Page 14 of Easy, Tiger

"This isn't about what's safer for us anymore." Owen moves to the window, peering out into the darkness beyond the workshop. "We got word today. The hunter's been spotted on the eastern ridge—the one that overlooks the trail you took her on yesterday morning."

An icy chill drops straight down my spine. "How close?"

"Close enough to use a scope. Close enough to watch you hiking together for over an hour. He knows about her now, Nolan. Whatever his game is, however he's tracking us, Halsey has now become part of it."

The prickle on the ridge. I'd written it off as blood loss and nerves, but my instincts don't lie, not even when I want them to.

The protective instinct that's been simmering beneath the surface roars to life, sharp and immediate. The thought of that bastard stalking Halsey through crosshairs, shadowing her movements, learning her patterns⁠—

"We double the patrols," I say. "Round-the-clock surveillance on her cabin. I want to know if a squirrel gets within fifty yards of her property."

"That's not going to be enough if he's decided she's a threat."

"Then we make sure he doesn't get the chance to act on that decision."

Owen shakes his head slowly. "Be safe out there, cousin. The bond's already changing how you think. Don't let it cloud your judgment when her life and the enclave's both depend on clear thinking."

Before a response can form, he heads out, leaving the workshop door to swing shut behind him. Alone among the wood shavings for a long while, the relentless pain of flexing my injured shoulder until the stitches tug keeps my head clear, silencing the urge to run straight to her cabin and stand guard until sunrise. Amelia's poultice will finish healing the wound in a few more days. The rest of it, the fear lodging under my ribs at the thought of a scope trained on Halsey's back, isn't something any salve can touch.

Banking the workshop's stove, I kill the lights to drive home the long way, past the turn for her cabin, forcing myself not to stop.

7

HALSEY

Two days after the farmer's market, the morning rush at the Red Pine Café has eased into its usual hum when Ben slides into the booth across from me, his work boots caked with yesterday's mud and a clipboard balanced precariously on his forearm.

"Morning, Halsey. Mind if I steal a few minutes of your time?"

Gesturing to the empty seat, I close my sketchbook around a half-finished drawing of the barista's hands as she works the espresso machine. "What's on your mind?"

"Trail maintenance." Weighted down by my coffee cup and his thermos, a hand-drawn map is spread across the table by him. "Winter's coming fast this year, and we've got three miles of boardwalk that need replacing before the first snow hits."

The map displays a network of hiking trails threading through the mountains around Red Pine, marked with symbols indicating bridges and scenic overlooks. Red X's cluster along the eastern sections, marking spots where winter damage has left gaps in the wooden walkways that cross the wetlands.

"It looks like a big job," I observe, skimming one of the trail routes with my finger.

"Bigger than my usual crew can handle alone. I know you're here working on the field guide, but I wondered if you might be interested in lending a hand. We could use someone with an artist's eye for the informational signs we're planning to install."

The prospect of spending a day outdoors, doing something useful with my hands instead of wrestling with pencil and paper, sounds better than it should. "What kind of signs?"

"Trail markers and wildlife identification panels for sure. It would also be nice to have safety reminders for the tourists who think bears are merely oversized teddy bears, plus the extra signage warning everyone about unstable cliff edges." A crumpled sketch emerges from his clipboard, revealing a rough drawing of a sign layout. "Nothing fancy, but they need to be accurate and clear enough that city folks can actually understand them."

"I could sketch the wildlife illustrations for you. Make sure the bears actually look like bears instead of confused dogs."

"That would be perfect. We're starting this morning if you're free with basic carpentry—measuring and hammering work that builds character alongside tough calluses."

The familiar chime of the café door announces Nolan, who has traded his canvas work apron for a fitted flannel shirt. Spotting us immediately, his gaze lingers on the map spread between us.

"Morning," he says, approaching our table. "Planning the next great adventure?"

"Trail maintenance," Ben explains, scooting over to make room. "Trying to convince Halsey to join our merry band of volunteers before the snow flies."

Nolan's attention pivots to me, and something warm flickers across his expression. "You thinking about it?"

"I was thinking about it. Now I'm committed." Folding the map along its creases, I tuck it into my pocket. "When do we start?"

"Right now, if you're ready." Ben stands, gathering his clipboard and thermos. "We've got lumber waiting at the trailhead and about six hours of daylight to make the most of it."