Page 99 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

Rocco watches until the door closes. I feel his attention beginning to narrow around me again.

“You’re going back to my cabin,” he says.

“I thought we agreed to negotiate.”

“We did. I’m beginning with a location I know I can secure.”

“And what happens to the festival while you guard me?”

“My employees do the jobs I pay them to do.”

“But you don’t trust anyone else to protect me.”

His silence confirms it. I step closer, keeping my voice low enough that the deputies cannot hear.

“You cannot allow me to become the place where your attention stops.”

“It doesn’t stop.”

“It changes. Every time something happens near me, the rest of the grounds disappear.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

“Is it?”

His mouth tightens.

I understand why he does it. For the first time in longer than I want to admit, someone’s determination to protect me feels comforting rather than limiting. But the same instinct making me feel safe could give the man watching us exactly what he wants.

“I will go wherever you believe I’m safest,” I tell him. “But only if you continue seeing everything else.”

Rocco considers my words. “You think I have a blind spot.”

“I think you have one now.”

“Because of you.”

“Because of what you feel for me.”

The words echo between us. We have not named what is happening. Three days should not be enough time to explain the certainty I feel when he touches me or the unfamiliar peace I found in his arms. Rocco trusts what can be documented, tested, and proven. Nothing between us belongs in any of those categories.

His hand moves to the back of my neck. “What I feel for you is not going to compromise my judgment.”

“Then prove it.”

A muscle ticks along his jaw, but before he can answer, Grant approaches with a black equipment case.

“Technician is here,” he says. “Camera had a memory card.”

“Anything useful?”

“He’s checking.”

Rocco releases me and follows Grant toward a table near the rear of the lodge. I remain where I am, watching three men gather around a small laptop as the technician connects the card.

I have no reason to feel observed now. The doors are locked. Deputies stand at both entrances, and Rocco has inspected the building more than once.

Still, a faint pressure crawls across my skin. Not another vision. Not even a clear impression, but an awareness. I slowly turn toward the center of the lodge.