Page 71 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

Her throat tightened. “I know.”

His mouth moved, not quite a smile. The tension didn’t leave him. “This has to be the safest car in Alaska.”

Sarah smiled despite the tender bruise on her cheek. “Wyatt’s a safety man. You should see him when Ryder’s driving.”

He turned into her driveway without needing directions. Her house sat back from the road, neat and square under a dusting of morning frost.

“You knew my address.”

“Wyatt told me.” Hudson parked, came around before she had her door open, and stood there waiting.

“I can walk.”

He exhaled and offered his hand. “I know.”

She looked at it for a long second.

I know.

No let me help you, or you’re injured. Just I know. Two words that understood her completely and offered anyway and didn’t make it a thing.

She took his hand. His grip closed around hers, warm and steady, and he didn’t pull. He braced, letting her use him as leverage as she climbed out.

She unlocked the front door and motioned for him to follow her. Inside, her house looked exactly as it always did. And totally different because he was in it. Smaller somehow. Less temporary.

The entryway was tidy. Coat hooks. Sheriff’s hat on its peg. Boots lined up. Keys in the dish. No mess, no clutter, no evidence anyone ever arrived here without purpose. The living room held a couch, a coffee table, a bookshelf that had more case binders than novels, and three framed photos on the far wall: her parents at a summer barbecue; Ellie and Josie; Wyatt, Ryder and Caleb as kids, their arms slung around each other.

She’d always liked it this way. Functional. Clear. Easy to leave. Not like her mother’s house, where every room seemed built to hold people in place.

Now, with Hudson standing in the middle of it, it felt different. It looked like a place someone passed through. She’d never noticed that before.

“I’m fine from here,” she said, in her best bright voice.

Hudson closed the door behind him. “No.”

“Is that your only word now?”

“It’s the one doing the most work.”

She turned toward the couch before her mouth betrayed her again. The first step was fine. The second was less so. By the time she reached it, her body was sending strongly worded complaints from several departments, and she sank down harder than intended. She inhaled through her nose and kept her face neutral through sheer pride.

Hudson had already moved past her.

“Where are you going?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Kitchen.”

“Why?”

Cabinet doors banged and utensils rattled. Then there was silence. Judgment silence.

“Jesus Christ, Sarah.”

She sighed and covered her face with her hands.

“What is this?”

“What’s what?”