Page 18 of Enticed by the Mountain Man
He steps away just enough to pull his phone out of his pocket. His movements are controlled but sharp. He scrolls once, presses a name, and raises the phone to his ear.
“Ford,” he says, voice hard. “I need you and the sheriff at my place. Now.”
He listens for a moment, nods once. “Yeah. He left a note. Maeve’s safe for now, but I want this handled today.”
When he hangs up, I’m still shaking.
“Come here,” he says quietly.
I go. He pulls me into his arms again and holds me tight, one hand cradling the back of my head. His voice drops to a low rumble against my hair. “You don’t run from me, Maeve. You hear me? You can’t leave me.”
I nod, barely holding it together. “Okay.”
He keeps his hand on my back, grounding me with every slow breath. The weight of him, the heat of his skin, it all steadies me, little by little.
We stand like that until the sound of tires crunching on gravel breaks the silence.
Through the window, I see Ford’s truck pull up, the sheriff’s cruiser right behind. The sight sends another tremor through me, but Graham squeezes my hand.
“It’s going to be fine,” he says quietly. “They’ll help me take care of it.”
Ford steps out first, his usual easy grin nowhere to be seen. He nods once at Graham, then glances toward the house, his eyes sharp and serious. The sheriff joins him, holding a notepad, his expression grim.
Graham hands over the note, talks to them both in low tones I can’t make out. His posture is tense but calm, a man used to control and not losing it easily.
I watch from the doorway, blanket wrapped tight around my shoulders. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Graham turns and sees me.
He crosses the distance in a few strides, his expression softening as he reaches me.
“Hey,” he says, his thumb catching a tear I didn’t notice. “It’s handled. We’ll find him.”
“What if you don’t?”
“I will.” He says it without hesitation, and for the first time since opening that note, I believe him.
He pulls me close again, one hand at the back of my neck, the other pressed to my spine. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. “You’re home. I won’t let anyone take that from you.”
Something inside me finally gives. I bury my face against his chest and sob until the sound fades into hiccups. He doesn’t say anything else, just holds me until the trembling stops.
When I finally look up, his jaw is set, his eyes fierce and full of something that looks a lot like love.
I think about last night, the way he touched me, the way he looked at me like I was something worth keeping. I’m starting to believe it wasn’t just my fanciful thinking. I think he might have meant every bit of it.
Chapter eight
Graham
Ford calls before sunset.
“Found him,” he says, voice clipped. “He’s holed up at the diner on Main Street. Sheriff’s keeping an eye on him, but I figured you’d want to handle this your way.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t let him leave.”
I hang up and stare at my phone for a long second, just listening to the quiet hum of the cabin. Maeve’s asleep in the next room, worn out from this morning’s tears. Her breathing is soft, steady again. I promised her I wouldn’t let anything touch her, and I meant it.
I grab my jacket and step outside.
The air is cold enough to bite, crisp with that early fall smell, pine, woodsmoke, damp earth. The kind of night that would usually calm me. Not today. Today, all I can think about is that note, that smug handwriting, and the look on Maeve’s face when she read it.
