“Yes. Yes it is. And my perspective says that right now, there’s a starry sky outside and a lonely man out there who is staying awake to watch for trouble because you seem to keep him breathing. And it’s possible that God has ordained this exact moment.”

Zoey’s voice softened. “You don’t have to control every moment, plan every step. Maybe you just say yes to the doors God opens.”

Tae actually glanced at the open door.

“Besides, are you sure he’s going back to his old life? Because I know what he said, but he doesn’t look like he’s all that keen on leaving you.”

“Not until I’m safe.”

“And that would be when?” Zoey cocked her head to one side.

Huh.

Zoey got up. “Poor guy, out in the cold all by himself—”

“Fine.” Tae pulled the blanket back over her shoulders.

“I won’t wait up.” Zoey followed her out and headed to her own room.

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Whatever. But really, probably, this was a stupid idea. Still, “I want to kiss you.” Okay, not exactly what he’d said, but that was definitely a part of his sentence.

He. Wanted to. Kiss her.

She headed upstairs. Outside, through the porch sliding door, the fire was flickering. Opening the door, she stepped out onto the deck.

Grunts. A smack. Another grunt. What?

And that’s when her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

On the grass, Colt grappled with something. No, someone. Someone taller, leaner. But clearly just as tough because as she watched, the man’s fist connected with Colt’s jaw and spun him.

She screamed, “Colt!”

Colt bounced up, landed a kick on his way that sent the man back.

“Get inside, Tae!”

She couldn’t move, watched as Colt charged the man, tackling him back onto the grass.

And then they were tangled together, hitting, kicking, beating each other.

Killing each other.

The violence broke her free.

She needed a weapon, a—

Jethro’s shotgun lay on the grass near Colt’s chair, which had been knocked over. The flames glistened against the metal, and she launched herself off the deck and into the cool grass. Swiped up the gun, her hands shaking.

Light splashed the area. “I got this, honey.” Jethro, behind her, reached for the gun.

She nearly dropped the weapon, even as he took it, the look on his face brutal, fierce.

He turned the gun on the men. “Stop.”

Colt kicked the man off him, scrambled back, giving Jethro room.

Blood streamed out of Colt’s nose, but he’d gotten in his licks—the man’s lip was split, his own nose bleeding, and both were breathing hard, labored breaths.

The attacker found his feet.

“Hands behind your head, pal,” Jethro said.

And that’s when the man turned to face Jethro in the light of the porch.