Page 20 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

I showed up at the bar last night like some kind of bouncer. When I saw fucking Ben leaning into her space and heard the tone in his voice—it was like something snapped inside of me.

No one gets to talk to her like that.

That should’ve been my first warning sign.

Because she’s not mine.

I tell myself that a lot.

With nothing else today, I stomp back to my cabin and pace the floors like the restless man I’ve become.

The door creaks open.

I don’t look up. “You’re here late.”

Jesse drops onto a chair like he owns it. “You’re lucky I came at all. I was elbow-deep in a cow birth this morning.”

“You’re a sheriff’s deputy. Not a vet.”

“Tell that to Maybelle. She winked at me.”

I almost smile. Almost. Jesse’s good at that—dragging me out of my own head. Even when I’d rather stay there.

“Let me guess,” I say, grabbing two beers from the fridge. “You’re here to nag me.”

“Not nag,” he says, popping the top. “I’m here to offer light encouragement. Brotherly support. Whatever you want to call it.”

“How about being an ass?”

“I heard about the bar last night.”

My jaw ticks. “It’s a small town.”

“And I heard Tessa held her own.”

“She did.” I open my own beer. “That didn’t mean I was gonna let that piece of shit talk to her like that.”

He studies me over his bottle. “You like her.”

“No.”

“You do.”

“I barely know her.”

“You let her cat sleep on your favorite chair.”

“I fed him once.”

“You gave him the good tuna.”

I don’t answer. He smirks.

“You’re soft.”

“Get out.”

“You’re thinking about her again.”

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