Page 173 of Knotting the Cowboys

"I'm educating you." Mavi's smile is all teeth. "About cause and effect."

Blake jerks his hand back, tossing the envelope at my feet instead. "Three weeks, Willa. That's when the court date is set. Better hire a good lawyer. Oh wait—" His gaze sweeps our group with calculated cruelty. "That would require money you don't have anymore. Shame about those legal fees."

He starts to turn away, then pauses with theatrical timing. "Beautiful baby, by the way. Luna, isn't it? Such delicate features. She must take after her mother." His eyes find mine, and the malice there steals my breath. "Be a shame if the courts decided she needed a more... stable environment. Iron Ridge Pack has excellent resources for raising special needs children."

The word explodes from all four men simultaneously: "WHAT?"

But Blake's already walking away, his pack closing ranks behind him. He throws one last comment over his shoulder,voice carrying across the now-silent market: "See you in court, sweetheart. All of you."

They disappear between the stalls, leaving behind a vacuum of tension that makes my ears ring. Luna whimpers, picking up on the distress radiating from her fathers. Austin bounces her automatically, but his face has gone pale except for two spots of color high on his cheeks.

"He threatened her." Cole's voice is barely human. "That bastard just threatened our baby."

"Not here," River says urgently, glancing around at our audience. Some faces show sympathy, others curiosity, but all are watching. "We need to get home. Now."

I bend to pick up the envelope with numb fingers. Through the manila, I can feel the weight of whatever evidence Blake's manufactured, whatever weapons he's planning to use against us. My hands shake as I straighten, and suddenly Cole's there, taking the poison from my hands.

"Don't," he says roughly. "Not here. Not until we're somewhere safe and can go through it properly."

But safe feels like an illusion now, evaporating like morning mist. Blake knows where we live, knows our routines, has been watching us. And now he's made it clear that not even Luna is off-limits in his war to reclaim what he thinks is his.

The market continues around us, noise and color and life flowing back into the spaces Blake's presence had frozen. But I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted, that the illusion of our hard-won peace has been shattered beyond repair.

As we make our way to the trucks, accepting murmured support from neighbors and friends, one thought circles my mind like a hungry vulture:

He's not going to stop. Not until he destroys everything I've found here. Everything I love.

Unless we stop him first.

The floor knows my path by now—twelve steps from the fireplace to the window, pivot at the bookshelf, avoid the squeaky board near the couch. I've worn a circuit in the past twenty minutes, unable to sit still while Blake's words echo in my skull like wasps trapped behind glass. Beautiful baby. Special needs children. The envelope sits on the coffee table like a bomb waiting to detonate, but it's Maverick's laptop that holds my attention as he connects cables with movements too precise for comfort.

"Willa, you're going to wear a hole in the floor." River's voice carries that forced calm that means he's anything but. He's claimed the armchair, but his knuckles are white where they grip the armrests, and his usual mediator energy has sharpened into something more dangerous.

"Let her pace," Cole growls from where he's stationed himself by the window, keeping watch like Blake might materialize from the December afternoon. "Better than the alternatives."

The alternatives being violence, screaming, or complete collapse. I appreciate him not listing them out loud. My hands won't stop shaking, and every time I close my eyes I see Blake's snake smile, hear the casual way he threatened Luna like discussing the weather.

"Almost ready," Mavi mutters, fingers flying over his keyboard. The coffee table has transformed into a command center—laptop, external drives, cables snaking everywhere. His green eyes reflect the screen's glow, cold and focused in a waythat reminds me he used to hunt arsonists for a living. "Need you all to see this. Need you to understand what we're dealing with."

Austin hasn't put Luna down since the market. She's content for now, gumming on a teething ring while he rocks her in the kitchen doorway, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he keeps checking her like Blake might have left some invisible mark. The gentle healer energy that defines him has gone rigid with protective fury.

"Okay." Mavi turns the laptop to face us. "Started noticing patterns about a week ago. Installed additional cameras after Thanksgiving, just to be safe." His jaw tightens. "Should have done it sooner."

The screen fills with footage—grainy but clear enough. A dark sedan creeping past our front gate at 5:47 AM. The timestamp jumps: same car at 2:23 PM. Again at 7:15 PM. Always slow, always pausing just long enough for someone to observe without being obvious about it.

"That's Blake's car," I whisper, sinking onto the couch because my legs won't hold me anymore. "The Lincoln he bought last year."

"With your money," Cole adds darkly.

Mavi clicks to another file. "It gets worse." This footage shows the side of the house, the view capturing part of the wraparound porch. There—a figure in dark clothes, hood up despite the relatively mild weather. They're not approaching, just... watching. Standing in the shadows where our property meets the tree line, still as a predator waiting for prey to relax.

"Jesus Christ," River breathes. "How long?"

"This particular footage? Forty-three minutes." Mavi's voice could freeze flames. "Just standing there. Watching."

My stomach churns as I recognize the angle of observation. "That's... that's my bedroom window. He was watching my room."

"Our room," Cole corrects firmly, but his hands have curled into fists that speak of barely controlled violence.

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