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That finally gets a reaction.

His mouth twitches slightly before he glances over his shoulder at me. “Aggressively mountain-man?”

“You literally threatened to break someone’s wrist over my waist.”

“He touched you.”

“He was drunk.”

“He was stupid.”

I exhale sharply, fighting the ridiculous heat crawling up my neck. “You can’t just assault people every time a man looks at me.”

His gaze slides over me slowly, deliberate enough that my stomach tightens instantly.

“Looking isn’t the problem.”

God.

The man should come with a warning label.

Outside, wind rattles against the cabin hard enough to shake the windows. Rhett checks them automatically before returning to the stove, his movements easy and practiced.

Everything about him feels practiced.

The awareness.

The control.

The constant readiness.

“You do that all the time,” I say quietly.

He glances back. “Do what?”

“Check exits. Windows. Doors.” I tilt my head slightly. “You track every sound outside too.”

“That bothers you?”

“No.” I hesitate. “It just seems exhausting.”

Something shifts briefly in his expression.

“It’s habit.”

“Military?”

“Before that.”

The answer catches my attention immediately.

Rhett doesn’t volunteer information. Every personal detail I’ve gotten out of him so far has been dragged out through arguments and irritation.

Now he’s giving it to me willingly.

I straighten slightly. “Before that?”

He kills the burner and turns toward me slowly, folding his arms across his chest. “My father drank too much.”