Excerpt #2:

Mason signed the necessary paperwork, put in a report, and left. Outside the station, he hailed a cab, and watched the familiar buildings pass slowly in the early morning traffic. He’d seen the anger in Winter’s eyes, and knew what it looked like. Damn his stupid instincts. She could obviously protect herself if needed. She didn’t require a man to do it for her. She didn’t manipulate to get what she wanted, nor had she ever demanded he watch over her every move.

Closing his eyes, the night flashed on the inner screen. He had to get it together. He’d taken time off work, saying it was a family emergency, and it was already getting close to Thanksgiving. Not that he’d had big plans. His parents were dead, no siblings, and he wasn’t going to spend the holidays with Beth’s family.

The cab came to an abrupt stop, and he handed the cabby the fare plus a good tip. Getting out, he stepped onto the sidewalk and stretched. Muscles protested, but nothing had been broken in the fight. A lot of bruises formed, and he couldn’t see out of the one eye, but otherwise, he was okay.

Stepping inside the hotel, he took the elevator to his room, and once inside, stripped. A hot shower was in order, and some serious soul searching. Part of him screamed to find and watch over Winter. She was still in danger, and alone. Word was her parents were going back to the Hamptons. The danger in Wyoming wasn’t likely to stay there.

A towel wrapped around his waist, he hit the power button, and sat on the bed. The news was the same thing, nothing good. There was a blip about a possible fight involving Winter Beauman, but it hadn’t been verified. He flipped the channels until he found an old sitcom. Leaving it, he noticed the red light blinking on his cellphone. Tapping the screen, he listened to the voicemails, saving a couple, deleting the rest. The final voicemail was from Emily, asking him to call.

He tapped her number in and stopped. Staring at the screen, he wondered why he was calling. He’d been clear about the boundaries. It was time to cut the cord. Deleting the numbers, he tossed the phone on the bed, and grabbed a pair of sweats. Turning on the TV, he settled into the recliner.

A noise woke him, and he opened the one good eye. He could hear rustling at the door, and frowned. Walking on the balls of his feet, keeping his footfalls quiet, he moved to stand on the side of the door opposite the handle.

He ducked at the sound of the shotgun cocking on the other side of the door, as the roar of a shot blew the door in. He caught the door, slamming it against the person trying to get in. He heard the groan of pain as it connected with the intruder’s face, and he rolled into the small entrance. One foot kicked out, the heel connecting solidly with the groin of the male.

“Call 911!” Mason yelled, the intruder falling onto his legs. He punched hard, hitting the man’s temple. The feel of the delicate bone crunching under his knuckles almost made him sick.

The body went limp.