Page 13 of Protector of Talon Mountain

And for a second—just one—I think about Sadie. The way her shoulders tensed beneath that flannel shirt. The way her voice never wavered, but her hands almost did.

She’s seen this kind of silence before. Maybe not the same shape, but the same weight. She’s not the reason I’m out here. But she’s damn sure one of the reasons I’m not walking away.

I climb a ridge and scan the town through the trees. Everything looks normal from up here. But I know better than anyone—that’s when things are most dangerous.

The sun has begun to drop by the time I clear the ridge, slipping behind the jagged line of Talon Mountain. The trail back cuts through town at an angle, past the old mill road and onto Main Street from the back side.

I have a decent layer of mud on my boots, the burned-out shack still on my mind, and a mental list forming of what I need to chase down next, but all of it drops away the second I see her.

Sadie stands just outside the café, arms crossed tight, body turned at an angle. Defensive.

A man stands in front of her. Mid-thirties. Lean frame, too wiry to be a local logger. Jacket too clean, boots too polished. Something about him feels wrong—like he doesn’t belong. Like he’s trying to.

Then I see his hand snap out and wrap around her wrist.

I don’t shout. Don’t think. Just move. I cross the street like a shadow with a purpose. No noise. No warning. Just heat in my limbs, a hum in my chest that, in the past, always meant go. I slide in between them quickly, my body a wall of stone that separates her from whatever the hell this asshole thought he was going to do.

He staggers back, blinking like he hadn’t even seen me coming.

Sadie’s eyes are wide. Not scared. Alert.

“Is there a problem here?” I ask, voice low, even.

The guy looks between us, jerks his chin toward Sadie like she owes him something. “I was just talking to her. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

I take a step forward. “You touch her again,” I say, voice low and flat, “and I’ll give you something to mean.”

I’ve stepped between men and targets before. Civilians, teammates, war zones. This isn’t a combat op, but my body doesn’t know the difference. My stance shifts. Weight on the balls of my feet. My hand itches toward the Glock on instinct, not threat. I’m not here to pull a weapon. I’m here to make damn sure I don’t have to.

This isn’t about jealousy. This is about precision. Control. The same way you intercept a predator before it strikes.

He tries to puff up, throw his shoulders back. “I didn’t realize you were her boyfriend.”

“I’m not.”

That stalls him for a half second.

“But I am the sheriff,” I add, stepping closer, slower, “and I’m not in the mood to file paperwork.”

He swallows. His eyes flick to Sadie—looking for backup, maybe. She doesn’t say a word. Smart. I let the silence stretch between us, just long enough to make him start to sweat. Then I tilt my head.

“Do you want to walk away with all your teeth?” I ask.

The guy mutters something I don’t bother catching and turns on his heel. He walks off like he’s not trying to look like he’s hurrying—but he is.

I don’t chase him. I don’t need to. I already own the moment. I wait until he rounds the corner and disappears before I turn back to her. Sadie hasn’t moved. She still holds her wrist slightly away from her side, fingers curled around it—not dramatically, not weakly. Just... guarded.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods once. “I’m fine.”

Her voice holds steady, but there’s tension behind it. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes a little too wide. Adrenaline. Or maybe it’s the way I stepped in without asking.

I glance down at her hand. “Let me see.”

“It’s not…”

“Sadie.”

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