Page 3 of Hitched to the Mountain Man
The words land like punches. I see Colton’s hands curl into fists, see him visibly restraining himself from reacting. See the moment he decides that defending himself will only make things worse.
"I'll move my bike." He turns toward the motorcycle, and the defeat in his posture makes my chest ache.
Dad isn't finished. "And stay away from Main Street during business hours. I don't want to see your face around decent establishments."
Something inside me snaps. Before I can think it through, before I can talk myself out of it, I'm moving. Crossing the street. Stepping between my father and Colton Reeves with my chin lifted and my hands shaking with adrenaline.
"That's enough, Dad."
My father's eyes widen. "Savannah. Go home."
"No." I plant my feet, very aware of Colton behind me, his presence solid and warm. "You're harassing this man for no reason."
"This isn't your concern." Dad's voice drops to that dangerous quiet that used to terrify me as a child. "Get in your car. Now."
"He was making a legal delivery." I gesture to the wrapped metalwork leaning against the building that Colton had justdelivered. "He wasn't breaking any laws. You're abusing your authority."
A small crowd has gathered, phones out, recording. My father realizes this at the same moment I do. His face flushes red, fury and embarrassment warring for dominance.
"We'll discuss this at home." Each word is clipped, controlled. "In private."
He stalks back to his patrol car, tires screeching as he pulls away. I stand frozen in the aftermath, awareness crashing over me. I just publicly contradicted the sheriff. My father. In front of half the town.
"You didn't have to do that." Colton's voice behind me is rough, surprised.
I turn to face him and my breath catches. Up close, he's devastating. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw darkened with stubble, and eyes the color of smoke. Those eyes hold wariness and something else. Curiosity, maybe. Or the first spark of interest that mirrors the heat suddenly pooling low in my belly.
"Someone had to." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "What he said was wrong."
"Wrong doesn't matter much in this town." His intense gaze makes my skin tingle. "You're the sheriff's daughter."
"Savannah Parker." I extend my hand, very aware that this is possibly the worst idea I've ever had. "And yes."
His hand engulfs mine, calloused and warm and sending electricity up my arm. "Colton Reeves. Though you probably already knew that."
"I did." I don't let go of his hand. Can't seem to make myself. "I'm sorry about my father. About all of it."
"Not your fault." But he doesn't release my hand either. "Though you might regret that little speech when you get home."
"I've been regretting things for months." The admission slips out unbidden. "Might as well add one more to the list."
Something shifts in his expression. A crack in that careful mask he wears. "Months?"
And suddenly I'm telling him everything. About culinary school, about the debt, about my father's disappointment, and my grandmother's house, and the impossible condition that stands between me and the one asset that could change my life.
"I need to be married in six months." The words tumble out faster now, propelled by desperation and the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. "Twenty-three years old and married, or I lose the inheritance. Lose everything."
Colton listens without interrupting, those gray eyes sharp and assessing. When I finally stop talking, breathless and slightly mortified that I just unloaded my entire life story on a stranger, he's quiet for a long moment.
"That's quite a situation." His thumb traces an absent pattern on the back of my hand. We're still holding hands. Neither of us has acknowledged it.
"It's impossible." I should pull away. Should walk back to my car and forget this entire impulsive disaster. Instead, I step closer. "Unless I marry Brett, which would be settling for safe when I want extraordinary."
"Extraordinary." He tests the word, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. "That's a tall order."
"I know." I take a breath, gathering courage for what I'm about to say. For the insane idea that's been forming since the moment he defended himself with quiet dignity against my father's abuse. "Or maybe there's another option."
His eyes narrow. "What kind of option?"
