Page 25 of Rescued

“Trouble?” Gabe crosses his arms, his voice steady despite the anger I know is simmering under the surface. “You mean rescuing animals you can’t be bothered to care about?”

Kaufman’s sneer deepens, the lines around his mouth pulling tight. “I’m talking about interfering. You don’t see the bigger picture, Staley. These strays are a threat—disease carriers, dangers to livestock. You’re too soft to make the hard calls.”

Soft? Gabe? I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. But I stay quiet, letting Gabe handle it his way—for now.

“You think blasting stray dogs is a ‘hard call,’ Kaufman?” Gabe’s voice is calm, but there’s a sharpness to it that makes the sheriff’s smirk falter. “Because it seems to me you enjoy it just a little too much.”

Kaufman freezes for the briefest moment, his expression flickering with something dark—something I recognize all too well. That’s the look of a man whose mask has slipped, showing the ugliness beneath. Then he recovers, letting out a low, cold laugh.

“You’ve got no idea what it’s like, playing cleanup in a town like this,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “Strays bring problems, and I deal with them. That’s my job.”

“That’s not a job,” Gabe counters, stepping closer. “That’s a power trip.”

Pride surges in me, even as my wolf snarls at the escalating tension. Gabe’s not backing down, and Kaufman knows it. The sheriff’s eyes narrow, his gaze darting to me for a split second before locking back on Gabe.

“You don’t know shit about power trips, boy,” Kaufman spits, his tone laced with disdain. “You’ve had everything handed to you. Your fancy degree, your bleeding heart crusades. You’ve never had to make real sacrifices.”

Tension coils in Gabe’s jaw, and I can see the effort it takes for him to keep his voice steady. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. What I do know is this—your obsession with killing strays isn’t about the animals. So, what is it, Kaufman? What’s the real reason?”

For a moment, Kaufman’s mask slips again. His jaw twitches, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Then he leans in, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “You think you’ve got me figured out, huh? You don’t. This town doesn’t need people like you—sticking their noses where they don’t belong, flaunting their… perversions.”

That word hits like a slap, and I feel my wolf rear up, claws ready to tear. But I force myself to stay still, focusing on Gabe. This is his moment, and I won’t take it from him.

Gabe doesn’t flinch. If anything, he stands taller, showing his defiance. “I’m not the one flaunting anything, Sheriff. You’re the one stomping onto my property like you own it, hurling insults because I dared to challenge you.”

As I wait for Kaufman’s next outburst, I notice his gaze shifts to me. He’s glaring over Gabe’s shoulder, his face darkening.

Gabe glances back, and I feel my stomach clench. I rest my hand on his shoulder, standing sentry just behind him, offering a solid and reassuring presence.

Gabe turns back to Kaufman whose face twists with contempt, his sneer so pronounced it’s practically cartoonish.

“Been spending time with your…friend?” he sneers, drawing out the word like it’s coated in filth.

The implication doesn’t escape me, and anger sparks sharper in my chest. But the ridiculousness of it strikes me just as quickly. Kaufman isn’t wrong—we’re exactly the kind of ’friends‘ he’s implying, though the idea of him thinking about our relationship in any way makes me want to take a shower.

I shrug, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Then, with a grin, I step forward, sidestepping Gabe to face Kaufman head-on.

“Mika Blackwell, Sheriff,” I say smoothly, extending my hand.

Kaufman doesn’t even look at it. He just glares at me like he’s trying to figure out how to make me disappear by sheer force of will. After a moment, I let my arm drop, my expression calm and unaffected.

I almost laugh, because the tension is so thick it feels absurd. If we’re having some kind of silent contest, I know exactly who’s going to win.

The sheriff takes his time looking me up and down, like he’s sizing me up. It’s a pathetic attempt at intimidation. Kaufman looks like a bantam rooster trying to puff himself up in front of an eagle.

“Where’d you come from, Blackwell?” Kaufman asks finally, his tone sharp and suspicious.

“New Mexico, Sheriff,” I reply, my voice soft but steady, with just the faintest hint of a smile tugging at my lips. “Is that a problem?”

Kaufman doesn’t respond. Instead, his glare shifts back to Gabe, his patience clearly worn thin.

“Staley, where’s the goddamn wolf you took off old lady Shumaker’s property?”

The sheriff’s voice is brittle, his stance rigid. He’s given up on the games he obviously likes to play, cutting straight to the point.

Gabe steps up beside me, resting a hand on my lower back. It’s like he’s drawing strength from me or I’m offering my own.

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