Page 27 of Her Dirty Defender

I shouldn’t want better things. Better means wanting. Wanting means needing. Needing means losing.

I learned that lesson the hard way.

For years, I’ve lived on the edge—never settling, never getting attached, never making promises I couldn’t keep. I took jobs that kept me moving, that made it easy to disappear. I didn’t ask for more because more meant something could be taken away.

But then she walked in.

And suddenly, more didn’t seem so impossible.

Didn’t seem so goddamn terrifying.

Didn’t seem like a death sentence.

Now, she’s all I can think about.

I adjust my grip on the fence post, forcing the thoughts back down where they belong. I came here to help Angus and figure out what the hell comes next. Not to chase ghosts or get tangled up in something I don’t have a name for.

And yet?—

“Damn,” Angus mutters. “You’re really out of it.”

I blink, realizing I’ve been gripping the post so tight my knuckles have gone white.

I force a smirk. “Just thinking about how much I hate ranch work.”

Angus chuckles. “Bullshit.”

He studies me for a beat, eyes sharp beneath the brim of his hat. Angus has seen me at my best and my worst. He knows when I’m lying.

But for once, he doesn’t push. He smirks and claps me on the shoulder. “Well, whatever’s got you so distracted, hope it’s worth it.”

It is.

And that’s the part that scares me.

“Look,” Angus says, “I know you didn't come here for ranch work. But while we figure out who's behind these threats and?—”

“I'll pull my weight,” I insist, cutting him off.

The crunch of gravel under our boots gives way to the soft thud of worn wood as we climb the steps onto the wraparound porch of the ranch house. The smell of fresh coffee wafts through the air, making my mouth water.

Angus gestures to a pair of rocking chairs, weathered gray from years of sun and rain. “Park it. Coffee's coming.”

I ease into the chair, surprised by how good it feels to just... sit.

Angus sets his hat on the railing before pouring two steaming mugs of coffee from a pot already on the porch table. He hands me one, and I take a long sip, savoring the bitter warmth. It's good. Way better than the sludge we drank on deployment.

The Sutton ranch is damn near picturesque in the early morning light. Wide open sky, fields stretching for miles, and the bleat of goats in the distance. It’s a world away from the places I’ve been.

As Angus settles in a chair, propping his boots on the railing, the screen door creaks open. A woman with honey-blonde hair steps onto the porch, her gaze sweeping over the two of us before settling on me.

“So, you’re the infamous Shadow.”

I glance at her, then at Angus. He’s watching her with a soft, unspoken devotion I don’t see often in men like us.

“Beckett, this is my wife, Luna. Luna, meet Beckett,” Angus introduces.

Luna crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly. “Good to finally meet you, Beckett. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

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