ELIAS
I track a young buck through the underbrush, noting his movements in my field journal. Healthy male, probably two years old. Good rack developing. The kind of deer that brings hunters to these mountains, and the kind I'm determined to protect from poachers and over-hunting.
But my mind isn't on the wildlife. It's back at my cabin. With Riley.
I pause by a stream to refill my canteen, the mountain water ice-cold and pure. The morning sun filters through the pine trees, warming my shoulders as I crouch by the water. It's a perfect spring day in the Montana wilderness, exactly the kind of solitude I usually crave.
Today, it feels hollow.
My radio crackles, breaking the silence. "Elias, you copy? It's Sawyer."
I unclip the radio from my belt. "Copy. What's up?"
"Just paid a visit to your cabin. Thought you should know."
My grip tightens on the radio, pulse quickening. "Riley okay?"
There's a pause before Sawyer answers. "She's fine. But Cooper filed assault charges this morning. Claims she attacked him without provocation."
White-hot anger surges through me. "That son of a bitch put his hands on her. She's got the bruises to prove it."
"I saw." My brother's voice is grim. "Suggested she file a counter-report. Gave her Maggie's number in Helena."
Maggie helps women get restraining orders, find safe houses, rebuild their lives. The fact that Sawyer thought to connect them tells me he's taking this seriously.
"Cooper's father's involved," Sawyer continues. "Pushing for charges."
Of course he is. Ronald Cooper owns the biggest hunting outfitter in the county, brings in half the tourist revenue during season. His entitled piece of shit son has been causing trouble since he was in diapers.
"I'll be back early," I say, already calculating the quickest route down the mountain. "She shouldn't be alone."
"She's safe on McKenna land," Sawyer reminds me. "No one's dumb enough to come looking for trouble up there."
He's right, but it doesn't ease the primal urge to get back to her. To see with my own eyes that she's okay.
"One more thing," Sawyer adds, his tone changing. "She's young, Elias."
The implication is clear as day. He knows. Hell, probably all my brothers know. My brothers have always been too perceptive for their own good.
"I'm aware," I reply stiffly.
"And Bill was your best friend."
My jaw tightens. "I made a promise."
"I know you did." Sawyer sighs. "Just... be careful. With both of you."
The radio falls silent, leaving me with a familiar weight on my shoulders. The weight of expectations. Of duty. Of promises I made to a dying man.
I finish my rounds on autopilot, checking the usual poaching hotspots, marking wildlife sightings on my map. By mid-afternoon, I've covered my assigned area for the day, doing the job I love with half my attention at best.
When I finally turn my truck back toward home, the sun is still high in the sky. I've cut my day short by hours, something I've never done in fifteen years as game warden. But the pull toward my cabin, toward Riley, is stronger than my sense of duty today.
I spot her truck first, still parked where she left it last night.
Then movement on the porch catches my eye.
Riley sits on the top step, laptop open on her knees, hair lifted by the mountain breeze.
She's wearing a blue sweater that makes her skin glow, and for a moment, I just watch her, letting the sight of her sink into my bones.
She looks up as I pull in, a smile spreading across her face that hits me square in the chest. That smile has always been her weapon, bright, genuine, lighting up everything around her.
She used to flash it at me when she was a teenager, asking for driving lessons or permission to stay out late, knowing I'd cave every time.
Now it feels like a different kind of weapon entirely.
"You're back early," she says as I approach, shutting her laptop. "Everything okay?"
"Sawyer radioed me." I drop my pack by the door, studying her face. "Told me about Cooper's report."
Her smile fades. "I was going to tell you tonight. Didn't want to interrupt your work."
"This is more important." I sit beside her on the step, close enough to smell her shampoo but careful to leave space between us. "Show me your wrist."
She hesitates, then extends her arm. The bruises have darkened since last night, perfect finger-shaped marks against her pale skin. I take her hand gently, turning it to examine the full extent of the damage.
"I'm going to kill him." The words come out low and deadly serious.
Riley's fingers curl around mine. "No, you're not. Much as I appreciate the sentiment."
"He deserves worse."
"What he deserves is for me to press charges and watch him squirm when his daddy can't buy his way out of it." Her voice hardens. "I'm not letting him get away with this, Elias. But I'm handling it my way."
