Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Rhett
By the next morning, the storm finally eases enough that I can see the road again.
Barely.
Snow still covers most of the mountain, thick white drifts piled against the cabin and trees, but the wind died sometime before sunrise, leaving the world too quiet in the way storms always do after they finish wrecking everything.
Nora’s already awake when I come back inside from checking the generator.
She’s standing in my kitchen wearing my socks and one of my thermal shirts rolled at the sleeves, her dark hair loose around her shoulders while she squints suspiciously at the ancient coffee maker like she’s considering filing a formal complaint against it.
Something low and possessive settles hard in my chest at the sight.
Mine.
The thought comes fast.
Instinctive.
Dangerous.
“You’re staring again,” she says without turning around.
“Yeah.”
“You ever get tired of being unsettling?”
“No.”
She glances over her shoulder finally, one brow lifting. “At least you’re consistent.”
I move toward her slowly, stopping close enough to smell the coffee and soap and her skin warming the fabric stretched across her body. The shirt hangs loose on her everywhere except her legs.
Bad fucking problem.
“You make it too weak,” I tell her.
“It’s coffee, not motor oil.”
“It’s weak.”
“It’s drinkable.”
“Barely.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically while I step around her, reaching over her shoulder for the coffee grounds.
Her body stills instantly when my chest brushes her back.
Tiny reaction.
But I feel it.
So does she.
“You always invade personal space like this?” she asks quietly.
“Only yours.”
The silence shifts immediately.
Heavier.
Hotter.
I lean down slightly, close enough that my mouth almost brushes her ear. “Move.”
Her breath catches before she steps sideways.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I fix the coffee without another word while she watches me suspiciously from the counter.
“You know,” she says slowly, “most kidnappers at least try to be charming first.”
“I’m making you coffee.”
“That’s not charm. That’s Stockholm syndrome foreplay.”
My mouth twitches. “Drink it first.”
She does.
Then immediately narrows her eyes at me over the mug.
“That’s annoyingly good.”
“I know.”
“You’re smug about coffee now too?”
“I’m smug about a lot of things.”
“Clearly.”
The storm might’ve settled outside, but inside the cabin the tension’s only getting worse.
Every glance lasts too long.
Every accidental touch feels deliberate.
And Nora notices everything.
Including me.
“You keep doing that,” she says suddenly.
I lean against the counter. “Doing what?”
“Watching the windows.”
Because I am.
Every few minutes.
Every sound outside.
Every shift in the woods.
The stalker went quiet after the storm rolled in, which means one of two things.
He left.
Or he’s waiting.
I don’t like either option.
“You ready?” I ask instead.
“For?”
“Town.”
Her brows lift immediately. “You’re letting me leave the mountain?”
“I need supplies.”
“And you don’t trust me here alone.”
“No.”
The honesty catches her off guard for half a second.
Then she recovers. “Wow. You almost sounded emotionally available there.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
She laughs softly into her coffee mug.
And Christ, that sound’s becoming a problem.
An hour later, Devil’s Peak looks exactly like I expected.
Everyone staring.
The second Nora walks into The Devil’s Diner beside me, conversations stop cold.
Forks pause halfway to mouths.
Coffee mugs freeze.
Margie nearly drops an entire tray of pancakes.
“Well I’ll be damned,” she says loudly.
Nora physically flinches beside me.
Margie points a spatula dramatically across the diner. “The mountain hermit finally dragged himself home a wife.”
“Not his wife,” Nora says immediately.
“Yet,” Rune calls from a booth near the back.
Ash Calder laughs into his coffee while Jace looks way too entertained by this entire situation.
“You people are exhausting,” Nora mutters under her breath.
Margie ignores her completely and marches toward us. “Honey, are you eating enough? The men on this mountain burn through women like firewood emotionally, but at least this one cooks.”
Nora chokes on air.
I take my usual booth calmly. “Morning, Margie.”
She gasps dramatically. “He said good morning. Oh my God, she domesticated him already.”
“I didn’t domesticate anything,” Nora says.
“Sweetheart,” Margie says gently, “that man’s sitting in public voluntarily. You absolutely did.”
The entire diner laughs.
Nora slides into the booth across from me while glaring murder at everyone.
Which only makes me want to grin.
Bad idea.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks sweetly.
“Little bit.”
