Page 26 of Rush Turner (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #6)

Rush

B y the time the sun dragged its lazy self up over the trees, the house was still. The kids were dead to the world, Tornado was tied up by the barn with half a bale of hay to keep him busy, and Aunt Marie hadn’t started banging pots yet.

Jessa lay half on my chest, breathing soft and steady, her fingers curled in the chain around my neck.

I could’ve stayed like that forever.

But forever didn’t build fences or keep trouble at bay. So I slipped out from under her, careful as a bomb tech, and found my jeans on the floor.

I made coffee — strong enough to wake the dead — and leaned against the counter, watching the dawn creep through her kitchen window.

She found me there ten minutes later, barefoot as usual, wrapped in one of my old flannels she must’ve grabbed off the hook by the door.

She poured herself a mug beside me. Didn’t say good morning. Didn’t need to.

For a minute we stood there, sipping in silence. The kind of silence you only get when you know exactly where you belong.

Finally, she nudged me with her hip. “You gonna tell me what’s next, Turner?”

I glanced at her over my cup. “Next?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. You patching locks and scaring drunks away from my barn can’t be the long-term plan.”

I snorted. “Sure it can. I’m very consistent.”

She swatted my arm. “Rush—”

I set the mug down, turned to cage her against the counter, one hand flat on either side of her. She sucked in a breath but didn’t back down.

“What’s next,” I said, low and steady, “is we finish fixing this place up right. We fence every damn inch those goats haven’t claimed yet. We get the children a dog to keep Tornado in line. And we make damn sure nobody can come sniffing around this house again without wishing they were never born.”

She tried to scowl but failed. “And me?” she challenged, voice soft but stubborn.

I leaned in, brushed my nose against hers, so close I felt her smile before I saw it.

“You?” I growled. “You get a ring on that finger so everybody in this town, this county, this side of the damn world knows you’re mine. And then you get a whole lifetime of me chasing you up those stairs every night until you tell me to knock it off.”

She laughed — bright and clear, right into my mouth when I kissed her.

“You think you can handle me that long?” she teased when I finally let her breathe.

I brushed her hair back, grinning like an idiot. “Darlin’, I’m counting on it.”

Outside, the damn goats let out their morning yell like they’d heard every word and disapproved.

She laughed again, and I thought — hell, let him complain.

This was ours now. And nobody was taking it from us.