That stubborn determination, so like her father's, brings a reluctant smile to my lips. "Bill would be proud of you."
"Would he?" She doesn't release my hand. "Sometimes I wonder what he'd think of me now. Twenty-three, broke, homeless, failed relationship behind me..."
"He'd think you're brave," I say without hesitation. "Standing up for yourself. Not letting anyone, not Brad, not his father, intimidate you."
She studies me for a long moment. "And what do you think, Elias?"
The question feels loaded, heavy with meaning beyond the obvious.
What do I think of her? I think she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I think her courage takes my breath away.
I think that if I were twenty years younger, or she twenty years older, I wouldn't hesitate to claim her as mine.
"I think," I say carefully, "that you deserve better than what Cooper gave you. Better than living in a town where his family has influence. Better than..." I stop, the words sticking in my throat.
"Better than what?" Her eyes hold mine, refusing to let me look away.
"Better than an old man with too many scars and too many ghosts." The confession slips out despite my best intentions.
Riley's grip on my hand tightens. "You're not old."
"I'm forty-six."
"I'm aware of your age." She shifts closer, her knee brushing mine. "I'm also aware that you've been avoiding being alone with me since I came back to town. That you look at me when you think I won't notice. That whenever we're in the same room, you find a reason to leave."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Riley?—"
"I get it, you know," she continues, voice softening. "The promise you made to Dad. The responsibility you feel. But he didn't ask you to stop living, Elias. He just asked you to protect me."
"And you think this," I gesture between us, "would protect you?"
"I think," she says carefully, echoing my words, "that I stopped needing protection a long time ago. What I need now is for someone to see me. Not as Bill Hart's little girl. Not as some kid you taught to fish. But as a woman who knows her own mind."
She's so close I can see the gold flecks in her green eyes, can count the freckles dusting her nose. If I leaned forward just a few inches, I could taste her lips, discover if they're as soft as they look.
Instead, I pull my hand from hers and stand, putting the distance back between us. "It's not that simple."
"It could be." She looks up at me, disappointment plain on her face. "If you'd let it."
"I can't." The words hurt like broken glass in my throat. "You're half my age, Riley. Your father trusted me to look after you, not?—"
"Not what?" she challenges. "Not want me? Not give in to something we've both been feeling for years?"
"You don't know what you're asking." I turn away, needing to escape those knowing eyes. "I'll help you with Cooper. I'll give you a place to stay until you figure things out. But that's all I can offer."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I could offer her everything. My heart, my soul, my body, my life, all of it already belongs to her in ways she can't possibly understand. But I won't. I can't.
"That's bullshit," she says softly. "But I'll let you keep telling yourself that. For now."
The quiet confidence in her voice sends a shiver down my spine. It's not a surrender; it's a declaration of intent. Riley Hart isn't giving up. She's just changing tactics.
And God help me, part of me hopes she succeeds.
I retreat to my workshop out back, needing the mindless peace of woodworking to settle the chaos in my mind.
The small building sits behind the cabin, filled with tools and half-finished projects.
Right now, I'm working on a set of wooden animals for my niece's birthday, Lily, Cade's daughter, turning eight next month.
My hands find the half-carved doe, the knife moving in practiced motions as I shape the delicate legs.
Carving has always centered me, given my restless hands something productive to do.
I learned from my grandfather, who could turn a block of pine into something lifelike with nothing but a pocketknife and patience.
The methodical work usually empties my mind, but not today. Today, all I can think about is Riley on those porch steps, challenging me with that fire in her eyes. Looking at me like she can see right through every defense I've built.
The worst part is, she's right. I have been avoiding her. Have been making excuses, finding reasons to leave whenever we're in the same room, refusing to acknowledge what every nerve in my body knows is true.
I want her.
More than I've wanted anyone or anything since leaving the Rangers twenty years ago. More than makes sense for a man my age, with my history. More than is right, given who she is and who I promised to be for her.
The knife slips, nicking my thumb. I curse, watching blood well from the small cut. It's a minor wound, but telling. I've been carving for thirty years without a slip.
She's gotten under my skin that thoroughly.