Page 97 of Mountain Protector

She was right. As I settle back on the couch and tuck the blanket over my lap, I lean back against the cushions with a relieved sigh. Knox is humming in the kitchen—”Silver Bells” this time—and the aroma of savory chicken soup wafts into the living room. The tree looks beautiful all lit up, and as I glance out the window, a few fluffy flakes of white drift by.

My heart swells with happiness.

I’m home. With Knox. Bruised, but definitely not broken. While it’ll take a while to fully accept that my dad’s employee wanted me dead, there’s a silver lining in it.

It wasn’t my fault Vinnetti died. Even though I know it was self-defense and I did nothing wrong, it’s still a massive weight off my shoulders.

“Are you ready to eat?” Knox walks into the living room with a tray in his hands. He comes over to the couch and sets the tray on the coffee table. On it is a bowl of steaming soup, a plate loaded with buttered saltines and sliced cheese, a glass of water, and two pills set beside it.

“Yeah, I think so.” I pat the couch beside me. “Come sit. Help me eat this mountain of saltines.”

He grins. “Too much?”

“It’s fine. Thank you for putting all this together for me.”

“Lark. This is nothing. I would do anything for you.”

Oh.

My heart.

Knox glances at his watch. “Your dad should be getting here pretty soon. Maybe ten minutes or so?—”

Both our phones buzz, signaling the security system’s been triggered. And although my brain says,it’s your dad, it’s fine, nothing to worry about, my heart flies into my throat.

“It’s just your dad,” Knox soothes as he looks at the video feed on his phone. “He just pulled up.” He rubs the back of my neck. “It’s okay. Stay here while I let him in.”

Before I can finish one saltine, my dad comes rushing into the house, his face creased with worry. As soon as he sees me, he makes a beeline over to the couch and takes the spot Knox just vacated. As he gently hugs me, he says, “Lark, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” As we pull apart, I continue, “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Knox sits on the arm of the couch and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Maybe we could talk while Lark eats? She hasn’t had anything since breakfast.”

“Of course.” My dad sits back and inspects me. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good.” His eyebrows go up. “Better,” I amend. “Just a headache and a little light-headedness. That’s all.”

“Lark, you didn’t say you were feeling light-headed.”Knox’s hand stills on my shoulder. Concern roughens his voice. “I would have helped you in the—” He stops. The tips of his ears go pink. “Well. I would have helped.”

My dad glances between me and Knox, a speculative look in his eyes. Then a tiny smile appears. “I’m not going to ask because you’re both adults and it’s none of my business.”

Turning to Knox, I say, “It’s not bad. I was fine. Really.”

“Eat,” my dad urges, gesturing at the soup. “You need to keep up your energy.” He pauses. “Is that chicken soup?”

Knox nods. “It is. I know it’s supposed to be for colds, but—” He shrugs. “I thought it might apply to concussions, too.”

For the next few minutes, we talk quietly about Christmas and home improvements while I eat my soup. But once I put the bowl aside, my dad’s expression goes somber. “I won’t talk about this long,” he says, “but I just… I can’t believe it. Ed. If I’d had any clue…”

“How could you know?” I ask. “I certainly had no idea.”

“But—” He swallows hard. “God, Lark. I hired him. Spoke to him almost daily. I went to his house for Thanksgiving. I should have seensomething.”

“I’m sure he was careful to keep his feelings hidden,” Knox tells him, empathy in his gaze. “Of anyone, Ed would have been most cautious around you.”

“Still. I should have realized. He brought up a promotion a few times over the past year. I didn’t think he was qualified to lead the department, so I put him off. He has the experience, but he’s not good with themanagement side of things. I thought I could work with him on it. Maybe promote him in another year or two. But—” His voice breaks.

“Dad. It’s not your fault.”

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