“With you girls, I wouldn’t put anything past you,” Fred said with a half-smile, but it didn’t chase away the edge.
I met his eyes. “I know he called you.”
Fred gave a single nod. “Said to keep an eye out. You don’t need to worry, Kristin. Nobody’s getting close to any of you while I’m on shift.”
“Thanks, Fred.”
“Always,” he said quietly, and walked off to refill cups like nothing had happened.
Tayla leaned in as soon as he was out of earshot. “Okay, that was weird. Fred never gets weird.”
“Yeah,” Fallon said, tone sharp now. “If Fred’s spooked, there’s a reason.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “You two are acting like we’re in a thriller movie. We’re fine.”
I tried to believe her. I tried to let the warmth of the café and the comfort of old friends melt away the unease that had started to crawl under my skin since the moment I left the ranch. Butevery time the door opened, I looked up too fast. Every time a truck rolled past the window, my chest tightened.
Fred noticed. He didn’t say anything, didn’t let it show beyond the careful rhythm of the mug in his hand or the way his eyes flicked toward the glass whenever headlights passed.
By the time I started my second mimosa, his attention was no longer pretending. The towel hung loose in his hand. He wasn’t wiping down the counter anymore. His eyes were on the window, sharp and focused.
At our booth, laughter bubbled again. Tayla discussed the horses she and Jake had just purchased for the girls. Fallon argued that the barn cat was smarter than half the men on the ranch. Nora laughed so hard she snorted orange juice through her nose. I smiled, almost felt normal again.
Then the bell over the door didn’t ring. It clicked. Soft and slow.
The sound alone froze me. Someone was easing it open instead of letting it swing.
Fred’s head turned first. His hand came down flat on the counter. His voice was calm but low. “Be right with you.”
The person didn’t answer.
Every nerve in my body went tight.
I turned in my seat. A man stood just inside the door. His coat was heavy, zipped high. His hat brim shaded most of his face. He looked like every other ranch hand in winter, except for his eyes. They swept the room like a calculation. He wasn’t looking. He was counting.
My heart stuttered.
Fred stepped forward from behind the counter. His towel was still in his hand, the motion smooth, casual. “Coffee’s fresh if you’re looking to warm up,” he said.
The man hesitated. “Just passing through.” His voice was too calm. Then his eyes met mine. It lasted only a second before he turned and stepped back into the cold.
I didn’t breathe until the door shut behind him.
Fred went to the window, lifted the edge of the curtain. His voice came low. “Black pickup. Parked across the street. No plates on the front.”
Fallon was already standing. “Fred.”
“Sit down,” Fred said, tone quiet but iron-hard. “No need to start a show. I’ll call Linc.”
He reached for the phone. At that exact moment, mine started buzzing in my coat pocket.
Linc.
“Hey,” I whispered as I answered.
“You alright?” His voice was sharp and breathless, like he’d already been moving.
“I’m fine. Why?”
