The simple pleasure she'd taken in sharing dinner, her easy laughter during their ATV ride around the property, and the natural way she'd made him feel welcome in her home didn’t feel calculated or performed. She seemed to approach life with a sincerity that was rare in his experience, especially among people who'd achieved her level of success and recognition.
But it was more than her character that had him lying awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling of her guest room. The physical awareness that had struck him the moment she'd opened her door that morning had only intensified throughout the day. The memory of her arms wrapped around his waist during their ride, the warmth of her body pressed against his back, and the trust she placed in him all combined to create a longing that was both unexpected and dangerous.
He was here to do a job, to keep her safe from whatever threat was circling her peaceful life. Getting personally involved with a client went against every professional instinct he'd developed over years of military service and private security work. But as sleep finally began to claim him, his dreams were filled with the sensation of Willow's arms around him, her laughter, and the way her eyes had sparkled in the firelight as they'd shared the comfortable silence of the evening.
For a man who'd spent most of his adult life maintaining careful emotional distance from everyone around him, the speed with which she'd gotten under his defenses was unnerving.
He woke the following morning surprisingly well-rested, a luxury he hadn't experienced in months. The thick curtains in the guest room had blocked out most of the early morning sun, allowing only thin slivers of light to peek around the edges. The room was compact but had all the necessities for a good night’s sleep. Much to his surprise, he’d found the bed accommodated his large frame comfortably.
The neutral tones decorating the space created the perfect backdrop for the landscape paintings adorning the walls. Once again, he was struck by the complete absence of pretension in Willow's decorating choices. What also caught his attention was the lack of any photographs or mementos from her younger days.
It wasn’t a secret that she was estranged from her parents, but the reality was once again starkly evident in the complete absence of family photographs throughout the house. While his own upbringing had included challenges she probably couldn't begin to imagine, the love he felt for his mother and sister, and now for his niece and nephew, remained one of the strongest forces in his life. He even carried a small photograph from last year's family holiday in his wallet, a tangible reminder of the people who mattered most to him.
He wondered if Willow had any such keepsakes hidden away somewhere, secret reminders of happier times before whatever had driven the wedge between her and her family.
Normally, he was an early riser who never lingered in bed once consciousness returned, but something about being in her home created a sense of ease he rarely experienced. The house itself seemed to invite relaxation, to encourage the kind of peaceful morning routine that felt almost foreign to someone accustomed to military precision and constant readiness.
Rising, he gathered clean clothes and toiletries before silently opening his door. A glance confirmed that Willow's bedroomdoor remained closed, so he made his way quietly to the bathroom. Even though he had his own en suite bathroom, he took care to wipe away any water droplets and return everything to its original state. The bunkhouse he shared with his fellow Keepers operated on a system of mutual respect and cleanliness, and he was determined to extend the same courtesy to her home.
When he returned to his room to make the bed and pack his dirty clothes into a laundry bag, he noticed that her door was open and caught the sounds of movement from the kitchen. After ensuring his temporary space was as neat as he'd found it, he made his way down the hallway.
He found her dressed in well-fitted jeans and a soft sweater in deep burgundy, her feet encased in thick wool socks, and her blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He tried not to notice how the casual clothes showcased her lithe figure and gentle curves, but the effort was futile.
When she turned and smiled at him, her fresh-faced expression sent warmth spreading through his chest in a way that had nothing to do with the coffee she was brewing. Having watched several episodes of her teenage television show the night before, he could definitively say that she was even more beautiful now than she'd been as an adolescent. Maturity had added depth and character to her features that had once been merely pretty.
"Are you ready for breakfast?" she asked, brandishing a spatula with the confidence of someone comfortable in her own kitchen.
"I was actually hoping to get in here before you so I could handle breakfast myself," he admitted, feeling guilty for sleeping in while she'd risen to get to work.
Her laughter was warm and unguarded. "Well, I certainly won't turn down your offer to help."
Within minutes, they were working side by side with an ease that suggested they'd performed these domestic tasks together countless times before. She monitored the biscuits rising in the oven while he kept watch over the bacon and scrambled eggs. She'd already started the coffee brewing, and as he plated their breakfast, she poured the fragrant brew into two oversized ceramic mugs.
Once seated at the table, he slathered butter and strawberry jam on his biscuit before taking his first sip of coffee. The mug was indeed enormous, easily holding twice the volume of a standard coffee cup.
"I couldn't help but notice your coffee mugs are huge," he observed, unable to hide his amusement.
She tilted her head to the side with a mock-serious expression that made her look younger. "That's true. Is there a question hidden somewhere in that statement?"
He nodded, grinning despite himself. "I suppose there is. I don't know why I assumed you'd have delicate, matching china cups or something."
"When I'm writing, I like to get settled somewhere comfortable. I might be outside on the porch, in my office, or curled up on the living room sofa. Once I find my spot and get into the creative flow, I want to focus on the work, not be constantly jumping up to refill my coffee cup." She gestured toward her mug with obvious affection. "I found these at a little pottery shop in town. Each one is handmade by a local artist, so they're all slightly different. And don't worry if you accidentally break one. They're not expensive, and I bought plenty of extras. This way I can fill up with coffee, or tea, or hot chocolate later, and stay in my writing zone for hours."
He held her gaze and smiled. "You are very practical, Willow Thorton."
She scrunched her nose and tilted her head with an expression that was half curious, half worried. "I can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or if you're pointing out a character flaw."
"First of all, I would never presume to point out faults to you," he said seriously. "And second, it was absolutely intended as a compliment."
She looked down at her mug, her finger tracing absently over the subtle ridges left by the potter's hands. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet his again, there was something vulnerable in her expression that made his chest tighten.
"I may have been raised in Los Angeles and Hollywood by people who seemed to think being pretentious was a God-given right, but that was never really me. I constantly felt like I was suffocating under all the artificial expectations and manufactured drama." Her voice grew softer, more reflective. "I suppose at heart, I'm just a practical woman who values genuine connections over superficial glamour."
There was so much layered into her simple statement… pain, disappointment, self-knowledge, and a quiet strength that had allowed her to walk away from a world that would have consumed someone weaker. He wanted to unpack every word, to understand the experiences that had shaped her into the remarkable woman sitting across from him. The impulse was dangerous, a level of personal investment that went far beyond his professional responsibilities, but he couldn't seem to help himself.
His phone vibrated against the table, interrupting the moment. He glanced at the caller ID and answered immediately. "Bert? I hope you have good news for me."
"Everything you requested was in stock and ready to go. We had it privately air-shipped directly to the security installation company in Omaha first thing this morning. They should haveall the equipment in their hands by nine, and they're saying they can be at her location by eleven. Let me know if there are any complications."
