Page 11 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

Morrow Bay Cannery was seasonal. Freight in. Freight out. Barges. Fishing boats. Cold storage. If a man wanted to move something without attracting attention, it was perfect.

It was understandable why Hudson was interested. She just didn’t know why he wouldn’t tell her.

Boots sounded on the ramp behind her. She checked over her shoulder.

Hudson.

The borrowed jacket should have hidden the breadth of his shoulders. Somehow it didn’t. Sarah looked away. That wasn’t a useful observation.

Walter handed her the manifest clipboard to sign.

Hudson paused with one boot on the gunwale for a heartbeat too long.

“Second thoughts, Deputy Marshal?”

Hudson shot her a look, then stepped aboard.

She shrugged into a life jacket over her winter coat and handed him another. He pulled it on without comment, his gaze lingering on the water a fraction too long.

Seasick? A former SEAL? Hardly. She dismissed the thought with a roll of her shoulders.

Walter cast off without ceremony. The engine turned over on the first try, and the shelter of the harbor disappeared behind them.

The wind hit with teeth. The cold in Aurora Cove came off the mountains, sharp and still. Out here it rode the water, the damp finding every gap in a collar or cuff.

Hudson took the bow before anyone assigned positions. Clearly, he preferred to see trouble coming. Sarah took the stern. Walter didn’t comment.

She studied Hudson from under the brim of her hat. Jaw set, posture controlled, hands easy at his sides. He looked like a man on a job, exactly what he was supposed to look like.

That was the thing.

She’d seen people uncomfortable on water. They gripped things or sat too low, tried to keep their center of gravity down, or made themselves small against the movement. They laughed too loudly or went quiet and stared at the horizon because someone had told them once that it helped.

Hudson wasn’t doing any of that. He was just—holding. A stillness that had a shape to it. He was managing something. As though he felt her looking, he glanced back.

Sarah had already turned her attention to the shoreline. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to fool.

She remembered him at nineteen. A boy who had always looked like he was already halfway to wherever he planned to go next. Time had sharpened him. Broadened him. But the stillness was the thing she couldn’t reconcile.

Walter came alongside her, mug of his terrible thermos coffee in one hand, the other easy on the tiller. He eyed Hudson’s back, then sipped his coffee.

Icy spray came over the bow.

Sarah raised her voice over the throb of the engine. “You spend much time on boats these days?”

Hudson’s gaze swung to her. “No.”

The answer came too fast.

Walter looked between them.

Sarah tilted her head. “That’s a shame. Last I checked, SEALs were fairly boat-adjacent.”

“Last I checked, sheriffs asked fewer personal questions.” He turned to face forward again.

Walter choked on his coffee.

“Occupational hazard.” Sarah hid a smile.