Page 48 of Keeper of Talon Mountain
A truck rumbles up the drive. Zeke's patrol vehicle, which means official business or social call. With Zeke, it's usually both.
"Morning," he calls, climbing out. "Got mail for you. Certified letter from Montana."
Gabe sets down his tools, wipes his hands on his jeans. "Sarah?"
"Return address says Echo Ridge." Zeke hands over the envelope. "Figured it was important enough to deliver personally."
Gabe opens it while I pour Zeke a cup of coffee. Inside are legal documents and a handwritten letter. Gabe scans both, his expression unreadable.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Sarah. She says Victoria Cross wants to meet with me. In person." He looks up from the letter. "Apparently she's been following the Committee trials, knows about my testimony. Wants to discuss future opportunities once everything's settled."
My coffee mug stops halfway to my mouth. Victoria Cross—the woman who coordinates Echo Ridge operations, who has resources and connections that span continents. The kind of woman who offers people like Gabe a way back into the world they left behind.
"That's significant," I manage to keep my voice steady.
"It is." He folds the letter carefully. "Sarah says Cross is impressed with how I handled the Committee situation. Thinks my skills and experience could be valuable. No pressure, just wants to talk."
"Talk about what? Montana work?"
"Maybe. Or maybe something else." He meets my eyes. "Sarah says Cross cares about more than just the work. Says she wants operators to have real lives, not just operations."
The hope in his voice—careful, guarded, but there—makes me set down my coffee before I drop it.
"When does she want to meet?"
"Two weeks. In Montana." He pauses. "Sarah says I should bring you. That Cross wants to meet the woman who pulled me out of the blizzard."
"She wants to meet me?"
"Apparently." He sets the letter on the porch rail. "Sarah told her what you did. Cross wants to understand the whole picture before she makes any offers."
Zeke clears his throat. "I'll just drink my coffee over here and admire the view."
Gabe ignores him, crosses to me instead. Takes my coffee mug and sets it beside his letter. Then he takes both my hands in his, callused palms warm against mine.
"Three months ago you pulled me out of a blizzard when you could have left me there. You gave me shelter when I had nothing but trouble to offer. You stood beside me when men with guns tried to kill us. And you've spent the last three months helping me figure out who I am when I'm not running."
"Gabe...”
"Let me finish." His grip tightens. "I don't have much. My bank accounts are still frozen. I've got a sister in Montana, some clothes, and whatever skills the Navy taught me. But I'm alive. I'm free. And I'm standing here because you chose to save me."
"You would have done the same."
"Maybe. But you did it first." He takes a breath. "Cross is offering me a chance at something. I don't know what yet. But none of it matters if it means leaving here. Leaving you."
My throat tightens.
"The lodge needs work," I say finally.
He waits.
"And you're terrible at cooking."
"I know."
The words hang between us, simple but weighted with everything we haven't said yet.
