I eased to a stop at the bottom of the drive, every instinct tightening at once. The snow was still fresh enough to hold every print, and there, cut across our own tracks, was a new set. Narrow tread, light, and sharp at the edges.
The same as the ones I’d seen that morning.
I sat there for a long moment, one hand frozen on the gearshift, the other gripping the wheel until my knuckles ached. My heart hammered so hard it hurt.
Finally, I rolled forward, slow enough to feel each bump. The yard looked calm. The horses stood quietly in the pasture, heads down. The house lights glowed faintly through the windows, a picture of peace. But my gut didn’t buy it.
I didn’t breathe until I saw Linc step out onto the porch.
He had a mug in one hand, shoulders relaxed, but I saw the way his eyes swept the property before they settled on me. When I parked, he came down the steps, boots crunching through the snow.
“The gate was open,” I said as soon as I opened my door. My voice came out quieter than I meant.
“I know.”
“Did you leave it that way?” I asked hoping he’d say yes because he knew I was on the way.
He shook his head once. “No.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and cold.
“Probably kids,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “Or hunters cutting through.”
“Probably,” he said, though his gaze lingered on the trees longer than it should have.
He met my eyes then, jaw set. “Come inside.”
I followed him, the warmth of the house swallowing the chill, though not the unease.
The rest of the evening looked normal on the surface.
We finished decorating the tree, getting tangled in lights and laughter, pretending nothing was hanging over us. Linc strung the star across the top while I held the ladder and complained about the mess of tinsel on the floor. We cooked dinner together, the kitchen filled with the smell of garlic and rosemary. We played music. We laughed. It should’ve felt ordinary, but everything had a fragile edge to it.
Linc stayed close. Every move he made was deliberate. Calm, easy, measured. He didn’t mention the gate again, and I didn’t ask.
After dinner, he said he wanted to check the horses. I watched from the window as he pulled on his jacket, grabbed a flashlight, and crossed the yard. The light bobbed across the snow, bright against the dark. He paused at the barn door, standing still long enough that my breath hitched. Then he disappeared inside.
Minutes passed. The light didn’t move.
I wrapped my arms around myself and waited.
When he came back, his boots were crusted with snow, and a faint smear of mud streaked his jeans. He brushed the snow from his jacket, hung it on the hook, and gave me that easy smile that was meant to reassure. “Everything’s fine.”
But when he took his coat off, I saw the gun holster under his arm.
He never wore it unless he had reason to.
We watched a movie later, something lighthearted that neither of us really followed. Linc’s arm was around me, his hand absently tracing the back of mine. I tried to focus on the screen, on the flicker of color and sound, but my mind keptdrifting to those tire tracks, to the sound of crunching snow that wasn’t ours.
By the time we went to bed, the fire had burned low again. The wind had started up outside, rattling the eaves and making the old boards creak. I lay there beside him, eyes open in the dark, listening to the rhythm of his breathing until I drifted in and out of uneasy sleep.
Sometime after midnight, I woke to silence.
Linc’s arm was heavy around my waist. The house was dark except for the faint glow of the tree lights in the next room. I slipped free, pulled on one of his flannels, and padded barefoot down the hall.
The floorboards were cold under my feet. The house still smelled of smoke, pine, and coffee from earlier. I poured a glass of water and stood by the window, staring out over the yard.
The moon hung high, silvering the snow, making the world look almost unreal. The tree lights behind me flickered softly, casting tiny colored reflections across the windowpane.
