Page 60 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

“Need jumper cables?” Her dad retrieved them from his truck, then popped the hood on Hudson’s rental and connected the batteries. Hudson tried the ignition. The engine turned over sluggishly, coughed, and died.

“Definitely dead.” Hudson’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Wyatt didn’t hesitate. “I’ll run you back. We can get Mitch to look at it tomorrow.”

“I’ll take him.” The words arrived and left Sarah’s mouth before the cautious part of her brain objected.

Wyatt looked between the two of them.

She shrugged. “It’s twenty minutes.”

Wyatt didn’t argue.

Hudson collected his file from the rental’s front seat before Sophie pulled him into a hug. “Come back,” she said, “before another fifteen years.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ty shook his hand. “Drive safely.”

Caleb caught Sarah’s arm on the way past, low enough only she could hear. “Discombobulated.”

She fixed him with a look that promised retribution before unlocking her truck and heading toward the driver’s side. By the time she reached it, Hudson already had the door open.

“Thanks.”

He frowned, one hand resting on the handle, as if it hadn’t occurred to him he’d done anything unusual. He stepped back. “Sure.”

She waited until he climbed into the passenger seat, then put the truck in gear and pulled out of the driveway. Hudson set the file on the floor between his boots. His eyes swept the mirrors and the road ahead before he finally relaxed into the seat.

In her rearview mirror, Wyatt waited on the porch, hands in his pockets, watching her taillights. He stayed there until the bend took him out of sight. Her big brother never changed. She smiled despite herself and turned back to the road.

Silence sat between them.

Hudson rested an elbow on the door, but his gaze kept drifting. Mirrors. Intersections. Road.

She found something bluesy on the radio and turned it up.

It didn’t help. Her brain, apparently done taking orders for the night, offered her specific details.

The way he’d gone still when he’d realized he was sitting opposite her. The line of his shoulders beneath his jacket, set differently now, as though years of carrying too much had become part of his posture. The touch of silver at his temples. The tanned backs of his hands.

Her body knew those hands. Even after all this time. It wasn’t anything she could describe out loud, but⁠—

Hudson cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She let that be enough. “Your rental’s awful.”

“It was the cheapest one.”

The corner of her mouth moved despite herself.

She tapped her fingers in time with the radio on the steering wheel. “Is Walter still convinced Cord is gone and living in Mexico under an assumed name?”

“I think he maybe watches too many movies.” He laughed softly. “Man’s convinced of it no matter what the evidence says.”

She glanced sideways at him—the dashboard lights catching the strong line of his jaw, the loose set of his hands on his thighs.

After fifteen years.