Page 19 of Protector of Talon Mountain

“She’d have liked you,” I say before I can stop myself.

That earns me a look. Not soft. But a little less guarded. “You think so?”

“She respected people who didn’t waste words.”

Zeke watches me as I set a tray on the prep counter. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You respect people like that?”

I reach for a set of ramekins, placing them in a carrying box. Keeping my voice even, I say, “I respect a lot of things, Sheriff. But respect, like trust, has to be earned, and I don’t just hand it out willy-nilly or without reason.”

“Those smell good. What’s in them?” he asks, nodding to the container.

“Baked eggs in stuffing with sausage. They’re headed up to a group of hikers. I can reheat them right before we take them up to their camp.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when I glance over, he’s still watching me. Like he’s listening for the words I didn’t say. Then, almost casually, he nods to the tray. “You deliver those?”

I laugh under my breath. “I deliver, or have delivered, a lot of things. You offering to help?”

“If you’re short-staffed.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got Jenny coming in at seven. She’ll take them up.”

“I’m not afraid of earning my keep,” he says, voice smooth but anchored with something heavier. “Especially if it keeps you from dropping things.”

I lift the box, but I’m hyperaware of the way he moves—how deliberate it is. He measures every step and every word before offering them. Controlled men used to scare me. Zeke doesn’t. But he makes mefeelmore than I should.

“You always this hands-on, Sheriff?” I ask, trying to keep it light.

“Only when it counts.”

“That supposed to impress me?”

“Does it?”

I glance at him sidelong. “You’re a real confident man, Sheriff Serious.”

His eyebrow arches, slow and amused. “You like me serious.”

The tray almost slips from my hands. I catch it in time, but the clatter of ceramic against metal rings out sharper than I would have imagined. Zeke’s eyes track the movement, then flick back to my face.

I recover quickly. “That’s a bold assumption.”

“Not really,” he murmurs. “You’re not scared of serious. You fear unpredictable. There’s a difference.”

The way he says it—quiet, razor-precise—it cuts through my defenses faster than anything has in years. I swallow and look down, adjusting a coffee cup that doesn’t need adjusting.

“I’ve got to get these out front,” I say.

Zeke doesn’t stop me. He just steps aside, but not far.

As I pass, his voice follows—low, warm, dangerous in all the ways I’m not ready for.

“You let me know if anything feels off today.”

I pause at the door and look back at him. “Does that include you?”

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