Page 5 of Nate Hayes

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.”

3

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.

She just nodded, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding in more than fear.

“I don’t mind sleeping out here,” she said. “The couch looks comfy.”

“You’re not sleeping out here alone.”

Her eyes flicked up, wide and startled.

“I’ll stay on the recliner,” I added. “Unless Pancake calls dibs, in which case I’m flipping a coin.”

That got a weak laugh out of her. Just a little one—but it was a start.

She went to wash up, and I moved around the cabin, checking every window, rechecking every lock, and ensuring the security cam above the porch was live. Every movement was automatic. I was trained. I was focused.

But my mind kept circling back to her.

To the sound of her voice when she told me about Derek.

To the way she’d looked at me when I said she wasn’t going home.

To the way she was trying to be brave even when she was clearly terrified.

When she returned wearing one of my old flannel shirts—myflannel shirt—barefoot, with her damp hair in a braid and those sleepy gray eyes searching for comfort, something in my chest pulled tight.

She curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, the blanket around her like a cocoon.

I sat down beside her—not too close, but not far, either.

She turned her head to look at me. “You don’t have to stay up.”

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