Page 9

There was a pause, tension settling between them like thick fog. Then Billie huffed softly, reaching for a bit of humor to lighten the weight in the room.

“Well, I got Clint Blastwood,” she said, crossing her arms with a stubborn tilt of her chin.

Bruce, sitting on the edge of the table like he owned it, gave a solemn nod. “Damn straight. That shotgun’s been defending this place with a positive track record.”

Rafe raised a brow, glancing at Mac, then back at her. “Clint… Blastwood?”

Bruce snorted. “Davey’s shotgun. Old, reliable, and mean as hell when it needs to be. That baby’s ended more than one bar brawl with a single warning cock.”

“Clint Eastwood fan, I take it.” Rafe grinned with a nod and understanding.

“He could recite every single line from every Clint Eastwood movie.” Billie Ann’s voice trembled before she cleared her throat. “And as much as I’ve watched them with him, so can I.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked to Billie again, and for a moment something unreadable passed through them, part amusement, part concern, and part admiration. “As badass as that name is,” he said quietly, “a shotgun doesn’t stand guard while you sleep. I do.”

Billie’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. She wasn’t used to men pulling out her chair, let alone staking claim to her safety like it was the most natural thing in the world. His wild,untamed presence still held a quiet gentleness, and that made it even more dangerous.

Billie Ann wanted so badly to ask him outright—Who are you to care what happens to me?The words hovered at the edge of her tongue, bitter and confused, but she swallowed them down. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t know her. Not really. So why did he keep looking at her like shemattered?

Before she could voice anything, Bruce spoke up, casually filling the heavy silence like he always did, half-smartass and half-mind-reader.

“Rafe isn’t just a smooth talker with a broody stare,” Bruce chimed in from his perch on the table, tail flicking like a metronome. “Not only is he a private detective, but also guards the bodies of some pretty high-profile folks. Clint Eastwood’s got nothing on him, except maybe a slightly cooler squint.”

Billie Ann blinked, caught off guard by the cat’s casual bragging about the man she barely knew. Her eyes shifted to Rafe just in time to see a faint grin tug at the corner of his mouth. It was quick, fleeting, but real and made him even more handsome.

“Appreciate that, Bruce,” Rafe said dryly, his voice low and warm, but he didn’t take his eyes off her. The amusement in his face melted away a heartbeat later, replaced by something far more serious in its intensity.

Billie Ann’s breath caught, her chest tightening under the weight of his gaze.

“You’re a bodyguard?” she asked, trying to sound casual, though her voice came out softer than she intended. Her eyes flicked over him without shame now. His broad shoulders and coiledstrength, as he sat with an easy confidence, fit the bill. Too well, actually.

“More or less,” Rafe replied, his voice a slow rumble. His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before climbing back up to meet hers, sending a flush up her neck. There was a flicker in his gaze...interest, maybe, or something heavier.

Her curiosity overrode everything else. “Who?” she asked, unable to stop herself. Billie Ann was curious by nature and a bit nosy. She blamed it on the bar scene where gossip ran rampant.

Rafe paused. A moment of silence stretched between them as if he were weighing how much to give her.

“Mostly a few billionaires too paranoid to breathe without a shadow nearby,” he finally said, his tone even, almost indifferent. “But none of them mattered as much as this does.”

She blinked. “This?”

“You,” he said simply. It wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t even about charm. He said it as if it were a fact, as plain and solid as the table between them.

Billie Ann’s pulse thudded in her ears. She looked down for a second, unsure what to do or say. She was accustomed to being underestimated and overlooked. Not... this.

“I’m as far as you can get from a billionaire or high-profile.” Billie Ann glanced up, meeting his gaze. “I’m just...me.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his deep blue eyes steady and unreadable. The air between them felt thick, stretched taut with something unsaid. Then, in a voice low and unwavering, he spoke.

“You and Davey are important to Mac and Zelda,” Rafe said. “Which means you’re important to me.”

The words were simple. Direct. But they hit her like a gut punch. Billie Ann’s breath caught. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table as her heart gave a painful thump. She wasn’t used to hearing things like that, especially from handsome men.

Davey had always been her protection, her steady place in a world that didn’t always make sense. From the time she was a little girl, waiting for him to finish the books upstairs while she dozed on his worn-out couch, to the woman she was now, he had always been there. A safety net with a side of sarcasm. And now... now there was a gaping hole where that safety used to be.

She swallowed hard, the ache in her throat rising fast. Rafe wasn’t trying to be charming. He wasn’t trying to win her over. He was simply stating a fact, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to protect someone because of who they mattered to.

And that somehow made it worse. Or better. She couldn’t tell. Because for so long, she had done everything to avoid needing anyone. She’d taught herself how to stand on her own two feet, even when they were shaking. But in that moment, with her world still off its axis, the weight of grief pressing in, and the trailer behind the bar feeling more like a ghost of her past than a place to rest, his words settled deep. They wrapped around the part of her that was still splintered from losing Davey and held tight.