Page 13 of Savage Ranger Daddy

"Good. Stand up. I'm going to teach you some self-defense."

Her eyebrows climb. "Self-defense? Right now?"

"Storm's got us locked in. You've got a target on your back. If anything goes wrong and I'm not right beside you, I need to know you can buy yourself a few seconds to run." I clear a space in the center of the room, pushing the table and chairs against the wall. "You game?"

She stretches her neck, winces, and stands. "Fair warning, the last time I tried anything athletic I tripped over my own yoga mat and nearly took out a lamp."

"Noted. We'll start simple." I drop into a basic stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent. "Stance first. Solid base so nobody can knock you down easy. Copy me."

She mirrors me, but her feet are too close together and she's standing too straight. I step in and nudge her feet wider with the side of my boot. Then I set my hands on her hips and adjust her posture, tilting her slightly forward. She's warm under theflannel she's still wearing. My fingers register the curve of her waist before I make myself let go.

"Like this?" Her voice is a little higher than usual.

"Just like that. Now. If someone comes at you from the front, you don't freeze. You move." I show her how to raise her forearms to protect her face. She copies the motion, clumsy at first. I guide her arms into position, hands around her wrists. "Keep your elbows in. Don't leave gaps."

I throw a slow, controlled punch toward her shoulder. She blocks it and grins when her forearm connects with mine.

"I did it! Do I get a cool code name?"

"You get to do it again. Faster."

We run the block drill over and over. Each time I throw a punch she gets better at meeting it. Her laughter fills the cabin every time she succeeds, bright and unrestrained. The sound pushes against something in my chest that I've kept locked for a long time.

Next I teach her how to break a wrist grab. I take her wrist in a firm hold and show her the angle she needs to twist against my thumb. She fails the first two times, face scrunched in concentration.

"Use your whole body. Not just your arm. Step in, rotate, pull free."

I move behind her to correct her angle. She's close enough that I can smell coffee and something warmer underneath, something that's just her. She breaks free on the third try and pumps her fist.

"Take that, imaginary bad guy."

I show her a palm strike to the nose and a knee to the groin, both aimed at creating space so she can run. We practice the palm strike against my open hands. She's breathing harder now, cheeks flushed from the effort.

"You're picking this up fast," I tell her. And I mean it. She's coordinated when she stops overthinking. Her instincts are better than she gives herself credit for.

"My secret is pure spite. Nobody's dragging me into a van without getting a palm to the face first." She bounces on her toes. "What's next?"

"Escaping a grab from behind." I step in close, wrap my arms around her middle, and pin her arms to her sides.

The second her back presses against my chest, everything sharpens. She's warm. She fits against me perfectly, her shoulders against my ribs, her head barely reaching my chin. I can feel her breathing speed up. My arms tighten before I can stop them.

"Okay," she says, slightly breathless. "How do I get out of this one? Asking for a friend who's currently being bear-hugged by a very large marshal."

I keep my voice even. "Drop your weight. Stomp my foot. Elbow back into my ribs. Then turn and run."

She tries. Her stomp is light. Her elbow barely lands. I don't let go.

"Harder, Hazel. Mean it. Pretend I'm one of the men on that radio."

Something changes in her body. The playfulness drains out and something fiercer takes its place. She drops her weight hard, stomps down on my instep with real force, and drives her elbow into my ribs. I release her and she spins away, breathing hard, eyes bright.

"Again," I say.

We run it four more times. Each repetition she gets sharper, faster, more committed. By the last round she breaks free and spins to face me in one clean motion, hands up in the guard position I taught her, feet right where they should be.

"There she is," I say quietly.

She's flushed and grinning and standing in the firelight in my flannel with her hair falling in her face. The storm is screaming outside. The fire is popping behind us. And the look in her eyes isn't fear anymore. It's something brighter. She's proud of herself. She should be.