Page 11 of Protector of Talon Mountain

He nods. “Short walk for coffee. Easier to keep things secure at night.”

I raise a brow. “Café doesn’t need a bodyguard.”

He steps in closer. Voice low. “Not offering to guard the café.”

My breath catches.

He doesn’t push it. Just glances toward the back hallway that leads to the stairs.

“I’ll pay over the rent to cover meals. I’ll cook when your kitchen’s closed. I’ll keep the place locked up every night. What do you say?”

I swallow. “You sound like you’re setting the rules.”

“I’m the sheriff. Comes with the badge.” A pause. “And I think you want someone to.”

I don’t answer. Not right away. Because maybe... he’s right.

Finally, I nod. “Fine. Keys are in the drawer. You start tomorrow.”

He shakes his head. “I start now.”

Before I can argue, he’s moving—locking the front door, making sure everything’s sealed up tight. Herding me toward the back. He doesn’t say a word as he picks up his coffee, setting it down on the newel post at the foot of the stairs.

Still nothing. Just sips. Watching me.

Not flirting. Not prying. Just... present. Like I’m something worth paying attention to. My throat tightens.

“I didn’t expect you to start so soon,” I say.

He shrugs. “I wanted to make sure the café was locked up and make sure you got home safe.”

I freeze. The way he says it—it’s not a suggestion. It’s a fact. Like it’s already his job. And somehow, I don’t hate it. I should. I want to. But part of me—maybe the part that still wakes up to echoes of slammed doors and broken glass—wants someone to care.

“You checking on everyone in town?” I ask.

“No.”

Just that. One word. Final. Unbothered.

“So I’m special?”

His brow ticks up. “You’re exposed.”

There it is. No fluff. No filter. Just the sheriff, cutting to the truth with a blade of steel.

“Right,” I say, softly. Not sure if I mean it as acceptance or surrender.

He finishes his coffee. Sets the mug down. Heads for the back door.

I expect that to be it—but it’s not.

He opens the door to the alley, waits for me to step out, then locks it behind us. His voice is quiet. Commanding. No space for argument.

“I’ll walk you to and from your place every day. I’ll open and lock the café with you. Every time.”

It’s not a request. It’s not even a conversation.

And I know—Iknow—I’ll follow it. Not because he scares me. But because something in his voice tells me I don’t have to be scared anymore.

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