“Traitor.”
Margie drops menus onto the table. “So when’s the wedding?”
“Never,” Nora says instantly.
“Spring,” I answer at the same time.
Nora’s head whips toward me so fast it’s almost impressive.
The diner erupts.
“You are unbelievable,” she hisses.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m plotting your murder.”
“That’s healthy communication.”
Her eyes narrow dangerously while I take a slow drink of coffee.
God, she’s fun to provoke.
It only gets worse from there.
Every woman in the diner suddenly wants to meet Nora.
Every man suddenly avoids looking at her too long once they notice me watching.
And every damn person in Devil’s Peak apparently believes we’re together now.
“Never seen Rhett bring a woman into town before.”
“She’s pretty.”
“She survived more than five minutes with him. That’s basically a proposal.”
“You people need hobbies,” Nora mutters for probably the tenth time.
Jace drops into the booth beside her with a grin. “Nah. This is better.”
Nora points at him accusingly. “You’re enjoying this too.”
“Absolutely.”
“Unbelievable.”
“You keep saying that,” I point out.
“Because all of you are insane.”
“Yeah,” Archer calls from across the diner. “But we’re charming.”
“You auction off human beings for entertainment.”
“Fundraising,” he corrects.
“Same thing.”
By the time we leave the diner, Nora’s equal parts flustered and furious, which does interesting things to her mouth.
Especially when she’s glaring at me.
“You knew this would happen,” she accuses while we walk toward the general store.
“Yeah.”
“And you brought me anyway.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”
I glance down at her. “You look good mad.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
The general store’s crowded from storm prep, locals grabbing propane, canned food, and supplies before the second wave of the storm his and the roads close again tonight.
The second we walk in, people move aside automatically.
Not for me.
For us.
Nora notices it too.
The way men stop staring once I step beside her.
The way conversations lower when we pass.
The way everyone suddenly treats her differently because she’s attached to me now.
Her expression tightens slightly.
“You hate this,” I murmur.
“I hate that it works.”
Fair.
We split up briefly inside the store while I grab supplies from the back.
Big mistake.
I spot the problem instantly when I come back around the aisle.
Drunk guy.
Mid-thirties.
Local idiot named Travis.
His hand’s on Nora’s waist while he leans too close saying something that already has irritation flashing across her face.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says. “You can’t honestly be into Maddox. Guy barely talks.”
Nora steps back immediately. “Move.”
Instead of moving, his hand tightens.
That’s all it takes.
I cross the distance before I consciously decide to.
One second he’s touching her.
The next, I’ve got his wrist twisted hard enough to drop him halfway to his knees.
He yells instantly.
The entire store goes silent.
“What the fuck, Rhett?”
“Touch her again,” I say calmly, twisting harder until his face goes white, “and I’ll break it.”
Pain flashes across his expression immediately.
Real pain.
Nora grabs my arm. “Rhett.”
But I barely hear her.
Because something ugly and violent already snapped loose in my chest the second he touched her.
Mine.
The thought hits harder this time.
Possessive.
Primitive.
Dangerous.
“Alright,” Travis gasps. “Jesus Christ.”
I let go abruptly.
He stumbles backward clutching his wrist while everyone in the store pretends not to stare.
Nobody says a word.
Nobody challenges me.
Travis leaves immediately.
Nora’s quiet beside me afterward.
Too quiet.
“You okay?” I ask once we’re outside again.
She stares at me for a second too long before answering. “You almost broke his wrist.”
“Yeah.”
“You did it fast.”
“Yeah.”
Snow crunches beneath our boots while silence stretches between us.
Then quietly, “You scared me a little back there.”
That lands harder than it should.
I stop walking.
“So did he.”
Her breath catches slightly.
Because she knows that’s true.
I step closer slowly, lowering my voice. “Nobody touches what’s under my protection.”
Her pulse jumps visibly in her throat. “That sounds possessive.”
“It is.”
The honesty hits her hard.
I can see it.
Feel it.
“And that doesn’t concern you?” she asks quietly.
I look down at her mouth briefly before meeting her eyes again.
“No.”
That answer should probably concern me too.
Instead, all I can think about is how good she looked standing beside me while the entire town understood exactly what she was becoming to me.
A problem.
Mine.
And I’m starting to realize I like that a little too much.