He vaulted off the porch, boots hitting dirt hard, and closed the distance in three strides. He grabbed a fistful of the wiry guy’s shirt and slammed him back against the car so hard the door clanged.
“You,” Beau said, voice low and razor-sharp, “are done.”
The reporter tried to puff up. “You touch me again and that’s assault—”
“You wanna talk about assault?” Beau stepped in, crowding his space. “You marched onto private property. You harassed a woman. And you used sealed juvenile records, which means you bribed somebody or hackedsomething. That’s a felony. You want a headline?” His mouth twisted. “I’ll hand you one.”
The guy’s mouth snapped shut.
Beau turned on the cameraman, who was still trying to fend off Pickles with his very expensive lens. “Delete the photos. Now. Or I will bury you in so many lawsuits your great-grandkids’ll piss themselves when they hear my name.”
“I—I can’t just—”
“Now,” Beau barked, that ice finally cracking, anger bleeding through.
The cameraman fumbled the buttons with shaking hands, scrolling, tapping, going pale. “Deleted. They’re deleted, see?” He held the display out—empty gallery, No Images.
“Pickles. Heel,” Pops called, like he was talking to a dog.
Miraculously, the rooster fluffed himself up and strutted back to the porch, looking smug as hell.
Beau shoved the reporter away. “Get off this property. If I see you again, if I hear my girlfriend’s name—or herrealname—used for clicks, I will end your career. That ain’t a threat. That’s a promise.”
“G–girlfriend,” the wiry one repeated weakly, but he was already scrambling into the car.
They peeled out so fast gravel spit in all directions. Then they were gone, tail-lights shrinking down the long dirt drive.
Silence slammed back down, thick and heavy.
My legs gave out, and I dropped onto the porch step. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Naomie. They’d said it like it was dirty. Like they’d scraped my whole life out of some manila folder and decided where it fit in their story.
Pops lowered the shotgun with a grunt and eased himself down beside me, laying the gun across his knees. He suddenly looked older than he had that morning, shoulders bowed.
Beau was in front of me in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in the dust. His hands hovered like he was afraid to hurt me, then came up to cradle my face, thumbs warm on my cheeks.
“Winnie,” he breathed, voice rough, eyes blazing and scared. “Baby, you okay? Did they touch you?”
“They knew,” I whispered. Tears finally spilled, hot and humiliating. “They knew about the adoption. They knew my birth name. How did they know, Beau? That was supposed to be sealed. That was supposed to bemine.”
Guilt slid over his face like a shadow. He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me so tight I could feel his heart slamming against my ear.
“I’m sorry,” he said into my hair, voice cracking. “I am so fucking sorry. I thought… if I kept my end locked down—if I played nice with Dallas—we could keep this place off their radar. I thought the bubble would hold.”
“The bubble popped,” I choked, fingers fisting in his shirt.
Pops let out a long breath through his nose. “All right,” he said, the word dragged out, accent heavier when he was pissed. “First thing, we lock that damn gate. Big ol’ chain. I’ll call Sheriff Harlan, get this trespass on record. Ain’t nobody comin’ up this drive again ‘less they got an invite or a warrant.”
“It won’t be enough,” Beau said quietly, pulling back just enough to look at me. He looked wrecked. “If they’ve got your file, they’ve got everything. Once it’s in their system, they’re gonna spin it however sells. They’ll make it ugly.”
“It’s already ugly,” I muttered, wiping at my face. “Dumpster baby, dustbowl, bedwarmer. That’s a hell of a headline.”
“Hey.” His hands tightened on my face, not rough, just steady. “You are none of those things. They can print whatever the fuck they want. Doesn’t make it true.”
“What do we do?” My voice sounded small even to me.
Beau’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening into something like resolve. “We fight,” he said. “We get a lawyer. We talk to Harlan. We tell your storyourway before they get to cut it up. And we don’t hide. That’s what they want.”
