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His hazel eyes meet mine, more golden than usual in the cell lighting, and he really has no fucks to give. He has no regrets over what he did.

He knocked Craig’s lights out and is making it clear he’d do it again.

A ripple of disbelief passes through me. It’s the slow realization that Rhett Dawson is truly a man of his word.

He’s truly a man who protects the woman he cares about. He doesn’t care if I like it; if it’s necessary in the moment, he’ll do it in a heartbeat.

No hesitation.

It’s a strange feeling after years with Craig. After years of fighting for myself.

Sheriff Langley returns before we have a chance to finish our conversation. He leans against the cell bars with arms folded over his rounded, barrel-shaped chest.

“Here’s the deal,” he says. “I spoke to Mr. Gibson. He wants to press charges, but I’ve talked him down from the ledge. We did have to arrest you, Dawson—partly because several witnesses at the bar confirmed you struck him and partly because we have to give the appearance of fairness.

“But those same witnesses also corroborated that Mr. Gibson seemed to be putting his hand on this nice woman first.” The sheriff tips his head in my direction, glancing between me on his right and then Rhett behind bars. “It seems to me Mr. Gibson is no innocent party in all this and you were acting in her defense.”

“Don’t do me any favors, Sheriff. Make the judgment call you think is right,” Rhett says, his tone placid.

“I have… which is why I’m letting you off with a warning,” says Sheriff Langley. “This time. But understand that I can’t have folks throwing fists in town establishments. It sets a precedent I don’t want.”

“Understood,” Rhett says.

“You’ve got no priors. You’re one of Andy Harvey’s boys at Silver Creek, and Andy’s known for good judgment. So I’m letting you walk.” The sheriff straightens up and reaches for the large keyring hanging off a loop on his belt. “Next time, I don’t care what the other guy did first. We clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Then get out of my station. Both of you.”

The cool night air brushes my face as we step outside. Rhett falls into step beside me as we walk toward my car, the silence between us stretching on for the first few seconds. Only the gravel crunching beneath our feet fills the absence of sound.

At least until I express more frustration.

“I don’t like that you’re willing to get yourself in trouble over me,” I say candidly. “It’s not a good thing, Rhett.”

“We can agree to disagree.”

“I’m serious. What would’ve happened if you were actually arrested? If charges really were pressed and you wound up with a record?” I stop walking in the middle of the dusty parking lot and so does Rhett, turning to face me. “Do you understand what that would do to your position at Silver Creek? To everything you’ve been building here?”

“What can I say? I care about you,” he says. “A lot in case it wasn’t already fucking obvious.”

“That doesn’t mean⁠—”

“Let me finish,” he drawls, a note of authority in his voice that shuts me up. That makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise as I find myself held captive by his gaze. He’s stepped toward me, closing the distance, bringing us inches apart. “I might be twenty years younger than you. You might be proud of how strong and independent you are, and I agree—you are those things and more.

“But know that I’m a man who’ll never apologize for doing what he has to. For protecting what’s his, and you, as far as I’m concerned, Vivica Murphy, are mine. So all that strong, independent woman shit goes right out the window when somebody tries to fuck with you. That’s when I get involved. That’s when I’ll do whatever it takes.”

His intense eyes are hooked on mine. There’s conviction in his voice. There’s the proximity as he’s stepped closer and crowded my space.

All of it dismantles every counterargument I thought I had prepared.

A spine-tingling shiver works its way through me as I finally accept the truth.

Rhett Dawson’s being himself. He’s being as sincere as can be, and he’s serious. He really does care about me so much he’d happily go to jail if it meant defending me.

I’m no crier and never have been. I barely even teared up when I found out my cancer diagnosis.

But the realization that his feelings for me are as intense as they are—and mine are for him too, against all my fighting—makes my eyes misty.