Page 35 of Montana's Bravest

“This might be the last time we solve a case from our Townsend headquarters. See you soon,” he says and ends the call.

Cass withdraws her hand, eyes drooping, clearly reluctant to let me leave. Where have I seen that pain before?

When she saidyou only have one father.

I take back her hand, and the pain is replaced with a reassuring smile—she doesn’t want me to analyze her.

Red Mark is entering a new chapter, and we are moving in the right direction. If what I have with Cass goes on beyond today, I’ll have to reconsider my bid to stay married to my job. I’ll have to make the two realities co-exist.

With that, my intention is to take her with me on the journey. My trust in her convinces me that this time it will be different. She doesn’t need to be strong for me—she already has that strength within her. What I need now is for me to be strong for myself. I’m the one who can’t collapse, or what I have with her will collapse.

It’s almost dawn. The storm has passed, the lashing of the wind has been replaced by soft whistles.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve gotta go.”

She holds both of my hands, tugging me toward her. I resist the urge to crawl back to bed as she appraises me. “Where?”

“Saving a child.”

She nods, this time bringing herself to me. “Save them, then.”

Her motherly gaze pierces through me. I nod, then say, “I’ll get my neighbor to drive you to cross the causeway.”

“I need to go, too.” Naked and glorious, she rises. “I want to be home before Grace wakes up.”

I hug her from behind, following her every move as she gathers her clothes.

I say, “In that case, I’ll drive you.”

She swivels. “I told you I’ll do better the second time ‘round.”

Her magnificent breasts present themselves to me, and I cup them before she can put on her bra. Unable to resist her lips, I land a kiss on them before I say, “Don’t be so stubborn.”

“I can handle it. No more letting my trauma dictate me.”

Cass is made of steel, but you can’t just wipe out that kind of fear overnight. “We’ll talk about that. But today, I’m driving you across the causeway.”

She gives in. Side by side, we step out of the house, bracing the morning chill.

One more kiss—a promise, a lingering question—before she climbs into the Fallen Angel van. Her lips, in contrast to the previous night’s heat, now carry a touch of the first snowfall—pure, seductive, and subtle. Women turn me into a castle of ice, but this angel in front of me isn’t fazed by cold; and dare I say, she even sees the beauty of my frozenness.

What will I do if I ever lose her?

The possibility of it happening is high, considering we’ve only known each other for less than a day.

But with how firmly she holds me, my hesitation ceases. She believes in me, she believes in what I do. And I see understanding in her gaze. Perhaps she will allow me to collapse every now and then, share the darkest part of my life, and she will still be holding me like this.

“Will I see you again?” I ask.

Her smile is non-committal, yet it has weight. She replies, “As long as you need a drink, you will always see me.”