"I'll come tomorrow. And I'll walk the creek edge with you tonight." A pause. "I know where the brush thins out. There's a game trail on the east side they'd be using."
"Appreciate it."
He turned to go, then stopped. "How's Maggie handling it?"
The question caught me off guard. Not the words—the way he asked them. Like he was measuring something.
"She's sharp," I said carefully. "Already coordinating patrols and pulling feeders."
"That's not what I asked."
I held his gaze. Hunter Blackwood saw more than he let on—I'd known that since the first day we met. He reminded me of my buddy Emmett in that way. Quiet, assessing, not missing a single thing.
"She's handling it fine," I said.
Hunter looked at me for a long beat. Then nodded once and walked away.
I stood there for a moment, recalibrating. That had been either a warning or a blessing, and I genuinely couldn't tell which.
Maggie found me at the horse barn as the light was going.
She didn't speak at first. Just stood beside me at the paddock rail, close enough that I could smell her shampoo, watching the last gold drain out of the sky. Dancer had finally settled, dozing in the far corner.
"You're going to worry about me tomorrow," she said. Not a question.
“Probably." Definitely, but I didn’t want her to read into that response.
“Well, don’t." If only it were that simple.
"That's not how it works."
She turned to face me. In the half-light, with the barn shadow cutting across her jaw, she looked like someone who'd been making hard decisions since before she was old enough to vote.
"I was there four years ago when the last ones came through. I watched my dad drop a boar mid-charge from forty yards. I saw what the tusks did to Jimmy's thigh before he could get the shot off." Her voice was even. "I don't need you between me and the hogs, Jack."
"I know you don't."
"Then focus on the job. Not on me."
"I can do both.” I’d have to.
The ghost of a smile. "Cocky."
"Accurate."
We stood there in the gathering dark. I wanted to reach for her—curve my hand around the back of her neck, pull her forehead against mine, tell her that the thought of anything getting within fifty yards of her made something in my chest go feral. But we were in the open. And she had rules.
"Get some sleep, beautiful,” I said, treading the line of her rules. No one was around, or I wouldn’t have called her that. But I couldn’t not remind her how stunning she was when the warm glow of sunset warmed her features.
Her eyes softened. "You too."
She started to turn, then paused. Looked back over her shoulder with an expression I couldn't quite read—somewhere between tender and fierce.
"Be careful out there," she said.
Then she was walking toward her cabin, boots crunching on gravel, and I was watching her go the way I always did—like a man who'd found something worth protecting and didn't yet have the right to say so.
I turned back to the hills. Somewhere in the creek brush, a sounder was bedding down, fat on stolen grain and comfortable enough to keep coming back. Tomorrow, we'd get a look at what we were dealing with.
