Page 19 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

As he steps away to make the call, I glance around the shop, the fear still gnawing at the edges of my mind. This place was supposed to be a fresh start, a symbol of hope. But now, it feels like it’s under siege.

I turn back to Mike, his strong, steady presence filling the room. Whatever happens next, I know I’m not facing it alone.

Chapter ten

Mike

The red and blue lights of the police cruiser flash outside the shop, reflecting off the shattered glass on the ground.

Officer Nathan Cooper steps out, his familiar no-nonsense expression softened slightly when he spots Becky. Nathan and I go way back—he’s one of the guys I trust implicitly in this town.

He gives me a nod before turning his attention to Becky, who looks pale but composed.

“Nathan,” I say, walking over to meet him. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“Of course,” he replies, shaking my hand. His gaze shifts to Becky, his tone turning gentler. “Miss Gibson, I’m sorry this happened. Why don’t you tell me what you know?”

Becky clutches the note in her hands as she explains everything—about the fire, the brick, and the escalating threats from Paul. I stay close, watching the way her voice wavers but never breaks. She’s stronger than she realizes, but I can see the fear she’s trying to mask.

Nathan listens intently, jotting notes in his pad. When she finishes, he leans against the counter, his expression serious.“Based on what you’ve described, it’s clear this is harassment. I strongly recommend filing a restraining order against Paul. It’ll put legal pressure on him to stay away, and if he doesn’t, we’ll have grounds to escalate.”

Becky nods, her fingers tightening around the paper. “I’ll do whatever I need to,” she says, her voice steady despite the tremor I can see in her hands.

“Good,” Nathan says, offering her a reassuring smile. “We’ll also increase patrols around the shop and your place. And make sure you have good insurance on the shop—it’ll help cover any damages if something like this happens again.”

Becky glances at me, and I can tell she’s overwhelmed by the sheer number of things to handle. “Mike, can you—?”

“Don’t worry,” I interrupt, resting a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll take care of it together.”

Nathan gives me a knowing look before wrapping up his report. “You’ve got a good guy here,” he says, tipping his hat. “If anything else happens, call me immediately.”

“How about a cup of coffee?” I want to get some details from Nathan without alarming Becky. She says she’s going to go for a walk to the café and see if she can ask around about the events of the day. It’s not far, and I know she will be around friends, so I acquiesce.

We go back to the firehouse, and Nathan gives me the background on Paul and his suspicions after I tell him all that I know.

Nathan leans back in his chair at the firehouse, cradling a steaming mug of coffee in one hand while giving me a knowing look.

“You’re getting attached to that little furball, huh?” he teases, nodding toward B., who is curled up on my lap, purring like a tiny motor.

I glance down at her, scratching gently behind her ears. “She’s a good kitten,” I say, avoiding the obvious truth—I can’t seem to let her go.

Nathan chuckles, shaking his head. “Funny how things work out.”

I arch a brow. “What do you mean?”

His expression softens as he sets down his mug. “Because I was the one who found her.”

I sit up a little straighter. “You what?”

He nods, his face taking on a serious edge. “A few months ago, I got called out to do a welfare check on the old guy who lived on the outskirts of town. He ran a junkyard—one of those places full of rusted cars, broken-down sheds, all kinds of mess. His neighbors hadn’t seen him in a while and were worried.”

I listen intently as Nathan continues, his voice dropping slightly.

“When I got there, the place was a disaster. Trash piled up, car parts everywhere. But the guy? He was fine. Just old, stubborn, and didn’t think he needed anyone checking up on him.” Nathan shakes his head. “But that wasn’t what caught my attention.”

I already know where this is going, but I don’t interrupt.

“There was a little makeshift nest tucked between two old tires,” he says, his gaze distant. “Three kittens. Tiny things. No sign of the mom, and the guy didn’t care about them. Said they ‘just showed up.’”

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