Page 15 of Protector of Talon Mountain

“You should report it anyway,” I say. “Let me log it.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t recognize him. And he’s gone.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s done.”

Her lips press together. She’s not afraid of me—never has been. But she’s afraid of something. Whatever it is, it’s got her convinced silence is smarter than the truth.

I push off the door and walk around the counter, stopping close. Close enough to smell sugar and flour and the faint trace of lavender soap. She doesn’t back up, but her body tenses just for a second before she steadies herself again.

“I’m not here to crowd you,” I say quietly, eyes on her face, tracking her breath, the pulse ticking just below her jaw. “But if someone’s trying to scare you, that makes it my business. I’m the sheriff of a small town, and protecting the residents is my top priority.”

Her chin lifts, just enough to show she’s not folding. But her voice drops a little when she asks, “But why me? Why now?”

“Because I said I’d keep you safe.” I let the words land, let the promise settle between us. Then I add, “And I don’t break promises.”

She looks up at me. This time, really looks. Her eyes aren’t just wary anymore—they’re measuring, curious, maybe even wondering if I mean it. I let her study me.

Finally, she exhales and gives a small nod. “If I see him again, I’ll tell you.”

“Good, but you’ll do more than that,” I say. “You’ll call me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

I pull my phone from my pocket, tap it open, and hand it to her. She hesitates for a breath, then takes it, types fast. When she gives it back, I fire off a one-word text to the name she entered:

Sadie.

“You do now.”

Her phone buzzes on the counter behind her. She doesn’t move to check it. Just stands there, arms at her sides, like she can’t decide if she feels safer… or more exposed.

“Come on, I’ll lock up and walk you home. I’ll do a complete sweep when I get back.”

I move to the kitchen, take out the bagged trash and put it in the dumpster, then come back inside. Locking the back door, I join her by the front door and escort her out, locking that door as well. The street’s quiet, but I don’t trust it. Not yet.

Sadie walks beside me, arms tucked into her coat, boots making little sound as we head down the sidewalk. She hasn’t said much since I locked up the café, but I can feel her beside me—tight shoulders, steady pace, her body turned just slightly inward, like she’s used to shrinking without realizing it.

It makes me feel good that she doesn’t shrink from me. That says more than anything else.

“You always walk home this late?” I ask.

“Sometimes. Depends on the day.”

“Don’t anymore.”

She looks up at me, half amused. “That an order?”

“Yes.”

She huffs a breath—part laugh, part protest—but she doesn’t argue. The cottage comes into view, porch light casting a soft glow on the path. It fits her—charming, worn in all the right ways, but strong underneath. Like her. I scan the windows, the yard, and the surrounding trees. Everything’s still. I still don’t like it.

She stops at the steps, turns to me. “You gonna do a sweep inside, too?”

“If I wanted to, would you stop me?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Would you care if I did?”

“No.”

---