24. Violet
Chapter 24
Violet
I should’ve known something was up when Maggie knocked on my door early this morning, wearing sneakers and smiling like a woman on a mission.
Maggie doesn’t wear sneakers. She wears cowboy boots and judgment. So, when she hands me a clipboard and says, “We signed you up!” with that mischievous glint in her eye, I absolutely know that my day is about to go straight to hell.
“Signed me up for what?” I ask, gripping the clipboard like it might contain answers and save me from whatever mission she’s signed me up for.
Maggie’s smile widens. “The best event of the year in Bridger Falls.”
I turn to Mack, who stands behind her with an expression that practically screams mischief as well.
“Oh, yeah,” Mack says, eyes dancing with glee. “You're gonna love it.”
And that’s how I end up standing in the middle of Bridger Falls’ annual “Ranchers vs. Townies” contest, glaring at Maggie, Mack, and half the town .
I’ve had so much delicious food from all of the food trucks. Who knew that this was such a popular event in Bridger Falls?
Apparently, Bridger Falls does this once a year in the summer to bring the town together. The town people and the ranch owners all get together, eat good food, play games, and it’s all in good fun.
It has been a full day of events. And it has been so much fun. Until now. Because apparently, Walker is now my partner.
In a three-legged race in front of everyone.
And the way the crowd watches our every move? I’m convinced this was less about town spirit and more about a collective matchmaking scheme from everyone.
Walker stands beside me, scowling down at the thick rope binding our legs together.
His jaw is tight. His hands rest on his hips. His t-shirt stretches over his broad shoulders, and the way his biceps look should be illegal.
I try not to look. And fail.
“Tell me again how this happened,” he mutters.
I cross my arms. “Your daughter and Maggie are agents of chaos, that’s how.”
Mack waves from the sidelines, beaming like she’s never been prouder. “Don’t mess this up, Dad!”
Walker sighs, rubbing his jaw. “I should’ve seen this coming.”
I smile. “You’re slipping.”
His eyes flick to mine warm, sharp, and full of challenge. “You sure you can handle this, Red?”
The air thickens. Just slightly. His voice is low and rough around the edges, like a sandpaper tease against my skin.
“You sure you can keep up, old man?” I shoot back, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck .
He huffs out a breath, muttering something under his breath about how he can “definitely keep up.”
I grin. “What was that?”
His lips curl at the corner. “Nothing.”
Liar.
The announcer steps up to the mic, adjusting his cowboy hat. “Alright, folks! Time for our favorite event: the three-legged race!”
The crowd cheers like maniacs. The Betty Lou Bandits from the quilting club wave a banner that says: “TEAM WALKER & VIOLET: WILL THEY KISS OR CRASH?”
I groan.
Walker sees it and curses. “This town’s insane.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. But I can’t help but secretly love it.
His eyes linger on mine for a beat too long. Something shifts in my chest.
Maggie shouts from the sidelines: “Go get 'em, sugar!”
Walker groans. “Maggie, your paperwork’s officially getting sent in for the nursing home.”
Maggie just winks. “Hurry up! We want to see if Cami and Jack kill each other. They’re up next.”
The announcer lifts his hand. “Ranchers vs. Townies—GO!”
We take off, our legs tangled and steps uneven, already doomed. Walker wraps an arm around me to keep our balance, but it distracts me and makes me lean into him and glance at him, making me almost trip. Then it doesn’t help that I can feel his body heat where we’re connected.
Walker tries to match my stride, but his ridiculously long legs have me practically hopping to keep up. His fingertips hold me steady, but we’re already a mess of limbs.
“Damn it, Violet—move your leg! ”
“You move your leg, Walker!”
Geez, who knew Walker was so competitive?
We lurch forward, limbs flailing, like a drunken octopus trying to run a marathon. We both laugh but stumble and almost fall.
Behind us, Cami and Poppy wipe out spectacularly, landing in the dirt in a tangled heap.
I cackle—but that laugh costs me when I lose focus. Walker yanks me forward, his hand gripping my waist, and my heart skips a beat.
“Eyes on the finish line,” he growls. The sound of his voice sends a traitorous shiver down my spine.
“What finish line?” I gasp. “All I see is my impending death.”
