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It was dark in the house, moonlight only offering a weak light as Stevie took each step down the stairs softly.
There was a murderer around town, and they were all on tenterhooks.
She was tired, but unable to sleep. Having checked on Xander countless times, she'd decided to head downstairs.
Passing the lounge room, her attention was drawn to the couch where she knew she would find a familiar figure: and indeed it was the sleeping form of Marcus sprawled upright.
Exhaustion lined his features, and as she stood in front of him, she saw that he hadn't even removed his boots. Heading over to the cupboard, she removed a blanket. Loosening the fabric, she spread it over the prone form.
He didn't even budge when she gently slipped the boots from his feet. Placing them on the ground, she sat on the coffee table and took a minute to look at the man who had declared himself their unofficial protector.
She had balked at it – of course – but had discovered after the first night, that regardless of her opinion, Marcus simply let himself in and spent the night on the couch, gone at dawn the next morning.
Standing, refusing to believe that Drovers would be a target, yet knowing that they could very easily be, she spared one last look at the sleeping man. On impulse, she reached forward and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
Returning upstairs, she hated to admit it, but she was glad he was there.
Next chapter: Number two.