The sheriff looks at me with new understanding. “You're not just some drifter.”
I meet his gaze steadily. “Never claimed to be.”
“Beckett served with me,” Angus explains. “Former Navy SEAL. Saved my ass in Kandahar when things went sideways.”
The sheriff's expression hardens slightly. “Still, running private surveillance without coordinating with local law enforcement...” He lets the sentence hang.
“Unconventional methods,” I acknowledge without apology. “But understandable given the circumstances.”
He looks at me for a long moment, not as some drifter who rolled into town. Not as a threat to his daughter. He sees the ex-SEAL. The protector. The man who would rip apart anyone who threatened his daughter.
He gives me a barely perceptible nod. “Sometimes, conventional doesn't cut it. Especially when it comes to family.” His eyes soften as they drift to George before returning to me. An understanding passes between us—some threats require crossing lines. “You keep watching over her.”
I nod. “Always.”
George squeezes my hand, her blue eyes speaking volumes as I turn my head to look at her. I see love, acceptance, trust, and a future I never dared to imagine until now.
We talked deep into the night, the kind of conversation that only happens when the world is quiet and there's nowhere to hide. I told her everything about Marcus—every detail. She told me what went down before I showed up at her workshop. And then she said the part that mattered most. She admitted she was afraid I’d shut her out the way her dad did after the service. I gave her my word that I’d never make her feel that kind of alone. Not ever.
“Of course, that still leaves me with a problem,” Angus says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
“What's that?” the sheriff asks.
Angus leans forward and clasps his hands on the table in front of him. “With a ranch this size, we need someone permanent handling security. We still don’t know who’s behind the sabotage, and I need someone who knows what they're doing.” His gaze fixes on me. “Ready to put down some roots? Or are you still planning on building that civilian life somewhere else?”
I go still, sensing where this is headed but not quite believing it. “What are you saying?”
“I'd like to offer you a permanent position here. Head of security for Havenridge Ranch. Full salary, benefits.” Angus's voice is matter of fact but holds something else. Something like hope.
I look at George, who’s watching me with those clear, steady eyes that saw straight through me from the beginning. The woman who pulled a wrench on me when we were officially introduced for the first time. Who looked at my scars without flinching. Who took me as I am, broken pieces and all—despite her reservations about military men and the emotional walls we build.
But doubt creeps in, dark and insidious. I don't deserve these good things. A job. A home. Her. I'm about to say as much when George's hand covers mine on the table, firm and decisive.
“Yes,” I say, the word coming easier than I expected. “I'll stay.”
The relief that washes over George's face makes my chest ache.
“And the guest house?” I ask, recalling our first conversation when I arrived.
“All yours,” Angus confirms. “Unless”—his eyes flick to George, then back to me, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth—“you have other accommodations in mind.”
I look at George, and the certainty in her eyes steals my breath.
“He does,” she says firmly.
The sheriff clears his throat as he stands. “I should head to the station. Got paperwork to file on Marcus Wade.” He pauses, looking down at us, his expression softening. “George, I'll expect you both at the station this afternoon for those statements.”
She nods. “We'll be there.”
As the sheriff reaches the door, he turns back. “Beckett?”
I meet his gaze, ready for whatever warning or threat comes next.
He hesitates, then adds in a lower voice, “What you did, the surveillance, the intervention, wasn't by the book.” His eyes hold mine, professional assessment giving way to something more personal. “But as her father, not her sheriff... thank you.”
I give him a single nod. Message received. Some things matter more than protocol.
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Welcome to the family. God help you.”
