At 7 AM, it's busy with ranchers grabbing coffee before heading out to check cattle, early shift workers from thelumber mill, and the occasional trucker who wandered off the highway.
The kind of people who get up before dawn, whose hands are already stained with honest work before most folks open their eyes.
"Morning, Sheriff," Dolores calls from behind the counter, coffee pot already in hand. She's been slinging hash and strong coffee here since before I arrived in Briarhaven. Hell, probably since before I was born.
Makes coffee strong and doesn't take shit from anybody, which is why half the town's scared of her and the other half's in love with her. "Usual?"
"Two coffees, actually. Both black, but make one with a shot of vanilla and extra cream."
Dolores raises an eyebrow, her weathered face creasing into something that might be amusement. "Got yourself a date, Gabriel?"
The word hits harder than it should, landing somewhere between my chest and my gut like a sucker punch. "Something like that."
She studies me with the sharp eyes of a woman who's seen every kind of heartbreak and bullshit this town has to offer. "Well, I'll be damned"
I don't correct her assumption.
I pay for the coffee and head back toward the clinic, timing my arrival for when Lucy should be emerging with Tyson.The morning air cuts clean through my jacket, carrying the scent of pine sap and snowmelt from the mountains.
Perfect weather for a walk through the small park behind Main Street.
Perfect weather for an interrogation disguised as casual conversation.
Lucy comes around the corner of the clinic just as I'm parking the patrol truck, Tyson trotting beside her on a leash like the well-trained companion he's become over his multiple visits.
She's changed into dark jeans and a soft green sweater that brings out the gold flecks in her brown eyes, her hair braided over one shoulder in a way that makes my chest tighten with something I'm not ready to name.
She stops when she sees me, and I watch surprise flash across her face followed by something that might be wariness. The careful expression of someone who's learned that coincidences are rarely innocent.
"Sheriff Maddox." Her voice is polite but guarded. "You're up early."
"Gabriel," I correct, climbing out of the truck with both coffee cups, trying to make the movement casual instead of calculated. "And not really. This is normal patrol hours in a town this size."
"Right." She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and I can practically see her mind working, wondering ifthis is coincidence or something else. "Well, Tyson and I were just heading out for his morning constitutional."
The formal phrasing makes me smile despite the circumstances. There's something almost old-fashioned about the way she talks sometimes, like she learned proper speech from books instead of playground conversations.
"Mind if I join you?" I hold out one of the coffee cups, noting the way her eyes track the movement like she's calculating whether it's safe to accept. "Brought you this. Figured you might need caffeine before dealing with whatever chaos the day brings."
She stares at the cup like it might be a trap, which isn't far from the truth. "How did you know how I like my coffee?"
The question catches me off guard, and I realize I've revealed more than I intended. Shit. This is exactly the kind of slip that blows surveillance operations.
"I heard you talking to Mrs. Cross about coffee preferences while I was at the clinic," I lie smoothly, falling back on years of undercover training.
The truth is I've been watching her long enough to know.
"Thank you," she says quietly, accepting the cup with fingers that barely brush mine. "That was... thoughtful."
But I catch the slight emphasis on the last word, like she's testing whether my thoughtfulness is genuine or has an agenda.
We start walking down the cracked sidewalk that borders the small park behind Main Street, Tyson happily investigating every tree and fire hydrant we pass like he's reading the neighborhood newspaper.
The morning sun slants through the bare cottonwood branches, painting everything in gold and shadows that shift with each breath of mountain wind.
"So," I say, trying to sound casual while my training catalogs every micro-expression on her face. "How are you settling in? Briarhaven treating you well?"
"It's a nice town. Quiet." Lucy keeps her eyes on the path ahead, but I can see tension in the set of her shoulders, the way she holds herself like she's ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. "Very different from what I'm used to."
