Page 39 of Protector of Talon Mountain

“You got it. I’ll check in again at midnight. Hey, could you save me one of those cinnamon rolls? They sure smelled good.”

He hangs up, and I smile. I stay in the alley for another second, letting the cold bite into my skin, the tension winding tighter in my spine. Adam. Back in town. Moving out of Joe’s backdoor like he owns it. Like Sadie didn’t already tell him to stay away with every trembling inch of her voice.

He’s about to find out exactly what that costs. I pocket the phone, step back into the street, and head straight for the café. Because tonight, I’m not waiting to be needed… to show her she needs protection. Tonight, I’m going to show her she already has it.

* * *

The walk to Sadie’s place is quieter than usual, but not in the brittle, guarded way it used to be. Her arm brushes mine a little more than it needs to. She keeps glancing up at me like she wants to say something and can’t find the shape of it. I don’t push. Not with her. I learned quick—Sadie doesn’t respond to pressure. She opens when she’s ready. Not a second before.

She unlocks her front door, then pauses with her hand on the knob, snow melting in her hair. The porch light catches the curve of her cheekbone, the pink in her nose from the cold. When she looks at me, there’s something softer in her eyes than I’ve seen before.

“Thank you,” she says. Simple. Direct. But it lands like a damn sledgehammer.

“For walking you home?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

Her lips twitch, almost a smile. “For not making me feel weak when I needed you.”

I step closer. Not touching. Just there. “Needing someone doesn’t make you weak, Sadie.”

She nods once, then pushes it open. Warmth spills out—vanilla and cinnamon, faint remnants of the café clinging to her space.

“You want to come in for a minute?” she asks. “I was going to make some tea.”

I should say no. I should walk away and give her space to breathe. But something in her voice makes that impossible. There’s no fear in it. No performance. Just an open door and an offer.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll stay.”

Inside, she moves easily, like having me here doesn’t throw her off anymore. I notice the little things. How she fills the kettle without asking what kind I want. How she pulls two mugs from the cupboard, not just one. The place is small—kitchen table near the front window, a reading chair in the corner, knit blanket tossed over the arm like she just got up from it.

I sit at the table. She joins me a minute later, brushing stray flour off one of the mugs as if she’s embarrassed. I don’t care. I’d drink it off her fingers if she let me.

“So,” she says, cupping her hands around the steaming mug. “How bad is it out there?”

I know what she means. She’s not asking about the weather. She’s asking about Adam. About the man she told me about—the one who had no business being near her then or now.

I don’t lie. “It’s escalating.”

Her jaw tightens, but she nods. Accepts it.

“Adam’s back?” she asks, voice quieter.

I meet her gaze. “Yeah. Caleb saw him.”

“You know Caleb?”

“I served with him. How do you know him?”

She grins. “I’ve lived here more than four years, remember? He’s had a meal at the café more than once. Interesting guy.”

I chuckle. “That’s one word for him. In any event, he came out of Joe’s back entrance this afternoon. Oh he told me I’m supposed to bring him one of your cinnamon rolls.”

Her mug wobbles slightly. She sets it down before it sloshes over. “He can have as many as he likes, any time he likes. So it is Brent. He really is involved.”

“Yeah,” I say again. “And I’m handling it.”

She nods, then looks down at her hands. “I don’t want him to scare me.”

“He doesn’t get that power anymore,” I say, leaning forward. “You’re not the woman he knew. And you’re not alone.”

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