collecting the empty bottles. “The Spur it is.”

Time slipped by like the sun behind the mountains, giving way to a twilight that turned the ranch into a dusky silhouette. Clay had already taken off, saying he'd catch us at the Spur.

“Kat?” I called out, my boots thumping on the wood floors. “You about ready to?—”

Her bedroom door creaked open, and there she stood.

Damn.

My mouth went dry. She had on these skinny jeans that hugged her legs, showing off every curve and muscle like they were tailor-made for her. Those cowboy boots of hers, the ones that looked like they’d danced through their fair share of trouble, poked out from under the denim. And the shirt…hell, it was a low-cut number that made it hard not to stare. Her arms had healed up nicely, and everything else…

…well, perfect would have been an understatement.

“Close your mouth, Gabe,” Kat smirked, but her eyes flitted away.

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “You just…you look great.”

“Thanks,” she said, brushing a strand of blonde hair off her face, soft waves framing her shoulders.

I wondered if she liked her hair pulled.

Jesus, Gabe…

“Shall we?” I asked, motioning towards my truck parked out front.

“Yeah, let's hit the road,” she replied with a grin.

The Silver Spur was a beacon of noise and neon in the otherwise quiet night, live music filtering through the open windows. I parked, and we made our way through a sea of trucks gleaming under the lights.

“Looks like the whole town's here tonight,” Kat said.

“Friday night at the Spur. Where else would they be?”

We pushed through the door into a wall of sound—country tunes battling it out with the chatter of a packed house. Scanning the crowd, I caught sight of Clay raising his beer in salute from the bar. Jake “the Snake” O'Hara, the owner, leaned next to him, their heads close in conversation.

“Look who decided to grace us with their presence.” Clay's voice cut through the din as we approached.

“Wouldn't miss it,” I replied as we sidled up to the bar. “Especially since, if I recall, drinks are on you.”

Clay snorted and ordered a round for us, shaking his head.

“Got the horses settled in?” Jake asked, nodding towards Kat as he handed over a couple of frosty bottles.

“Yep, finally back home,” Kat said, taking a swig. “Thanks for looking after them.”

“Anytime, Kat. How's the barn lookin'?”

“Better than before,” I chimed in. “All set up and secure—thanks to Clay here.”

“Good to hear,” Jake replied, his face growing more serious. “Sheriff Callahan's been poking around town. Asking questions about the shooting, the break-in at your place. He's even got the Bureau office out in Billings involved.”

“Did they find anything?” Kat leaned in. “I haven’t heard yet.”

“Nothing on ballistics. But there's talk of a killer on the loose,” he said. “And Callahan's started asking about Ben's ex. Nia, was it? Seen her lurking around these parts.”

Kat's hand tightened around her bottle, her knuckles going white. “Nia's been here?”

“Sure has. Even overheard her talking shit about your ranch.” Jake's expression was grim. “Had to set her straight on that one.”

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