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

Jessa

R ush Turner took up way too much space in my tiny living room.

He didn’t sit on the couch like a normal person. Instead, he sank into the old recliner I’d rescued from a thrift store, his broad shoulders and long legs sprawled out, a mug of stale coffee balanced on one knee, and his eyes fixed on the front window like an apex predator on night watch.

I stood awkwardly by the bedroom door, hugging a pillow to my chest. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Yeah,” he said calmly, without looking at me. “I do.”

I scowled. “You’re so… so… annoying .”

He didn’t flinch. Just sipped his coffee, and chuckled eyes on the window. “Go to bed, sunshine.”

That’s when I saw John Wayne sneaking behind his chair. “John Wayne, don’t you do it.” Before I could stop him, my Maine Coon cat jumped up on Rush’s head, with his claws ready. But instead of scratching him, he started pushing his front paws into his neck, giving him a massage.

I heard Rush chuckle and pulled my traitor of a cat, who purred like he had fallen in love. On Rush’s lap.

“You’re a beauty. Did she call you John Wayne? The name fits you perfectly.”

RUSH

She hovered like a cat deciding whether to bolt or curl up in my lap. And I wasn’t talking about John Wayne. Every few seconds, she’d huff, stomp a few feet, then glare at me again. Adorable didn’t cover it.

“I don’t snore, by the way,” I said, fighting a smile.

“Liar.”

“I don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You look like a snorer.”

I let out a low laugh. She jumped as if she hadn’t expected it — then quickly concealed the tiny smile that was trying to sneak onto her lips.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“What does it matter how old I am?”

“I want to know if I have the hots for someone who is still a baby.”

“You have the hots for me?”

“I might have. How old are you?”

“I’m old enough. I’m twenty-seven. How old are you?”

I’m thirty-two.”

“There you go, I’m not too young for you to have the hots for me.”

I watched as her face turned red, and that plump bottom lip went into her mouth. I had to look away my I didn’t want her to see how hard my cock was.

JESSA

I gave up pretending to be brave after twenty minutes of tossing and turning. I couldn’t stop picturing that dark SUV. Couldn’t stop picturing him — my sister's talker — waiting for the right moment to remind me we’d never really be free.

How the hell did we get into this mess? The bastard had already attacked me for hiding the kids.

I called the police after my neighbor ran him off.

I had a restraining order, but he didn’t pay any attention to it.

That’s when I decided I needed to move away and get busy working.

Money didn’t grow on trees. Did he find me?

I tiptoed out of the bedroom. Rush didn’t stare at me this time. He just tracked me with that slow, steady gaze as I padded barefoot to the couch, clutching my blanket like a security shield.

I curled up right there — close enough to him that I could hear his breathing over the tick of the old wall clock.

He arched a brow. “What’s this?”

“I can’t sleep in there alone, I keep seeing that black SUV.” I grumbled, hiding my face in the blanket. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

“Fair.”

Silence settled — not awkward, but warm. Heavy with something I didn’t want to name.

RUSH

She fell asleep halfway through, threatening me. Her breathing evened out, her hand loose against the couch cushion like she’d been waiting her whole life to finally rest.

I reminded myself not to stare. To concentrate on the window. The street. The threat I knew would come for her sooner or later.

But my eyes kept drifting back. The stubborn curl falling over her cheek. All that beautiful golden hair, and those dark green eyes. The soft hitch in her breath when she dreamed. The way she murmured my name, just once, barely there.

I didn’t move all night. I didn’t dare.

Protect her. That was the mission now—my only mission. Call me crazy, if you want, but I feel like I was put in the right place at the right time so I could save Jessa.

She stirred just before dawn, blinking sleepily at me through tangled hair.

“You didn’t sleep.”

“Didn’t need to.”

She pushed herself up on her elbows, blanket sliding to her lap, revealing a tank top that did terrible things to my focus.

“You’re gonna make me coffee, right?” she rasped, half teasing.

I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, voice low and hoarse from staying silent too long.

“I’ll make you anything you want, sunshine.”

Her breath caught. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then she whispered, “Rush…” like my name was the only safe thing she had left.

I watched her eyes slowly shut, and she went back to sleep. I wanted to pull her into my arms — because holding back around Jessa Monroe was a losing game I’d stopped playing the moment I found her on that road.