“We’re okay,” he said, once the room settled enough to hear him. “Neither of us saw the shooter. Sheriff Sutherland got to us before anyone else did.”
“Someone was probably just trying to scare us,” Rowan said.
Wes didn’t correct her. She needed to believe that right now, and arguing the point in front of her family wouldn’t help anyone.
Sheriff Sutherland stepped farther into the kitchen. “I’ve got deputies on the ridge now. I’m heading there in a moment.”
Caleb’s expression remained tight. “You think this connects to what’s been happening here at Refuge Cove?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said, his face all grim lines. “Until I do, keep your doors locked, and nobody outside alone tonight. Call me if anything feels off.”
Naomi’s arms crossed over her chest. “Defineoff.”
“Trust your instincts,” Sheriff Sutherland said. “You’ve all gotten pretty good at that.”
Wes remained near the doorway. Part of his attention stayed on the conversation, but the rest of it kept moving. He scanned the window above the sink, the stretch of driveway visible through the back door glass, and the dark edge of the tree line beyond the pasture fence.
Nothing moved.
That didn’t mean much.
Caleb looked at Rowan, his voice dropping. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” The words were smooth and immediate, leaving no room for a follow-up question.
He knew the truth. She wasn’t fine.
Wes glanced at her. She caught his eye and looked away.
Sheriff Sutherland stepped toward the door. “I’ll keep you updated.”
He nodded once to Caleb, then to Wes, before heading back outside.
As soon as he was gone, Naomi touched Rowan’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get that cut cleaned up before it gets worse.”
Rowan let herself be steered toward the hall without argument—which told Wes more than anything she’d said in the last ten minutes.
She was running on empty.
He watched her go, then he turned back toward the window.
Nothing moved.
But he kept watching anyway.
With Rowan occupied with Naomi, Wes sat in front of the security monitor Caleb had set up in the downstairs office. He needed to do something, and reviewing camera feeds from the perimeter seemed like a good idea.
Remington lifted his head from beside the desk before Wes heard the footsteps in the hall.
Rowan appeared in the doorway a few seconds later.
She’d showered, and her hair was still damp around her face. She’d changed into gray sweatpants and a T-shirt—no leather jacket, no carefully managed appearance. Just Rowan, scrubbed clean of the mountain and the fear and the hours ofholding herself together in front of anyone she might consider an audience.
Right now, she looked younger somehow. And more tired. And more like the girl he’d known before either of them had become the people they now were.
He looked back at the monitor before she could catch him staring.
She stepped into the room, her gaze drifting toward the feeds. “Anything new?”
