Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The house was too quiet.
Wyatt stood in the doorway of their bedroom, staring at Raven’s side of the closet—the empty hangers swaying slightly from the rush of air as he’d opened the door. Her dresser drawers stood partially open, hastily emptied. The space on her nightstand where her books and reading glasses normally sat was bare except for a folded piece of paper with his name written in her familiar swooping script.
It had been a week since she’d seen him at the café with Agent Kwan. His two weeks was up. He moved toward the nightstand and picked up the note, though he’d memorized its contents days ago:
I’ll talk when you’re ready to tell the truth. Until then, I need space. – R
Wyatt sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress giving beneath his weight. The sheets still smelled faintly of her perfume, a scent that had once brought comfort but now only twisted the knife deeper. He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the stubble of a beard he hadn’t bothered to shave in days. His reflection in the dresser mirror revealed a man he barely recognized—hollow eyed, tension lines carved around his mouth, exhaustion evident in every feature.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Another text from Agent Kwan with updates on Moss’s operation. The DEA’s intelligence suggested signs that the shipment they’d been tracking might be moved up. With a sigh, he tucked the phone away without responding. It could wait five minutes. Everything could wait five minutes.
For just a moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight of what his mission had cost him.
“Enough,” he muttered, standing abruptly. This self-pity wasn’t helping anyone—not Raven, not the operation, not the community he was trying to protect.
He’d tried calling her every day, but her response remained unchanged: she wouldn’t talk to him until he stopped lying. The cruel irony was that his inability to tell her the truth was precisely what was destroying them. Each time he reached out, the wall between them grew higher.
Colt had called the day after he’d found her clothes missing to let him know Raven was staying in his old apartment above the medical clinic. His brother hadn’t asked questions, simply provided the information Wyatt needed and promised to keep an eye on her. That was Colt—steady, reliable, discreet.
Wyatt moved to the bathroom and turned on the shower, cranking the temperature as hot as he could stand it. As steam filled the small space, he stripped off his clothes and stepped under the spray, letting the scalding water pound against his tense muscles. His mind drifted to Raven’s face the night she’d seen him at the café—the shock, the hurt, the betrayal in those blue eyes he’d loved since kindergarten.
The DEA operation was entering its most critical phase. Agent Kwan had warned him that any compromise now could unravel months of work and potentially cost lives. But the life he was most concerned about saving was the one he’d built with Raven.
He shut off the water with more force than necessary and grabbed a towel, drying off mechanically. The Sunday family dinner at his parents’ ranch would start in an hour, and the prospect of facing his family without Raven at his side felt like yet another failure in a growing list.
His phone buzzed again. A follow-up from Kwan: Intelligence confirmed. Shipment timeline likely accelerating. Will brief tomorrow.
Wyatt frowned at the message. The operation had been meticulously planned, but if Moss was changing his schedule, everything would need to adjust accordingly.
He tossed the phone on the bed and finished dressing. The prospect of facing his family without Raven at his side felt like yet another failure in a growing list.
His phone rang—his mother this time.
“Don’t forget to bring that wine your father likes.” Anne’s voice came through, warm but with an unmistakable edge of concern. “Is Raven coming separately, or…?”
The carefully phrased question hung in the air between them. His mother knew something was wrong but was giving him space to explain on his terms.
“She’s not feeling well,” Wyatt lied, hating how easily the deception came to him now. “She sends her regrets.”
The pause on the other end of the line told him his mother wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t press. “I’ll save her some dessert. Your favorite cobbler.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, his throat tight with unspoken words. “I’ll be there soon.”
He hung up and stared at the phone in his hand, contemplating calling Raven one more time. What would he say that he hadn’t already said? The only thing she wanted to hear was the truth, and that was the one thing he couldn’t give her. Not yet.
With a sigh, he grabbed his keys and the bottle of wine his father liked. Maybe the chaos of family would be a welcome distraction from the silence of home.
The O’Hara family ranch bustled with the familiar Sunday evening energy that had been a constant throughout Wyatt’s life. Even before he reached the front door, he could hear the overlapping voices, the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, the deeper rumble of his father and brothers laughing about something.
He steeled himself before knocking, plastering on what he hoped was a convincing smile. The door swung open to reveal his mother, her perceptive blue eyes immediately taking inventory of his appearance, missing nothing about her son’s disheveled state.
