Page 110 of Stolen for Keeps
I’d just handed off the last of the empty cupcake boxes when some guy at the end of the line stepped up, his lip curled in disgust.
“Go back where you came from, thief,” he snarled.
The word hit like a slap, even though I’d heard worse.
I kept my expression neutral and my chin level, but my pulse kicked up. I wasn’t about to give this asshole the satisfaction of a reaction. I packed up the cake trays and empty drink cups, turning away.
But he followed.
“Get away from me!” I hissed.
Right then, Noah was there.
I hadn’t even noticed him leaving the rink, but somehow, he’d crossed the ice, the snow, and the crowd in seconds.
He took a step forward. “You got a death wish, or are you just naturally this dumb?”
The man hesitated, his bravado slipping.
Noah gave a small nod, like he’d already decided the guy wasn’t worth much thought. “Do that again, and the next thing you know, you’ll be skating home on your teeth.”
A few heads turned in our direction, whispers already forming. But no one came closer. We were just far enough from the main bustle that people opted for distance over involvement.
Noah didn’t move, didn’t raise his voice, but something in his eyes changed—something sharp and lethal, the kind of thing that put people on the defensive before they even understood why.
The man backed off, his steps stiff and drawn out. A retreat disguised as pride.
Noah didn’t look at me right away. He kept his gaze on the guy until he disappeared around the corner. Only then did he turn to me.
“Don’t let that piece of shit get to you, Maya.”
I forced a smirk. “What? That? I barely noticed.”
But the weight of it stayed.
Back at The Lazy Moose,the mood had shifted into celebration mode. Noah’s Buffaloberry Blizzards had made it through their first meet, and the place buzzed with laughter and food.
The earlier incident seemed forgotten, thank goodness.The last thing I wanted was for that thug to taint something this pure, this local.
In the kitchen, Elia and Claire were bickering, something about how much rosemary they should use for the lamb, and Noah was halfway across the room, trying to keep Dylan from turning the snack table into a demolition site.
I wanted to be in it. Really, I did. I wanted to raise a glass and toast the town, the team, and this version of life that I was lucky enough to have stumbled into. But right now, I just needed a second to clear my head and be alone with it.
I slipped out the side door, mumbling something about needing a walk.
The barn was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of hay and the sounds of horses shifting in their stalls. I grabbed a pitchfork and got to work, my muscles stretching, sweat slicking my skin. The scent of dust and leather filled the air, grounding me.
Noah had been there for me. As always. Fiercely protective.
But it didn’t stop the guilt.
He had to put up with shit because of me. Today hadn’t been the first time. Because of what people thought and what they whispered when they thought I couldn’t hear. And it wasn’t just him. Elia and Claire bore it too, though they never said a word. And I hadn’t forgotten about Napoleon taking his revenge on them for the phone I’d thrown into the ravine.
The sun had barely started its descent when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Gee, Miss Maya,” Hank drawled. “What are you doing out here? You get exiled from the kitchen? What’d you do?”
A smile tugged at my lips. “I just needed this,” I admitted, tossing a forkful of hay. “Hard work.”
