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“If that’s Bruce’s stash, hell no,” Mac said with a dramatic shudder. “I’ve seen him lick his balls.”

Billie Ann lost it. The laughter bubbled up and burst out of her before she could stop it. The two shots she'd thrown back must’ve kicked in, loosening the edges of her grief just enough for the giggles to take over. She covered her mouth, shouldersshaking as Bruce mumbled something about "double standards" and "feline hygiene."

When she finally caught her breath, she looked up and her laughter quieted the second her eyes met the stranger’s intense stare.

He stood just beyond Mac, tall and still, watching her with a look she couldn't quite name. He didn’t smile fully, just a small curve of his mouth that made her pulse skip for no good reason. His eyes held hers, steady and unflinching, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded away.

Mac cleared his throat, breaking the silence as he gestured between them. “Billie Ann, this is Rafe. He’s the one I called in to find out who did this to Davey.”

Rafe stepped forward, giving her a respectful nod. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly, his voice deep and masculine.

Billie Ann straightened, still holding the whiskey bottle, her gaze never leaving his. “Thank you,” she said, her voice softer now. “Davey… he was everything to me.”

“I know,” Rafe replied. “That’s why I’m here.”

His words sent her heart racing, but she didn’t know exactly why. The kitchen went quiet again, not heavy this time, but full. Full of unspoken words, shared understanding, and the strange spark of something new and unexpected.

Bruce, never one to let a moment settle, let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, this just got all kinds of Hallmark real quick. Anybody got tissues?”

“I see you still think you’re funny,” Rafe said to Bruce with a smirk.

“Good to see you, Rafe,” Bruce replied, then stood and stretched. “And I’ve always been funny, you just don’t have a sense of humor.”

Billie Ann shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she glanced down at the grumpy furball beside her. She passed the bottle back to him and hopped off the counter.

“You okay?” Mac asked gently, his voice full of brotherly concern.

“No,” she admitted, then glanced at Rafe before looking away. “But I’m working on it.”

CHAPTER 5

They all walked out of the kitchen toward one of the larger tables in the bar. Rafe quietly pulled out a chair for Billie Ann. She blinked, surprised by the small gesture. No one had ever done that for her before. It was such a simple thing, but it hit her somewhere deep. She offered him a soft smile and murmured her thanks, feeling a strange flutter low in her belly.

Rafe didn’t say much as he took the seat across from her, falling easily into conversation with Mac and Thorne. That gave her the perfect excuse to really look at him without drawing attention.

He was big with broad shoulders and was built like someone who knew exactly how to handle himself. There was something wild and untamed in his appearance, like a man who’d spent more time under the open sky than inside. His jaw was strong, his features rugged, with a faint scar cutting through one eyebrow that only added to the dangerous edge he wore like a second skin. He had an exotic look about him, but it was his eyes that held her.

His eyes were a deep blue, the color of twilight just before nightfall. Eyes that should’ve felt sharp and assessing, but didn’t. There was something else there...kindness, even concern. As if he saw too much, but never used it to hurt others like he might actually care, even when he didn’t want to. Okay, the whiskey shots must be working because those thoughts were deep.

His gaze met hers across the table as the conversation shifted to her. She held it, just for a beat, before looking down, suddenly self-conscious.

“Billie Ann, would you please consider staying with us?” Zelda’s gentle voice pulled her attention away from Rafe, whose deep blue eyes had been quietly studying her from across the table.

Billie blinked, caught off guard. “Oh...it’s okay. Really,” she said, offering a small smile. “The trailer’s fine. Davey kept it just as spotless as the bar. Besides, it used to be my home too.”

Zelda didn’t look convinced, but before she could press the issue, Rafe spoke up. “Is there an office here in the bar?”

Billie turned to him, surprised by the sudden question. “Yes, it’s upstairs. Davey called it his home away from home. I spent half my childhood up there, waiting for him to finish the books so we could head to the trailer.”

“Good,” Rafe said with a nod, firm and matter-of-fact. “I’ll be staying there.”

Billie’s brow furrowed. “Wait—why?”

The question came out a little sharper than she intended, but Rafe didn’t flinch. He just met her gaze with calm resolve. “To keep you safe.”

She blinked again. “Safe?”

“Until we know who killed Davey and why,” he said, his voice low but steady, “we can’t assume you’re not a target too.”