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I stare at the angry mark on her leg. “That man is going to pay,” I growl, standing to my full height.

“It could’ve been an accident?—”

“Lauren. This was no accident. Bart’s the best shot out here. ”

I help her to her feet, but she’s in too much pain to walk to the cabin. Without hesitation, I scoop her into my arms.

She shakes her head. “Tate, no. We’ll be easy targets if you carry me.”

“You think I care about getting hit right now?” She’s so beautiful this close. “You’re hurt. All that matters is making sure you’re okay.”

I move quickly through the trees, cradling her close to my chest. Every few seconds, I glance around, but I don’t see Bart the rest of the way.

When I reach the cabin, I set my gun on the porch and lay her gently on the sofa bed.

“You okay?” I ask, brushing a few strands of hair from her cheek. Her face twists in pain, and it’s killing me not to fix it.

“I’ll be okay,” she says. “It’s just a welt.”

“It’s not just a welt,” I say, crossing to the bathroom to get the first-aid kit, my anger replaced with the overwhelming need to take care of her. “Honestly, it looks like someone slapped you with a hot skillet.”

“Wow, thanks. That’s exactly the image I needed burned into my brain.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of vivid similes.”

She readjusts her body on the sofa, trying to see what I’m sneaking from the kit. “Please tell me you’re not going to use the antiseptic against me.”

“No promises after what you did to me.”

“Okay, this one will help with the pain.” I kneel beside her with a small tube and twist off the cap, sniffing it once. “Minty. Or possibly travel toothpaste from the bottom of your grandma’s purse.”

“That’s maybe not as reassuring as you might hope.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been trained in the fine art of soothing PR professionals.”

Her mouth twitches.

I carefully lift her injured leg, positioning it so I can reach the wound better, my touch as gentle as possible.

I evenly apply the cream to the angry red mark blooming across her calf.

Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, and I force myself to focus on the task, not the fact that she’s letting me touch her like this.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” I murmur.

“You’re not,” she says. “ Yet. ”

I glance up, stopping for a second. “Good. I charge extra for pain and suffering.”

“After nursing you back to health, this is the payment I get?” she asks, fighting a grin. “And just for the record, you complained a lot more than me.”

“Hey! I just carried you across enemy lines while risking my life. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I’m just saying,” she says. “I’m clearly the better patient.”

I lean back on my heels, twisting the cap back on. “Only if you survive this tragic flesh wound.”

She laughs, and the knot of worry in my chest loosens. Despite everything that’s gone wrong today, this moment feels like something real between us. Even if we don’t win the Family Olympics, I’ve already gotten something so much better. Her.

This week, I’ve seen a side of Lauren that she never shows at the office—a caring, funny, wildly charming side she keeps locked away under layers of control.

She’s the woman who makes me laugh when I’m serious, who talks me through panic attacks in small spaces, who fights for my stolen computer like it’s her own.

The only woman who makes me want to be better than I am.

And sitting here, taking care of her while she lets me see her vulnerable, I realize the truth I’ve been avoiding all week: I’m falling for her. Hard. The kind of falling that changes everything—that makes you rearrange your whole life around one person.

It makes me wish this week would never end, that we could stay in this bubble where professional boundaries don’t matter, where I’m not her client and she’s not my PR manager. A place where we’re just Sunny and Sheriff .

Because Lauren isn’t just the woman I’m pretending to date anymore. She’s the woman I can’t imagine my life without.

She watches closely as I bandage her wound. “You know, if this is what getting shot earns me, I might just volunteer again.”

“Careful, Sunny. I’m starting to think you like being rescued.”

“Only if it’s you doing the rescuing,” she replies.

That’s when I hear it—a voice outside the cabin. “Tate Foster, I know you’re in there.”

I peek out a window. Bart is crouched behind a tree, gun cocked, aiming toward the door.

Lauren looks at me. “You can’t go out there. He’ll shoot as soon as you step outside.”

“I left my gun on the porch, so I really don’t have an option.”

“Why don’t you just give up?” she pleads. “Let him have first place.”

I frown. “You think I’m going to give up now?

Let him win the Williamson Family Olympics after everything we’ve been through?

” I shake my head. “It’s not about first place anymore.

It’s about him thinking he can hurt you and walk away.

” I stride toward her. “I’m your partner until the end, Sunny.

We’re like Mr. and Mrs. Smith. You know, the part during the shootout where they’ve got each other’s backs?

That’s us. Just a man and a woman standing together against whatever the world throws at them. ”

She pushes herself off the sofa bed, wincing as she limps toward me. “Then I’m going with you.”

“No,” I say firmly. “You’re staying here.”

“I can still shoot,” she argues.

I shake my head, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Lauren, I’m not letting you out of this house. I can’t focus on fighting if I’m worried about you.”

She scoffs. “Even though you would do the same for me?”

My lips press together because she already knows my answer. I would always fight for her.

When I open the door, I expect Bart to take a cheap shot at me.

“There are rules about unarmed competitors,” I remind him.

The second I take my first step, a paintball smacks into the doorframe next to me.

“If you want to win by cheating, go ahead. I’ll be happy to tell everyone how you took pot shots at Lauren while she was on the ground and unarmed.

” I pause. “But if you want to win fair and square, let me at least grab my gun.”

I take my time securing my mask before I kneel behind the porch railing, positioning my gun. A shot whizzes past, barely missing me.

I hurry across the porch, staying low as he shoots again, tracking my movement.

I need to put a bigger barrier between me and him, but getting to safety is another problem. I take my chances and sprint toward the nearest tree.

I’m halfway there when another shot rings out—this time from a completely different direction. Bart yelps in pain and spins around, searching for this new threat.

When I make it behind the tree, I peek around the trunk, trying to locate the mystery shooter. Bart is exposed now, his attention divided as he swivels between my position and wherever that other shot came from.

I take advantage of his distraction and nail him twice—once in the back, once on the shoulder. He stumbles forward, then lurches into a desperate run toward the lodge.

I fire off a few last shots at his retreating figure, watching as he trips face-first, then scrambles to his feet and keeps running like the coward he is.

I wait for a few seconds, scanning the tree line for another person to step out. Someone just saved me from Bart, but from where?

I run back inside and find Lauren standing at the open window, paintball gun raised, a triumphant smile on her face. “Wait…” I stare at her, pieces clicking together. “You were the one shooting Bart—from the window?”

“You told me you weren’t letting me out of this house, but you never said I couldn’t shoot from inside.” She holds up her paintball gun. “Good thing I kept mine with me. Because you were right. We do make a good team.”

I drop my gun and rush toward her, pulling her into my arms. “After a battle like that, doesn’t the hero get to kiss his partner?”

Her lips quirk. “Probably not safe for my heart, Sheriff.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sunny, I will always keep your heart safe.”

Then I kiss her forehead, followed by the tip of her nose, and finally on her lips. I meant it when I said I’d have her back—and her lips, her body, her heart.