“Take five,” the sheriff replies, his voice gruff but not angry. “Coffee’s waiting at the main house when you're ready.”
His footsteps retreat, and George buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. For a moment, I think she's crying until she lowers her hands, and I see her beautiful blue eyes shining with glee.
“This is not how I planned to tell my father,” she says between giggles.
I think we made it pretty clear last night when we gave him a show on the workbench,” I say wryly, pulling her hands to my mouth and pressing a kiss to each palm. “No regrets?”
Her laughter fades, replaced by something more serious, more profound. “Not a single one.”
We dress quickly, stealing kisses between articles of clothing, unable to stop touching even for a few moments. When she pulls on my shirt instead of looking for her own, something primal and possessive roars to life inside me.
The walk to the main house is quiet, our hands linked. The morning air is cool and fresh, the ranch spread around us in all its rugged beauty. For the first time since coming back from war, I experience a sense of peace so profound it's almost frightening.
Sheriff Lucas is waiting for us at the kitchen table, three mugs of coffee steaming before him. His expression is unreadable as he takes us in—George in my too-big shirt, my hand at the small of her back, the unmistakable marks on her neck that I left in the heat of passion.
“Sit,” he says simply, pushing the mugs toward us.
We do, George's knee pressing against mine under the table. A silent reassurance, but I'm not going anywhere.
The sheriff takes a long sip of his coffee, studying me over the rim, lingering on the protective way my hand covers George's on the table.
“How’s the wrist, kiddo?” he asks, his eyes on the compression wrap.
George shrugs. “Fine. I’ll heal.”
He nods, sets his mug down, and looks at me. “I read the file you gave me yesterday, Beckett. You were right to dig. Marcus is being transferred to county today. He's facing multiple charges, including assault, attempted sexual assault, and threats of violence.” He pauses, his eyes shifting to his daughter. “You'll need to give a formal statement.”
George nods, her posture straightening with that quiet strength that drew me to her from the beginning. “I will.”
The screen door creaks open, followed by heavy footsteps and a familiar voice.
“Thought I'd find you all here.” Angus strides into the kitchen, a platter of freshly baked muffins in one hand and his ever-present coffee mug in the other. His hat is missing, and fresh teeth marks adorn the toe of his boot.
“Morning.” He nods to each of us before setting the platter down.
“Don’t ‘morning’ me,” the sheriff grumbles. “Your goat tried to eat my patrol car's antenna.”
Angus groans and pulls up a chair. “For the last time, Sheriff—she's notmygoat. She'sagoat. One of many on this ranch.”
A soft “baa” follows as Cheese Puff trots into the kitchen with Angus's mangled hat hanging from her mouth like a trophy.
“Don't deny it, Sutton.” I smirk. “That little demon follows you around all day, making eyes at you. She's got a crush.”
“She follows me because I'm usually carrying feed,” Angus mutters. His gruff denial is completely undermined when he subtly slides a small carrot from his pocket onto the floor for Cheese Puff to find. “Menace knows exactly where the food comes from.”
Cheese Puff drops the hat and gobbles up the carrot before making a beeline for George. The sheriff chuckles despite himself. George reaches down to scratch Cheese Puff behind the ears.
“Traitor,” Angus mutters at the goat. “Even my livestock is Team George.”
Angus’s gaze shifts from me to George, taking in our proximity and the way she leans into my side. His lips twitch. “Looks like you two sorted some things out.”
I can feel George's eyes on me, hear the slight hitch in her breath. “We did.”
Angus nods, unsurprised. “Good. About damn time.” He turns to the sheriff. “So, you got him locked up?”
The sheriff nods. “Thanks to a bit of help from these two.”
Angus leans forward, elbows on the table, his expression shifting to something more serious. “All those ‘accidents’ we've been having at the ranch lately, the cut fence lines and such, Beckett wasn't messing around. He's been running surveillance, tracking info, and finding our weak spots so we can shore them up.”
