It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with beautiful women. Several of his fellow Keepers had married women who were not only stunning but also strong, intelligent, and genuinely good people, and he was proud to call them friends. And while those relationships had developed quickly, mostly during missions, he'd watched them unfold from the outside with the comfortable detachment of an observer.
This was different. This immediate, visceral reaction to a woman he'd known for all of five minutes was completely outside his usual experience. The women who typically showed interest in him were the ones he met in bars. They were drawn to his rough edges, his tattoos, the dangerous vibe he supposedly projected. They wanted a walk on the wild side, not a real connection. And he rarely indulged. He might not have a relationship, but he didn’t want to use or feel used.
Willow walked around the island to the coffee maker and poured a cup into a large, sturdy mug. She turned and lifted a brow. “How do you take it?”
“I can take it black.”
Her lips quirked upward. “While youcantake it black, is that your preference? I have creamer, milk, sugar, and sweetener. I think you should have your coffee the way youwant… not just how youcantake it.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her surprising offer. “Well, a dash of creamer would be nice,” he admitted.
Pressing her lips together as though to quell the upward turn, she added the creamer and then handed him the mug. Their fingers brushed briefly during the exchange. The casual contact sent an unexpected jolt through his system that he hoped didn't show on his face.
"Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing toward a sturdy wooden table positioned near a sliding glass door that offered a clear view of the back property and the Nebraska plains. It also provided a view of anyone approaching from the back.
"Thank you," he murmured, settling into the chair that gave him the best view of both the front and back approaches to the house. The kitchen had a window over the sink as well as the glass door. “Your view is spectacular.”
She nodded, turning her head to follow his line of vision. "I like being able to see the prairie while I eat. In fact, all the windows in the house were one of the selling points for me."
“Are they well sealed? I would assume the winters get cold.” He took a sip of the rich coffee.
“Yes, the previous owners had new windows put in several years ago, and they keep out the winter cold and winds.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m afraid I didn’t have a security system put in on the windows. I suppose that was foolish.”
He shook his head but didn’t offer platitudes. There was no reason to point out what she could have done to be safer. What mattered was going forward and planning for all the contingencies now.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Casper surreptitiously studied her more closely. She seemed genuinely relaxed in his presence, not nervous or trying to impress him. The simplicity of the moment with good coffee and easy quiet felt natural.
Willow suddenly glanced at the clock on her kitchen wall, and her eyes widened. "Oh my goodness, I’ve completely lost track of time. It's already past noon. You must be hungry."
"I'm fine," he assured her. "Don't go to any trouble on my account."
But she was already moving toward the refrigerator, her movements efficient and purposeful. "I made extra sandwichesthis morning… just turkey and swiss with some delicious multigrain bread from the bakery in town. It's no trouble at all."
She pulled out a plate of neatly wrapped sandwiches and quickly assembled a simple lunch for them both, adding chips and fresh apple slices with the kind of hospitality that couldn't be faked. When she set the plate in front of him, he noticed her hands were steady, her movements confident. She wasn’t letting whatever anxiety she might be feeling about the situation control her.
"Thank you," he said, genuinely touched by the gesture. "This looks great."
As they began eating, he shifted into professional mode. "I need you to walk me through everything that's been happening. Don't leave anything out, even if it seems minor or you think you might be overreacting. Sometimes the smallest details are the most important."
She nodded and began recounting the timeline of events… the gifts that came by delivery and those left on her front porch, the growing sense of being watched, the hang-up calls, and then the rose petals left where there were footprints outside her office window. Her voice remained steady as she talked, but he caught the tension in her shoulders and the way her fingers tightened around her coffee mug.
The doorbell interrupted her mid-sentence, and Casper was on his feet instantly, his body automatically positioning itself between Willow and the front door.
"It's probably just the mail carrier," she said, but he noticed she stayed sitting. As he started toward the door, she jumped up.
"Stay here," he said quietly, moving toward the front of the house with the silent efficiency that had served him well in Delta Force. Through the security hole, he could see a uniformed postal worker holding a handful of mail and packages.
"Mail delivery," he confirmed, opening the door and taking the packages from the friendly mailman. He walked to the kitchen, where Willow had remained exactly where he'd left her. "I'd like to go through these with you."
She nodded, and he set the items on the kitchen table. Among the few letters and junk was a large, padded envelope that immediately caught his attention.
"The envelope is from Aaliyah," Willow explained, noting his focus. "She’s my personal assistant. She collects all my fan mail at her office, screens it first, then forwards anything appropriate."
"Does she keep anything back that she considers inappropriate or threatening?"
"If something were threatening, she would let me know, and we’d show it to the police. But I don’t get letters like that. If someone is asking for a date or wants to meet me, she just trashes it." Willow paused, considering. "She's very protective of my privacy, so if something was genuinely concerning, she would tell me about it."
"I'll want to talk to her about establishing a different protocol," Casper said, making a mental note. "She should scan all items so that there is a physical record of what was sent and when."
