Page 30 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

“You would. And you’d be terrible at it.” Wyatt stood, dropped a bill on the bar that was too much for two beers, and didn’t wait for change. “Good to see you, Kane.”

“You too.”

They shook hands.

Wyatt held on for a second longer than required. “She’s tougher than both of us.” A beat. “Don’t make her have to prove it on your account.”

Wyatt left.

Hudson turned back to the bar. That had never been the problem.

Every conversation he’d had since landing in Aurora Cove seemed to end in the same place.

Her.

As if the whole town had decided she was the thing he ought to be paying attention to.

As if he wasn’t already.

12

The stables smelled of sweet hay, leather, and horse.

Sarah stood at the door for a second longer than she needed to, breathing it in, and made herself stop thinking about the last time that smell had meant something other than work.

Hudson was already there.

He had Captain saddled. Bridle on, girth checked, the whole job done. Captain, for his part, looked entirely unbothered by the stranger, which told her more than she wanted it to. Captain didn’t tolerate fools.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, even though she was, annoyingly, pleased.

He looked up and smiled. “Good morning.” He ran a hand over Captain’s flank. “I had time. Besides, Captain looked like he was judging me for standing around.”

Captain flicked an ear.

Traitor.

“And you were running late.”

“I was not.”

“You were two minutes from running late and your left boot isn’t fully laced.” He checked the girth one more time, an excuse not to look at her while he said it. “I split the difference.”

She glanced down. Damn, he was right.

She decided not to dignify his observation with an answer and led Captain out into the yard, where the cold hit different than it had inside—cleaner, carrying the Alaskan bite of a morning that had frozen everything overnight.

Wyatt’s horse was in the next stall, head already swinging toward the door like he knew exactly what was coming.

“Bon Jovi’s yours,” she said, and watched Hudson’s face do something complicated.

“Wyatt named his horse Bon Jovi?”

“Wyatt named his gelding Bon Jovi. Said he had the right swagger. Don’t ask him about the playlist he made for grooming. It’s extensive.”

“I’m almost afraid to.”

“You should be.” She frowned. “Where’s your jacket?”