“Maybe. But that old man’s the one making sure you come home in one piece.”
She reached for her vest, her voice softer. “I’ll text when we’re done and let you know when we’re on our way home.”
“Do that,” I said, watching her pull her hair up, the morning light catching on her cheekbones.
She grinned over her shoulder. “You’re going to worry all day, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“Well, don’t stress too much, I’ll be fine.” She gave me a quick kiss and slipped into the bathroom.
I pulled out my phone and called Fred.
He answered on the second ring, the hum of the cafe in the background. “Morning, Lincoln.”
“Morning. Are you working the front today?”
“I am, I take it, the girls are on their way in.”
“They are,” I said. “Fred, keep an eye out for them, will you? Just make sure no one’s hanging around that doesn’t belong.”
He didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. “Are you still having trouble out there? Nash was telling me about it the other day” Nash and his dad hadn’t always been close, but over the last fewyears, old hurts were forgiven and grandkids could apparently chase away demons that haunted him.
“Something’s off. I’m not sure what yet.”
“I’ll keep watch,” he said quietly. “And I’ll keep your wife close. You’ve got my word.”
“Appreciate it.”
“You always do,” he said, then hung up.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and stood for a moment, letting the silence settle again. The air smelled like coffee and pine, warm from the fire I’d kept going since dawn. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world might hold steady after all.
But I knew better.
Kristin’s jacket still hung over the back of a chair, one sleeve trailing on the floor. Her glove sat by the door, her half-finished mug of coffee beside mine. She moved through my life like she’d always been here, filling the space without trying.
The floor creaked behind me, and I turned to see her leaning in the doorway. Hair tied up, my flannel half-tucked into her jeans. She looked like every definition of home I’d ever wanted.
“Be good, cowboy,” she said, voice soft.
“Always.” She walked into my open arms and I kissed her like I’d never see her again.
When we pulled apart she smiled with her eyes still closed. “Who needs to get buzzed from mimosas, when you’ve got those lips.” Her smile was intoxicating and I kissed the side of her neck.
The house felt too quiet the second the sound of their truck faded. The yard was peaceful. The kind of peace that made a man suspicious. I finished my coffee, rinsed both mugs, and turned on the old radio sitting by the window. Static filled the room before a country song cut through, something soft and familiar about the way love stayed even when it hurt.
I couldn’t focus.
I pulled up the security feed instead. Kipp had hooked the cameras back up yesterday, and I could see every angle of the yard. The barn. The north fence. The gate. The images flickered in crisp black and white, no movement anywhere—just falling snow.
It should have been enough to ease me. It wasn’t.
Old instincts don’t fade; they dig in. Every still shadow looked like a threat waiting to move. Every gust of wind across the camera lens made my pulse climb.
I grabbed my coat and stepped outside.
The air hit like a wall, cold and sharp. Snow crunched under my boots as I crossed to the fence. The gate latch was firm; the tracks from last night were filled in with fresh powder. Nothing looked out of place.
