Page 25 of Stitch & Steel
He turned slowly, watching me. “Until I know who dumped that body and what they were looking for, I’m not playing defense. I’m building a damn fortress.”
I stepped forward, grabbed his arm. “No bars.”
“Bella—”
“No bars,” I said again. “This isourhome. Mine and Gran’s. We are not living like we’re in a prison.”
He looked down at my hand, then at me. His voice was rough silk. “Fine. No bars. But then I’m coming back with something else.”
“What? A moat?”
He smirked. “Close.”
He was gone for hours.
Long enough for me to chop vegetables I didn’t need, reorganize Gran’s spice cabinet, and start second-guessing every single feeling I had about this man.
Which, to be clear, weremany.
Logan wasn’t just hot. He was capable. Commanding. The kind of man who didn’t just promise safety—heembodiedit.
And maybe that was scarier than any cartel.
Because if I wasn’t careful, I’d fall. Hard.
The sun was low by the time I heard the rumble of his truck tires on gravel. I stepped outside, wiping my hands on a dishtowel, expecting wood, tools, and maybe a grimace.
I wasn’t expectingthat.
A massive dog—dark black and tan Shepard type mix, with the build of a small horse—launched out of the cab before the engine even cut off.
“Wait—what the?—?!”
I barely had time to yelp before I was on my back in the grass, big paws pressing into my ribs, warm breath panting in my face as the dog licked and nuzzled me like I was his long-lost best friend.
“Logan!” I shrieked, laughing and trying to push the beast off me. “What the hell!”
Logan leaned against the hood of the truck like he was enjoying a damn TV show. “Scout, off.”
The dog instantly backed up, tongue lolling, tail wagging like mad.
I sat up, grass in my hair, flushed from head to toe. “Scout?! You brought adog?”
He walked over, knelt beside me, and nudged the dog’s flank. “He’s trained. Used to belong to a vet who passed last month. He needed a home.”
“He’s enormous.”
Logan gave a lazy grin. “Good instincts, too. Saw you from the truck and made a beeline. Told you I’d bring protection.”
“Protection? Or emotional terrorism?”
Scout gave my cheek another sloppy kiss.
Logan smirked and said to the dog, “You’ve got good taste, but I saw her first.”
My heart did something weird and traitorous in my chest.
He nudged Scout away gently, and extended a hand to help me up. I took it, trying not to notice how rough his calloused fingers were. Or how strong his grip felt. Or how close he was now.