Walker laughs, and damn it, that deep, rich sound does something wild and dangerous to my pulse.
“Just keep moving, Red,” he huffs.
Somehow, miraculously, we find a rhythm. His thigh brushes mine with every step. Heat rolls off him, amplifying the leather, soap, and sweat smells and mixing with the dust in the air.
I glance at him. Grinning. Breathless. “We might actually win this thing.”
And that’s when we step in a pothole.
We go down. Hard.
The ground rushes up to meet me, and I land with a bone-jarring thud. Walker’s half on top of me, his arm braced by my head, his body heavy, warm, and solid as hell.
The crowd erupts in laughter.
Mack is howling. “You were so close!”
I groan. “So very close.”
Walker lifts his head. He’s propped on his elbows above me, his face inches from mine. I go completely still. His weight presses against me in all the wrong—or maybe right—places. His breath fans against my cheek.
God help me, this man smells like a sin I want to commit twice. His eyes drop just for a second to my mouth, and everything fades. The crowd. The dust. The entire town shouting in the background… they all disappear until it’s just us.
The heat between us is impossible to ignore. My skin tingles and my heart races. I feel his breath and his muscles tense. His thumb brushes against my hip. I lick my lips. His eyes track the movement. His jaw tightens. His fingers flex. His gaze turns molten.
God. We’re one wrong move from a full-on public indecency charge.
And then?—
Maggie’s voice cuts through the haze. “KISS HER, YOU IDIOT!”
Walker groans, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. “I hate this town.”
I laugh, breathless and wrecked, but damn if I don’t feel the exact same way. He rolls off me, muttering under his breath as he starts untying the rope around our legs. I sit up, brushing dirt from my jeans. My pulse still races.
Maggie hollers: “YOU COULD’VE KISSED HER!”
Walker’s head snaps up. “Maggie, for the love of?—”
Mack walks over, hands on her hips. “So… does this mean you lost?”
Walker sighs. “Yeah. We lost.”
I nudge him with my shoulder, still giddy from whatever the hell that moment was. “But we had fun.”
His eyes flick to mine. He smiles, just a little, and his gaze drops again to my mouth. His voice is quiet. Rough. Just for me. “Yeah. We did.”
We walk back to the truck, our shoulders brushing every few steps. The sun dips lower in the sky. The crowd cheers for the next round. Maggie’s still yelling something about romantic tension.
Walker’s hand brushes against mine. I feel it like I would an electric shock. “Told you I could keep up,” he murmurs, voice low and wicked.
I force out a laugh. “Was that before or after we face-planted?”
He stops. Turns to me. His eyes are pure trouble, his mouth quirking up on one side. “Maybe next time… we try something with less rope.”
The air thickens again.
My mouth goes dry, and I can’t breathe. Because “next time” sounds a whole lot like a promise.
And God help me—I want it.
I know something’s wrong the moment I push open the garage door. Normally, there’d be music blasting from the old radio or the sound of Poppy swearing at an engine. But today?
Silence.
Poppy stands next to my car, leaning against the hood with an expression that screams guilt.
“Poppy…” I narrow my eyes.
She smiles—too wide, too innocent. “Hey, stranger! Here for your car?”
I glance past her to my dusty Subaru that hasn’t seen daylight in weeks. I run my hand along the roof like I’m greeting a long-lost pet. “Yeah, you know… since it’s been in car jail for half a century.”
Poppy chuckles and pushes off the hood. “Funny thing about that… ”
I cross my arms. “Funny how?”
She rubs the back of her neck, her eyes darting everywhere except at me. “So… it’s been fixed.”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
She winces. “For… a while.”
I blink. “How long is a while?”
She cringes. “I'm sorry that I'm not sorry.”
“Poppy!” I try to be mad, but I can’t hide my grin.
“Wait!” she says, holding up both hands. “Before you get mad, let me explain!”
I narrow my eyes to hide my amusement. “This better be good.”
She flashes a grin. “Okay, so… watching you and Walker do the whole ‘grumpy cowboy drives the stubborn redhead around town’ thing?It was like the cutest damn reality show I’ve ever seen. We all agreed it was best for… you know… morale.”
“Morale?” I sputter. “You kept my car hostage for entertainment purposes?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t love it.”
