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Callum Webb was too damned old to be breaking up fistfights over girls.

Granted, he’d gotten out of federal law enforcement and taken the job as sheriff here in the tiny town of Oak Creek, Wyoming, seven years ago because he’d wanted to have problems like this, rather than hunting murderers and terrorists.

But right now, he would take a good old-fashioned criminal mastermind—hell, he’d take a dozen criminal masterminds—over two teenage brothers clobbering each other about a girl.

When the call about a physical altercation on Clifton Road had come in, Callum had known before he’d even pulled up that it had to be kids that close to the high school. He just hadn’t known why.

He’d learned quickly enough, though. Apparently, Kyle Johnson had asked Macie Roberts on a date, not knowing his big brother, Aaron, was interested in Macie too.

And it had escalated straight to shit from there.

Things came to a head when the brothers went to a house party and Aaron had found Kyle hugging Macie. After that, eyewitness statements got blurry. Looking at the blood on the grass, Callum knew the onlookers had waited to call him in until the last possible second. There was no way the boys had only thrown one punch each.

After all, nothing was more exciting on a small-town Friday night than a jealous tussle between two brothers.

Neither of the Johnson boys was among the usual teenage suspects Callum had to keep an eye on. They stayed out of trouble, attended school regularly, and, tonight notwithstanding, weren’t even on his radar.

The boys were known around town as being close, especially since they were only a year apart in age. But judging by how Callum had to wrench them apart today, you’d never have guessed it.

Callum sighed, staring down at the scowling boys sitting on the curb. “Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

Aaron, the eldest, huffed, looking away. “He started it.”

Kyle glared at his brother. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you were into Macie?”

“Language.” Callum’s warning was ignored.

Aaron rounded on his little brother. “If you’d listened once, it would’ve been obvious. I talk about Macie all the time.”

Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. “Talking doesn’t mean shit. You never made a move. After all this time, everyone assumed you wouldn’t. If it hadn’t been me who hit on Macie, it would’ve been someone else.”

“Don’t say that.” Aaron jumped up, fists balled at his sides, and Callum already knew what was about to happen.

Kyle—like most little brothers—didn’t know when enough was enough. He stood too and stepped closer, like he was trying to give Aaron advice. “Why shouldn’t I say it? It’s the truth. You can’t hesitate with something you want, man. Especially when it’s someone as beautiful as Macie.”

A growl preceded Aaron’s lunge, and a second later, the two were tumbling onto the grass with grunts and curses. Callum looked up into the night sky, hoping someone—aliens, Jesus, whoever —would help him keep his temper with these two morons.

Meanwhile, Macie stood nearby, hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

Callum let them get in a couple more hits each—they obviously needed to let off steam, and hell, he appreciated a good fair fight too—before pulling them apart.

“Knock it off!” Callum grunted, trying to avoid what he hoped was an accidental headbutt. He didn’t want to have to charge the kids with attacking an officer. The eldest was barely sixteen.

The second the boys were free, Macie rushed over to Aaron, tipping his face so she could see the damage. “You’ve got to stop this. I can’t stand to see you hurt. Why are you fighting with your brother?”

Aaron melted when he looked at her, and the sight sent a pang through Callum’s chest that he ignored. He’d been that way for a woman’s touch once. But it had been a long time.

“It’s fine, Mayday. I’m okay,” Aaron said.

“You’re bleeding.”

Her indignant voice made Aaron smile, and he looked back at Callum, who still held his shoulder. “Can you let me go? I need to hug my girl.”

Callum could practically see Macie’s eyes turn to hearts at the endearment. “You going to hit your brother again?”

“No,” Macie answered for him, burrowing her face into Aaron’s chest. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t do any more fighting.”

Callum looked at Kyle—who seemed more smug than angry that the girl he’d been so intent on asking out was now in his brother’s arms—and it all suddenly made sense.

This had all been a setup.

Aaron was a smart kid, so it didn’t take him long to figure it out either, now that his head wasn’t full of anger. He narrowed his eyes at Kyle. “You did this on purpose.”

“Just trying to help a brother out. She was getting tired of waiting.”

Aaron pulled back from Macie to meet her eyes. “Explain.”

