The front door opens, letting in a gust of cool night air along with Elias. He pauses when he sees me, fatigue evident in the slump of his shoulders. There's mud on his clothes, a scratch on his cheek that wasn't there before.
"Thought you'd be asleep," he says, setting his rifle carefully in its rack.
"Couldn't." I close the book, marking my place. "Did you find them? The poachers?"
"One of them. The other got away." He shrugs off his jacket, revealing a tear in the sleeve of his shirt beneath. "Sawyer's got him in custody."
Something in his tone makes me look closer. "What aren't you telling me?"
Elias sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It was Brad's cousin. Derek Cooper. And from what he said while Sawyer was cuffing him, they were up there looking for more than deer."
My blood runs cold. "What do you mean?"
"He was drunk, running his mouth." Elias's eyes are like flint. "Said Brad wanted to scare you. Teach you a lesson."
The implications sink in slowly. "They were hunting near your property. With guns."
"Not anymore." The dangerous edge in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it sends a different kind of shiver through me.
"Are you okay?" I ask, rising from the couch. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing. Caught my arm on some branches during the chase."
I approach him slowly, like he's a wild animal that might bolt. "Let me see."
He hesitates, then extends his arm. I push up the torn sleeve to reveal a long scratch, not deep but angry-looking against histanned skin. My fingers trace the edges of the wound, feeling the warmth of him.
"This needs cleaning," I murmur, not looking up.
"Riley..." His voice is strained.
"First aid kit?"
He sighs. "Bathroom cabinet."
I retrieve the kit, then gesture him toward the couch. To my surprise, he follows without argument, sinking onto the cushions with a weariness that speaks of more than physical exhaustion.
My hands are gentle as I clean the scratch with antiseptic, but I can feel the tension in him. This close, I can smell the pine and earth scent of him, see the silver threading through the dark hair at his temples.
"You didn't have to wait up," he says, voice rough.
"I know." I apply antibiotic cream to the scratch. "But I was worried."
"I can handle a couple of amateur poachers."
"I know that too." I meet his gaze. "Doesn't mean I can't worry anyway."
Something softens in his expression. "You're too much like your father. Stubborn as hell."
"Pretty sure I got that from both my parents." I finish bandaging his arm. "Dad always said Mom was the real hardhead in the family."
"She was," Elias agrees, a rare smile touching his lips. "Christina never backed down from anything. Bill used to say she'd argue with God himself if she thought He was wrong."
The mention of my mother, rare in itself, catches me off guard. "You knew her well?"
"Not as well as Bill, obviously. But we served together before she and Bill got serious. She was a combat medic. Best I eversaw." His eyes grow distant. "She saved my life once. Patched me up after an IED strike that should have killed me."
The revelation sends shock through me. In all my life, I've never heard this story. "Dad never told me that."
