Page 11 of My Secret Santa Clayton

Hank came back out after her, watching us both with a bemused smile before he turned to me. “Looks great, Clay. Can't tell you how much it means to me, you helping out like this,” he said, pulling a wallet from his back pocket. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” I cut him off before he could start counting bills. Didn't feel right taking money from folks who barely had any to spare.

“Least I can do is—” he tried again, but I shook my head.

“Keep it, Hank.”

He sighed, tucking away his wallet, and then his face shifted to something more serious. “So, Grace Gibson's back in town, huh?” he ventured.

“Seems like it.”

“Didn't think we'd see her around these parts again. Tough as nails, that one.” His eyes searched mine—looking for what, I didn't know.

“Guess so.” I turned away, picking up my tools. I wasn't about to dive into that topic.

“Hey, thanks again, Clay.”

“Anytime,” I nodded.

I loaded up my truck, Bear already waiting inside, his tail thumping against the seat. The screen on my phone lit up witha new message, and I read Gabe's text asking for help with the storm prep. Silver Ridge weather turned on a dime, and we looked out for each other when it did.

“Hey Bear, wanna go see Bandit?”

His ears perked up at the mention of Gabe's dog, and he let out a soft bark.

“Guess that's a yes.”

I climbed in and got the truck started, the engine roaring to life under my hands. As I pulled away from the store, I couldn't shake the image of Grace's retreating form, the way she moved like she was marching into battle.

And damn it if that didn't stir something deep inside me—something dark, possessive, and wild.

The wheels of my truck crunched on the gravel as I pulled up to Gabe and Kat's ranch. Bear was hanging his head out the window, nostrils flaring at the familiar scents of the countryside. I killed the engine and pushed open the door, stepping out into the cool air that heralded the coming storm.

“Clay!” Gabe's voice carried over from the open barn doors, no need for pleasantries between us. “About time you showed up!”

“Got here as fast as I could without breaking any laws,” I called back. He grunted something that sounded like approval, and I smirked despite myself.

Bear bounded ahead, charging towards Bandit. They greeted each other with excited barks and nips, Bear rolling over on his back to let the smaller dog take charge.

“Let's get this done,” I said, rolling up my sleeves.

Gabe nodded, and we got to work in silence, the only sounds our boots shuffling and the occasional grunt of effort.

“Thanks for coming out to help,” Gabe said after a while, his tone casual. It wasn't like him to offer thanks; it was understood that we looked out for each other, an unspoken code forged from our days in the Marines. We hadn’t served together, but we were bound by brotherhood all the same—and nights spent reminiscing at the VFW helped make that bond stronger.

“Don't mention it,” I replied, hefting a sack onto the higher stack. My muscles protested, reminding me of the day's earlier labor, but I ignored them. This was what I did—I helped people, fixed things. It kept me sane, gave me a purpose.

Kat's boots thudded against the wooden planks as she entered, tipping her hat back with a thumb. “Boys,” she greeted. “Thanks for coming by, Clay. Didn’t know if Gabe could handle this by himself.”

I snorted. “Wow.”

“Been wondering when you'd grace us with your presence,” Gabe teased, earning a playful swat from Kat.

“Someone's gotta keep those horses from revolting,” she replied. “What have you been up to today, Clay?”

I shrugged. “Was fixing some stuff over at Hank’s place in town,” I said. “Ran into Grace again.”

Gabe laughed. “And how did that go…?”

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