Page 48 of Max Bannon

“I tried. But it was always just shy of actual harassment. No threats. No texts. He’s smart—knows how to push the line without stepping over it. The police said they had nothing to bring him in for questioning.”

I ran a hand down my face, adrenaline still buzzing under my skin.

And then I looked at her—reallylooked at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted just slightly, like she hadn’t quite caught her breath. That soft curve of her jaw. Theway those gray eyes flashed silver when she was afraid but trying to be brave anyway—the subtle tremble in her hands.

God, she was beautiful.

Not just beautiful—breathtaking, in a down-to-earth way.

Strong and stubborn, with that fierce independence and a heart bigger than her damn herd of goats. And in that moment, all I could think about was how much I wanted to protect her.

And maybe how badly I wanted to kiss her.

Those lips… yeah. They looked like trouble.

The kind I’d walk into on purpose.

Focus, Hayes.

I blinked, forced my brain to reboot.

Now wasn’t the time for fantasies and heat and whatever the hell she was doing to me without even trying.

Now was the time to get serious.

“I need a picture of this Derek guy,” I said, grabbing a pen and notepad. “Any chance he’d know your routines? Where you deliver your products to? Where you park your car?”

She nodded. “He followed my social media. He’d know I come to Frasier Mountain every Saturday.”

My jaw tightened.

This wasn’t random.

This wasplanned.

I turned back to her. “You’re not staying at your place tonight. You’ll stay here.”

Her eyes widened. “With Pancake?”

“With me. And if Pancake behaves, he can stay too, on the porch.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He sleeps in the shed.”

She tried to smile, but it faltered. “Nate… are you sure? I don’t want him to think he is scaring me.”

I stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell that lavender and wildflower scent she always seemed to carry, like it followed her around on purpose. I’m surprised the bees didn’t follow her around.

“Willa Mae Jensen,” I said, voice low and steady, “someone leaves a photo like that inmycabin, they’re not just messing with you. They’re messing with the wrong damn SEAL.”

21

Nate

We ate the delicious pancakes for dinner, and later that night, I tossed Willa a blanket and pointed to the couch. She didn’t argue.

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