Page 175 of Knotting the Cowboys

It's 9:47 PM on a Saturday—too late for casual visitors, too early for true emergencies. The bell rings again, followed by firm knocking.

"Were we expecting anyone?" River asks quietly.

"No." Cole's already moving, phone in hand as he pulls up the security app. The current cameras only cover the driveway and front gate, not the porch itself. His frown deepens as he studies the screen. "Two figures. Can't make out faces from this angle."

"Police cruiser in the drive," Mavi observes, peering out the window. "Lights off, but definitely official."

The knocking comes again, and a female voice calls out:

"Mr. Montgomery? It's Chief Reyes. I'm here with Wendolyn Murphy. We need to talk about Blake Harrison."

The tension in the room shifts but doesn't dissipate. Police could mean safety or trouble, depending on their intentions.

Cole looks to me, silently asking permission to answer.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Stay back," he tells me quietly, then moves to the door. His hand hovers over the locks for a moment before he checks the phone one more time. "It's definitely Wendolyn's car behind the cruiser."

He opens the door carefully, body positioned to block any direct line to the living room.

To me. To Luna. Always protecting, even when the threat might be wearing a badge.

"Chief," Cole says evenly. "Ms. Murphy. Late for a social call."

"This isn't social." Chief Reyes's voice carries the kind of authority that comes from years of not taking anyone's shit. "May we come in? What I have to say shouldn't be discussed on doorsteps."

Cole glances back at us, a silent question in the look. River nods slightly, and Cole steps aside. "Of course."

They enter like opposing forces—Wendolyn all worried energy and fluttering hands, Chief Reyes moving with the controlled precision of someone who's walked into too many volatile situations. She's younger than I expected, maybe early forties, with silver threading through black hair pulled into a severe bun. Her uniform is crisp despite the late hour, and her dark eyes sweep the room with professional assessment, cataloging exits, positions, threat levels.

"Willa." Wendolyn rushes to me, ignoring protocol to pull me into a fierce hug. She smells like vanilla and stress, her usually perfect makeup smudged around the eyes. "I'm so sorry about the market. If I'd known Blake was going to show up?—"

"It's not your fault," I manage, returning the hug even as my body stays tense.

"No, it's his." Chief Reyes positions herself where she can see everyone, hand resting casually on her duty belt. Not threatening, just ready. "Mr. Harrison made quite a scene. Multiple witnesses have already given statements about his behavior."

"Statements?" Mavi shifts his laptop, suddenly interested. "Official ones?"

"Very official." The chief's smile is sharp as a blade. "Seems your ex-husband miscalculated how Sweetwater Falls feels about outsiders threatening our residents. Pearl Chen-Morrison was particularly detailed in her account."

"He stayed fifty-one feet away," I say, hating how defensive it sounds. "Technically, he didn't violate?—"

"The restraining order, no. But Montana has stalking laws, Ms. James. Harassment laws. And what Mr. Harrison did today?" She pulls out a small notebook, flipping through pages. "That's textbook intimidation."

Luna fusses in Austin's arms, picking up on the room's tension. He bounces her automatically, but his attention is fixed on the chief. We're all coiled springs, waiting for the next blow to fall.

"You said you have something we need to hear," Cole prompts when the silence stretches too long.

Chief Reyes nods slowly. "But first, I need to see what you have. Wendolyn mentioned you've been documenting things. Security footage?"

Mavi and Cole exchange glances, some silent debate happening in the space between them. Trust the cops or handle it themselves—I can read the conflict in their faces. Finally, Mavi turns his laptop toward the chief.

"Started noticing patterns about a week ago," he says, pulling up the first file. "Black Lincoln, license plate partially obscured, making regular passes."

Chief Reyes leans forward, and I watch her expression harden as Mavi walks her through the footage. The repeated drive-bys. The figure watching from the tree line. The mapped patterns of our routines that Blake has clearly been tracking.

"Forty-three minutes," she murmurs when Mavi shows the timestamp of Blake lurking outside my window. "Premeditation. Planning. This is..." She pauses, choosing words carefully. "This is escalation behavior."

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