I open my mouth to argue, but before I can, the side door swings open. Cami walks in, carrying a tray of iced coffees, her eyes immediately lighting up. “Ooooh! What’s this? Trouble in paradise?”
Poppy cackles. “Oh, yeah. Violet just found out about the Walker chauffeur conspiracy.”
“Ahh.” Cami sets the tray of coffees down, picks one up, and sips it. “Yeah, that was a good run.”
I groan. “Wait—you knew, too?”
Cami shrugs. “Of course. The whole town knows.”
I sit heavily on the nearest rolling stool. “Wait. Are you telling me the entire town has been… watching us?”
“Watching is a creepy word,” Poppy says, already smirking. “We’ve been… encouraging. ”
Cami nods. “And placing bets.”
I blink. “Bets?”
“Yeah.” Cami sips her drink, totally casual. “We have a pool going.”
“A pool.”
“Mhm. On when you two will finally get together.”
I groan and drag my hands down my face. “Oh my God. You people need hobbies.”
“This is our hobby,” Poppy says with a grin.
Before I can respond, the side door swings open again. Mack walks in, eating a popsicle like she owns the place. She stops, surveys the room, and grins. “Ah. The Walker and Violet bet.”
I point at her, not able to hide the grin this time. “No. Just—no. Go… do algebra or something.”
Mack shrugs. “I don’t need algebra when I can read body language.” She leans against the workbench, crossing her arms. “And yours screams ‘in denial’.”
Poppy howls. Cami almost spits out her coffee.
“How,” I demand, “did I become the main character of this small-town gossip?”
Poppy wipes her eyes. “Babe, that happened the second you showed up and started making googly eyes at Walker.”
I groan. “I do not make googly eyes.”
“You absolutely do,” Cami says, voice muffled as she opens a bag of Skittles she apparently brought for this event. “That thing you do when he walks into the room? It’s like watching a deer spot a predator and freeze. Only you look way thirstier.”
“Thirstier?” I choke.
“Bone dry, sweetheart.”
Mack hops onto the workbench, swinging her legs. “It’s true. I’ve seen it. It’s gross. ”
“This is your dad. We shouldn't be talking about this," I groan.
Mack shrugs. “I got a text from Poppy. She said, ‘Come witness the moment Violet finds out she’s in love with your dad.’ So… here I am.”
I whip toward Poppy. “You summoned witnesses?”
She doesn’t even pretend to look ashamed. “Obviously. This is historic.”
I stand up too fast, knocking the stool over behind me. It hits the oil drain pan, which tips, and luckily, Poppy uprights before it can spill.
Mack whistles. “Well. That’s symbolic.”
Poppy’s trying to wipe away tears from laughing. Cami’s texting—probably live-updating the town gossip page. Mack, of course, looks delighted. “You okay?” she asks sweetly.
I glare. “No. I’m being emotionally waterboarded by my friends.”
“That’s fair,” she agrees, licking her popsicle.
Poppy snorts. “Come on, Red. Just admit it—you’ve got it bad.”
I groan. “You’re all insane.”
“And yet,” Cami says, “you love us.”
“Against my will.” I look down at my shoes, my heart pounding harder than it should. Because they’re wrong. And they’re also right. And I hate that I don’t know what to do about it.
Luckily, I don't have to think about it too much longer because Cami gets a text and frowns as she reads it. She looks up and says, "Who wants to do a little breaking and entering tonight? My pie is in a contest to win in the local category, and word on the street is Maggie cheated and had someone make one that rivals mine. And we'll see about that. I need that prize money, you guys. "
We all stare at her in shock and silence.
"It's for a good cause?" she raises her eyebrows. "And we can eat the pie that we steal..."
We all raise our hands and giggle.
At 10 p.m. sharp, the four of us stand across the street from the community center, wearing all black like we’re auditioning for a low-budget spy movie. Walker is at the bar, hopefully unaware that I'm helping corrupt his daughter.
Cami adjusts her mask. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. This is so exciting!”
Poppy wiggles her fingers like is warming up for something. “We’ve got one shot, ladies. One pie. Let’s make it count.”
Mack salutes. “I’m ready.”