Her cheeks went red, and her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Kyle asked if I wanted help getting you to ask me out. I said yes, but I didn’t know this was what he meant. I thought he was just going to talk to you or something. But I shouldn’t have done it at all. I’m sorry.”

She was nearly crying, eyes thick with unshed tears. Aaron wiped them away, gentling his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted me to ask you out?”

“I thought you just wanted to be friends.”

“Oh, Mayday. We’ve always been more than friends.”

Aaron held her gently, and Callum looked away as they shared a first kiss rife with young love.

He remembered his own kiss with Amelia, the one that had reshaped him from gruff law enforcement officer to hers . Even now, seven years after he’d scattered her ashes to the wind, he was still Amelia’s.

Would always be hers.

When the lovebirds separated, Kyle stepped forward. “I’m not sorry. You needed the push.”

Aaron swung again, and Callum stepped forward to intercede, but the younger brother ducked and came up laughing.

Aaron shook his head, chuckling to himself as he kept Macie flush against his side. “You’re an ass.”

Just like that, the tension was gone. From drawing blood one second to joking together the next. That was the true magic of siblings.

“But you both are still in trouble.” Callum shook his head at the brothers’ rounded shoulders, although he’d decided they’d been punished enough. Kids would be kids, and what had happened here tonight did not require more interference from law enforcement.

“I don’t know if you drank tonight, but you better sober up before your parents get here.”

“We weren’t drinking,” Kyle insisted.

Callum didn’t know if that was true or not, but he respected them looking out for each other.

“Good, then figure out what you’re going to tell your mom, because she’s on her way.”

The rumble of a lifted truck announced his warning was too late. Both boys deflated where they stood, and Macie laughed, pecking Aaron on the cheek as she slipped away. “See you at school. I’m not staying here to face your mom.”

“Bye, babe.”

Kyle waited until she was out of sight before he started mocking his big brother. “ Bye, babe. Jesus, two seconds into a relationship and you’re already mushy-gushy.”

But nothing could wipe the smile off Aaron’s face as he stared after Macie, making sure she got into her car to drive home. “You’re just jealous.”

“Why would I?—”

“Kyle Murphy Johnson, Aaron George Johnson! What the hell is going on here?” Christina Johnson, a woman short in stature but big in voice, got out of her truck in a monstrosity of a nightgown and slammed the door.

The boys slumped more, as if they could disappear into the ground if they tried hard enough. All the other kids scattered to the wind. “Nothing, Mom.”

In this, they were a united front. Even their tone was the exact same. Callum had to turn away to keep his grin under control. It felt odd; he didn’t use it too much anymore.

“Is that right? So I’m out of bed at eleven for nothing? How wonderful for us. And you’re bleeding? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what are we going to do with you two?” Her eyes caught Callum’s, and she smiled tightly. “Hello, Sheriff. Apologies for whatever my hooligans did.”

“Not a problem, Mrs. Johnson. We’ve sorted things out.”

“Oh, good. Now it’s my turn.”

“Think we can run for it?” Kyle whispered out of the side of his mouth.

Aaron gulped. “Not a chance. She’s faster than she looks.”

Callum clapped a hand on each boy’s shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Come on. Time to face the music.”

Christina ripped her boys a new one then swaddled them in a suffocating hug, loading them into the truck with promises of future punishment. Callum knew she was lying, though, and so would they if they’d bothered to look at their mother more closely.

She’d had a panicked glint in her eyes when she’d rounded the truck, like she wasn’t sure what she’d find. A nighttime phone call when her sons were supposed to be safe in bed was probably her own personal nightmare.

After ensuring the house party was over and the kids got home safe, Callum did a quick roll through sleepy Oak Creek before he headed back to the police station. Few people were moving around this late at night, and those who were weren’t a nuisance.

It made for an easy job most days and an easy life. Exactly what he had been envisioning when he’d moved here, but it still felt strange.

No matter how many years since he’d arrived, he wasn’t sure the quiet was for him. He’d needed the peace at one time, but now the quiet felt…lonely.

Mrs. Rolands, the dispatcher on duty, waved as he came in. “Get the Johnson boys situated?”

“Mostly, they worked it out themselves—the way only teenage boys can.”

“With their fists.” Mrs. Rolands had raised three boys of her own.

“Yep.”

