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CHAPTER 11
NAOMI
Two days later, the proverbial shit hits the fan. By the time I pull into the fried chicken restaurant parking lot, I’m panicking. I received a text from Casey a few minutes ago that caused my heart to stop.
Case
pls pick up @ 5
There were zero emojis or exclamation marks, which is the digital equivalent of her whispering for help from the bottom of a well.
Determined to keep my promise to Wyatt, I quickly messaged him about the situation but he might not see it for a little bit. Today, he’s helping the alarm company install an even more advanced security system.
I kill the engine and scan the lot. Three pickups, one battered sedan, and a familiar white-and-black truck with the words “Silver Spoon Falls Ranch” stenciled on the door. My blood pressure ticks up three notches knowing Stellan works for the ranch.
Inside, the place is packed to the gills. Every booth is full of patrons apparently aware that drama is about to go down from the tension hanging heavy in the air. I spot Casey behind the counter, scrubbing down a sticky patch of laminate with something close to violence.
She looks up as I enter, then ducks her head fast, trying to hide her face. It doesn’t work. I already saw her eyes are red and puffy, and the tip of her nose is bright pink. I slide onto a stool and wait for her to say something, anything.
She just shakes her head, chin trembling.
“What happened?” I whisper, low enough that only she can hear.
“Booth three,” she whispers back. “He’s been here since noon. Just… watching.”
My neck prickles. Booth three has the best line of sight to both the front door and the counter. Stellan sits alone, hunched over a takeout cup and untouched plate of fried chicken. His jaw works side to side, like he’s chewing on a grudge instead of the slice of pie that sits untouched in front of him.
“Tell your boss you’re leaving early.” I take charge of the situation.
She shakes her head again, more violently. “I don’t want him to have control over me,” she says, but there’s zero conviction in her voice. “I’ve stayed over here because I’ll punch him in the face if I have to get close to him.”
Not wanting my sister to get fired over the little asshole, I decide to handle it. I send Sheriff Armstrong a text telling him Stellan is at Cluckers. “I’ll take care of him,” I say, pushing off the stool and making my way to booth three before Casey can stop me.
The conversation in the restaurant drops to a simmer, every set of eyes tracking me like I’m a live grenade rolling across the tile. I stop at the end of Stellan’s table and stare down at him.
“You’re not supposed to be here. Casey has a restraining order,” I say, voice cold as ice.
He looks up, and the smile he gives me is razor thin, more a baring of teeth than anything human. “It’s a free country, Naomi. I’m here for the lunch special.”
“You should’ve Door Dashed it. You can’t be within one hundred yards of my sister.” I hold my ground. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
He visibly flinches. “I don’t care. She’s mine.”
“Not anymore.” I lean in, bracing my hands on the edge of the Formica. “You ever come near Casey again, you’ll wish the Sheriff was your only problem.”
That gets a reaction. His eyes flick up, sharp and glassy. “You think I’m scared of you?”
“I think you should be,” I say, making sure my voice carries to the next booth. “You’re one bad choice away from spending some time in a jail cell.”
He snorts, but the confidence is all fake. His hands are shaking. He looks tired, strung out, the dark hollows under his eyes even worse than before.
“You Bardots are all the same,” he says. “Bitches at heart.”
This little shit is starting to piss me off. “Don’t project your bullshit on my family. It isn’t our fault your mom left your dad for the pool boy,” I shoot back.
A hush has fallen over the diner. Even the grill cook in the back is pretending to wipe down the pass, just to have a better angle on the show.
The manager comes out from the back and approaches the booth. “Is there a problem here?” he asks, eyeing Stellan in turn.
