When she looks at me with those brown eyes full of trust and desire, when she touches me like I'm something precious instead of just another authority figure to be wary of, I feel like the man I was always supposed to be.
Not Sheriff Maddox, not the guy who fixes problems and maintains order, but Gabriel. Just Gabriel, worthy of being wanted for who he is rather than what he represents.
I think about weeks ago, when I asked if she'd done anything illegal or was involved with drugs. The way she'd looked me straight in the eye and said no, with such conviction that I'd believed her completely.
I still believe her.
Whatever connection she has to Mathew Carter, whatever circumstances led her to be driving his van and living likea ghost, I don't think it's what this file makes it look like. Not my Lucy.
My Lucy.
The possessive thought hits me like a freight train, sudden and unavoidable.
I flip to the last page of the file, looking for any additional information that might help me understand how Lucy fits into this picture. Mathew Carter's last known contact information stares back at me: a phone number with a 518 area code. New York.
Before I can second-guess myself, I grab my office phone and dial.
Four rings, then voicemail. A young man's voice, careful and wary: "You've reached Matt. Leave a message if it's important."
I hesitate for a heartbeat, then go with my gut. "This is Sheriff Gabriel Maddox from Briarhaven, Montana. I need to speak with you about Lucy Reid. It's urgent. Call me back." I leave my direct number and hang up.
The silence that follows feels loaded with possibility and dread in equal measure.
I close the file and lock it in my desk drawer, then lean back in my chair and stare out the window at Main Street.
The smart thing would be to tell Colt and Beau what I've learned. Share the burden, let them help me figure out how to handle it. But the thought of seeing doubt creep intotheir eyes when they look at Lucy makes my chest tight with something that feels dangerously close to panic.
Maybe that's selfish. Maybe I'm putting my own desires ahead of their right to know what they're getting into.
But whatever she's running from, she's not ready to share it yet. And I'm not ready to force her hand.
Not when I think about how she felt in my arms this morning, warm and trusting and completely mine.
Not when I remember the way she said "yours too" with such fierce conviction, like she was claiming me as much as I was claiming her.
I've waited thirty-eight years to feel this kind of connection with someone. Thirty-eight years of keeping everyone at arm's length, of choosing duty over desire, of being the man who solves other people's problems while keeping his own heart locked away.
Lucy changed that. Lucy changed everything.
The radio crackles to life on my desk, dispatch calling about a fender-bender out on Highway 12. Real work, the kind of straightforward problem-solving that used to be enough to satisfy me.
Now it feels like an intrusion, pulling me away from thoughts of Lucy and the impossible situation we're all navigating.
I grab my hat and keys, but as I leave the office behind me, my eyes drift to the desk drawer. To the secrets hidden inside.
Whatever Lucy is hiding, whatever danger she might be running from, I'm in this now. All the way in, with both eyes open and my heart on the line.
The choice between duty and desire isn't really a choice at all. Not anymore.
Because in the end, it comes down to trust.
Trust Lucy, trust what I know about her character and her heart, or let fear and suspicion destroy something that feels more real than anything I've ever experienced.
29
Lucy
The afternoon sun streams through the clinic windows as I try to focus on updating patient records, but my mind keeps drifting to this morning.
