She popped to her feet and glared down at him, her hands on her hips. “I’d like to see you stop me, Pooh Bear.”
Bear rose to his full height, towering over her. “Don’t test me on this, Greta. Glenhaven isn’t some friendly town. They don’t like outsiders, especially not ones asking questions.”
She didn’t back down, just tilted her chin up to meet his gaze and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going tomorrow morning.”
“No.”
She smiled sweetly up at him. “In all of our interactions, when did I ever give you the impression you can order me around, Dane McKenna?”
“I’m not—” He realized he was grinding his teeth and took a second to breathe and let his anger cool.
“I’ve been handling myself just fine my entire life without your input.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to decide what I do.”
“I’m not trying to decide anything.” He caught her wrist, his hand engulfing it completely. “I’m telling you I’m coming with you.”
She tried to pull away, but he held firm. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to keep her from retreating. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“I know you don’t.” He couldn’t help but brush his thumb over her wrist. Underneath, her pulse fluttered wildly. “But I’m coming anyway.”
Greta stared up at him, her lips parted. The porch light caught the flecks of gold in her green eyes, turning them to molten fire. Several heartbeats passed, and neither of them moved, locked in a standoff that felt like it had nothing to do with Glenhaven.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said at last, her voice softer than before.
“Yeah, I do.” He couldn’t explain why the idea of her going alone made his stomach knot. It wasn’t just concern for her safety—though that was part of it. There was just something about Greta Dougherty that brought out the protective instinct in him, even when he wanted to strangle her.
“You’re not going alone,” he repeated.
She looked like she wanted to argue, but something in his expression must have convinced her because she finally nodded. “Fine. But you don’t get to drive.”
“I’m fine with that.” He released her wrist, immediately missing the warmth of her skin against his palm.
She stood there for another moment, studying his face in the dim porch light. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Worrying about everyone but yourself.” She shook her head. “You’ve got your own problems, Bear. I’m a big girl. I can handle Glenhaven.”
“I know you can.” He meant it. Greta Dougherty was one of the toughest people he’d ever met. “But I’m still coming.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I should go.” She turned to leave, but paused at the bottom of the steps. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a better job with Logan than you’re giving yourself credit for.”
She looked away quickly, as if embarrassed by her own honesty, and whistled for Atlas. The Lab rose immediately and trotted down the steps to join her.
“See you tomorrow morning, Sasquatch,” she said over her shoulder as she crossed the street, Atlas at her heel.
He sat back down as he watched her go. By the time her porch light came on, illuminating her silhouette as she disappeared inside, he realized his jaw wasn’t clenchedanymore. The tightness in his chest was gone. The ache behind his eyes had eased. The knot that had been sitting like a stone in his gut since the fight with Logan had loosened.
She hadn’t tried to fix it. Hadn’t offered platitudes or sympathy or advice. She’d just gotten under his skin until he forgot to be miserable.
King huffed against his leg, warm breath fogging the evening air. The dog had been with him since his first week out of prison and knew him better than anyone—could sense his moods before he himself was aware of them. And right now, King’s entire demeanor radiated concern, his big nose pressing insistently against Bear’s thigh as if trying to warn him something was wrong.
“I’m okay.”
King responded by trying to climb into his lap, all one hundred and fifty pounds of him, as if he thought he was still that ten-pound puppy he’d found abandoned at a rest stop. “Easy, boy. You’re not a lap dog.”
King gave him a wounded look but settled for laying his head across Bear’s knees, eyes fixed on his face.
Bear stared out at Maple Street, the porch light casting his shadow long across the gravel driveway. Across the street, a light came on in Greta’s house. The bedroom window, Bear realized. He could see her moving past it, a blur of strawberry blonde hair and determined energy even from this distance. She was pacing, probably planning tomorrow’s trip to Glenhaven.