Callum gave a wave and turned toward his office. It was nothing special—plain white walls and a desk bolted to the floor in case someone decided to try their luck hauling the thing. The desktop was clear except for his keyboard and a single photo that faced the chair. His favorite one from the courthouse when he’d married Amelia. She had her hand on his chest and looked at Callum like he’d hung the moon just for her.

That was how he preferred to remember her. Not…the other.

He sat in his office chair with a sigh. He only had an hour left on shift—barring any other teenage drama incidents—and paperwork was calling. Pencil pushing wasn’t his favorite, but it was still his responsibility. And as with all his responsibilities, he took it seriously.

So, he woke his computer and got started.

An hour later, paperwork was filed, incident reports written and reviewed, and Callum was officially off duty. Key in hand, he hopped into his cruiser and turned for home, but his mind was firmly in the past.

Before Oak Creek, he’d been on a law enforcement special forces team that ended high-profile situations almost before they began. Hunting potential terrorists, saving abducted ambassadors, removing intelligence agents who turned on their country—Omega Sector had done it all.

He’d seen the horrors of humanity, and it had changed him.

Then he’d come back to his beautiful wife and the home they’d built together and, while it hadn’t made everything okay, it certainly made him willing to go back out the next time and do it all over again.

Now, in Oak Creek, he rarely faced any horrors of humanity, but he also didn’t have a home to wash him clean again. Barely had a home at all, even seven years after moving here.

The old log cabin wasn’t much to look at, but it was at least functional. Over the years, he’d put on a new roof and new deck. He’d thought about some shutters so the place wouldn’t look like a total dump, but it wasn’t as if he ever had anybody out here. If he wanted to meet with any of his friends, he did it in town.

The place suited him fine—a couple miles outside of Oak Creek, surrounded by wilderness and a river he could fish on. A view of the Teton Mountains. Isolated. Nobody coming out here unless they were invited.

He liked being able to take a walk in the woods without running into someone or rowing on the river when his nightmares came calling. It was about as peaceful as he allowed himself to be.

Yet even all these years later, going inside his home with no one to greet him still sucked.

“Maybe I should get a dog,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed his stuff from the cruiser. He wouldn’t, though. He wasn’t the type to give love to another creature. Not anymore.

No, he preferred being alone.

Stomping up the front steps, he let himself in and looked at all the things the outside walls covered.

The woodstove in the corner had been fixed at the same time as the roof, so despite its age, his place was always toasty inside.

But physical warmth was all it was.

There were no family photos on the walls, no timeline of a love story ended too soon. There were no shoes shoved into the coat closet where Amelia kicked them off in her hurry to get inside. No candles burning with that sweet evergreen scent she preferred.

He had a couch, a TV, an armchair that doubled as his bed some nights, and a kitchen so sparse, it looked like he never ate. The cabinets contained mismatched dishes and silverware. He didn’t bother with matching because, despite a second bedroom, he didn’t invite people over.

The cabin was the exact opposite of a home.

That was good, though. There were no bright colors to miss, no joy in those walls. He’d had that before, and then once it was gone, he’d needed the starkness, the empty. He needed the lack . It was what had driven him to Wyoming in the first place seven years ago after burying Amelia. He’d needed someplace where memories of his lost wife wouldn’t haunt him.

Oak Creek had seemed like the perfect place. He’d known damned near everybody in the town from various law enforcement missions over the years. He’d known the parents—men and women of Linear Tactical—although they’d been mostly a decade or more older than him. Then he’d gotten to know the kids as they’d grown up and become adults themselves—fine men and women.

But somehow, he slid right between the two generations without really fitting into either. He was a lone wolf. Which suited him fine.

After he changed from his uniform into workout gear, he went to the garage, where he’d converted half the space into a home gym. It was late, but it didn’t matter. These days, if Callum didn’t exhaust himself, he didn’t sleep. So that’s what he did now.

After the barest of stretches—which he’d pay for tomorrow—he put himself through his paces on the treadmill. Then he went for the dumbbells. When that wasn’t enough, he sat on the rowing machine and worked his body until his shirt was soaked in sweat and his limbs felt numb. Only then did he grab a snack, a water, and a shower before falling into his lonely bed.

He’d made it through another day. Sometimes that was the most he could hope for.

Then he’d get up again tomorrow and do it all again.