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She folded her arms, heat and irritation amplifying. “You’re gonna flip it? Turn it into some between-tours project?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m out of the Marines. And I’m moving here.”

The words landed like a body blow. “You intend to live here.”

“That’s the plan.”

Felicity shook her head, disbelief giving way to something far more dangerous. “In that house.”

“In that house,” he repeated.

She let out a short, humorless breath.

Sweat oozed down her spine.

Dog hair prickled at the back of her neck.

The weight of the day, now him, his presence, pressed in from all sides.

“Let me get this straight — you’ve moved to Clearbrook? And you’re living in that house.” Felicity hated the way her voice rose to a thin cry of desperation.

“Indeed.” A smile hovered around his lips. “You got a problem with that, Deputy?”

“No. Of course not.” She shook her head vehemently. “What makes you think I would have a problem with that?”

His smile bloomed. “Call it a hunch.”

She did the only thing possible at that moment.

She turned and fled. Like a coward.

Clearbrook had just shrunk. Become too small.

One of them would have to go.

Except, she was stuck here.

So, it seemed, was he.

4

How about that

Ronan stared at the dark Durango until it disappeared around the corner, taillights bleeding briefly through the trees before the road swallowed them whole.

So. The deputy wasn’t pleased he’d moved to Clearbrook.

The realization sparked something sharp and unexpected in his chest.

Something dangerously close to exhilaration.

He frowned, unsettled.

Why?

He exhaled slowly and scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

The night with her, all those months ago, had been a mistake. A lapse. A moment of weakness he’d already cataloged and sealed away under never again. Grief did strange things to a man.