I rub my temples. “We’re going to end up on the Bridger Falls police blotter.”
“Worst-case scenario, we bribe Sheriff Matthews with a slice,” Poppy says with a shrug.
Fair point. He probably will want a piece if this pie is as delicious as they say. Just sayin'.
We sprint across the street, ducking behind bushes despite the town being dead quiet all while Cami hums the Mission: Impossible theme song.
“Why are we whispering?” I hiss as we crouch by the side door.
“Stealth,” Mack whispers back. “We’re pie ninjas.”
Poppy jiggles the door handle. Locked. “Plan B,” she says, pulling a tiny kit from her pocket.
“You can pick locks?” I whisper in awe.
She winks. “High school wasn’t all algebra, babe.”
Thirty seconds later, the door clicks open .
“Holy crap,” Cami mutters. “She’s good.”
"You're going to have to teach me that," Mack says in awe.
“Don’t encourage her,” I say, stepping inside.
We creep down the hallway to the kitchen. The overhead lights hum faintly, the air thick with the smell of cinnamon, butter, and stealth.
Mack freezes beside me. “Do you smell that?”
“Peach pie,” I whisper.
“Victory,” she corrects.
We find the pie on a stainless-steel prep table, golden and perfect, covered with foil, and labeled, “MAGGIE’S. TOUCH AND DIE.”
Cami reads the note. “She’s bluffing.”
Poppy raises a brow. “Maggie never bluffs about baked goods.”
"I can't believe she's trying to win the prize over me," Cami huffs.
“We’ve come this far.” Mack’s voice is steely with determination. “We take the risk.”
“This child is terrifying,” Cami whispers. "She's going places. Maybe not Harvard. But places."
"Prison if we get caught! Hurry!" I say as we giggle collectively. We carefully lift the foil and inhale pure dessert heaven.
“Okay,” I say, pulling out the plastic forks Poppy brought. “One piece each. We take it so we leave no evidence.”
Poppy holds up her phone. “Wait, selfie first.”
So, there we are: four idiots, crammed together in the dim kitchen, taking a triumphant selfie over a stolen pie in our black stealth ninja clothing. We each take a bite and another selfie.
It’s pure magic. Buttery crust. Sweet peaches. A hint of cinnamon.
“Whoever made this is a genius,” Cami moans, eyes closed. “My pie didn't stand a chance. ”
"Not true, your baked goods are so good," Poppy says.
“If she finds out we did this, we’re dead,” I say, licking peach filling off my thumb.
Mack takes a second bite. “Worth it.”
We’re halfway to the door when it happens. The motion-sensor alarm we somehow missed when we came in the other door goes off. The alarm shrieks like a banshee. Lights flash. The oven timer starts beeping for no reason.
“Run!” Poppy yells.
Mack grabs the pie.
“Leave the pie!” I shout.
“Never!” she yells, sprinting for the exit.
We bolt through the kitchen, slipping on the tile like cartoon characters. Poppy knocks over a stack of mixing bowls. Cami crashes into a mop bucket. We burst through the side door just as Sheriff Matthews’s patrol truckrounds the corner. His headlights catch us mid-sprint.
Poppy throws herself into a bush. Cami dives behind a trash can. Mack still holds the pie, frozen in place like a criminal caught mid-heist. Naturally, I trip over my feet and face-plant in the grass.
The truck door opens. Sheriff Matthews gets out, arms crossed. “Let me guess,” he sighs, looking directly at me. “Pie-related shenanigans?”
I groan into the grass. “Yes.”
Mack holds up the pie triumphantly. “But we got it!”
Fifteen minutes later, we sit on the curb, still wearing ski masks covered in grass stains. Sheriff Matthews sits on his tailgate, eating a slice of Maggie’s pie right from the pie plate.
“You gonna arrest us?” I ask.
“Nah,” he says, taking another bite. “Maggie said to call her if you tried anything. I’m just supposed to take a picture for the town Facebook page. ”
Poppy groans. “I knew it.”
“Say cheese!” he says as he holds up his phone and snaps a picture.
Cami snorts. “Bridger Falls: Land of No Secrets.”
Mack licks pie filling off her finger and shrugs. “Worth it.” And damn it, she’s right.
But we also just had the best damn night of our lives.