“You look terrible,” she said without preamble, pulling him into a hug. “Come inside before you miss dinner.”
The familiar atmosphere of the house enveloped him as he stepped across the threshold—the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread, the whirring of ceiling fans fighting the summer heat, the walls lined with family photos chronicling generations of O’Haras. This place had always been his sanctuary. Today, it felt like a witness stand.
“There he is,” Mick called from his favorite chair on the screened porch, raising a glass in greeting. Still handsome in his early sixties with silver hair that had once been black as coal and the piercing blue eyes of his Irish ancestry, Mick O’Hara’s imposing presence filled any room he entered. “Just in time. They’re about to come to blows over the best fishing spot.”
“North fork,” Wyatt said automatically, shrugging off his light jacket. “No competition.”
“That’s because you’ve never caught anything decent at Eagle Point,” Duncan countered from the wicker couch, where he sat with his arm around Hattie, a tall glass of iced tea sweating on the table beside him.
As the family artist, his hands were constantly in motion, even now tracing invisible patterns on Hattie’s shoulder as he spoke. “You need patience for the big ones.”
“What he needs is better bait,” Aidan chimed in, emerging from the kitchen with a cold beer in hand. He passed the beer to Wyatt with a questioning look. “Raven parking the car?”
And there it was—the first in what promised to be an evening of uncomfortable questions. Wyatt took a long pull from the beer before answering.
“She’s not feeling well,” he repeated the lie he’d told his mother. “Sends her love to everyone.”
The room fell silent for a beat too long. His brothers exchanged glances, and Wyatt could practically hear the unspoken communication passing between them. The O’Hara network was firing on all cylinders.
“That’s too bad,” Hattie said, breaking the tension. Her hand rested protectively over her growing belly. “I was hoping to get her opinion on the nursery color schemes.”
Grateful for the diversion, Wyatt moved to sit beside her. “I’m sure she’d be happy to help when she’s feeling better. How’s my future niece or nephew doing?”
“Practicing for the Olympics, I think.” Hattie laughed, guiding his hand to feel a strong kick. “Duncan’s convinced it’s a boy.”
“Father’s intuition,” Duncan said confidently.
The conversation shifted to safer territory as more family members filtered in for the weekly tradition. Sunday dinners at the O’Hara ranch were a standing invitation—whoever could make it, did. Some weeks saw nearly every branch of the family tree represented; other times, just the core group gathered. But rain or shine, summer or winter, Anne O’Hara always prepared enough food for an army.
Colt and Zoe arrived with their enormous dog, Chewy, who immediately sought out Wyatt for ear scratches. As Laurel Valley’s most trusted physician, Colt’s medical practice kept him just as busy as Wyatt’s DEA work. His wife, Zoe, came in behind him. Wyatt noted the careful way Colt avoided mentioning Raven, though their eyes met briefly in silent acknowledgment of the secret they shared.
Uncle Tommy and Aunt Simone came through the kitchen door carrying a massive bowl of fresh summer fruit salad and homemade ice cream—Simone never arrived empty handed, even though Anne insisted she didn’t need to bring anything. Simone had been as much a mother figure to the O’Hara boys as Anne herself. Her elegant features were flushed from the summer heat, but her dark eyes missed nothing as they swept the room, taking inventory of who was present—and who wasn’t.
Blaze arrived moments later, still in his uniform, apologizing for being late. “Had to close up some paperwork on those break-ins at the north end,” he explained, accepting a glass of whiskey from Mick. His eyes found Wyatt’s, a subtle nod confirming they needed to talk later.
Ryder, Tommy and Simone’s oldest, slipped in next with his teenage daughter Mac, who immediately made her way to Sophie. Jax came in after her, the youngest child of Tommy and Simone’s five children, and then Sloane, their only daughter, came in last.
Dinner was served in the sprawling dining room, where the absence of Raven at Wyatt’s side was glaringly obvious. The empty chair seemed to grow larger as the meal progressed, becoming the elephant in the room that everyone studiously avoided mentioning.
Until they didn’t.
“So,” Aidan said during a lull in conversation, setting down his fork with deliberate care. “Anyone want to address the fact that Wyatt’s wife has been staying above Colt’s clinic for the past three days, or are we just going to keep pretending everything’s normal?”
Wyatt’s mother shot Aidan a warning look, but the damage was done. All eyes turned to Wyatt, waiting for an explanation.
“Aidan,” Colt said sharply. “Not the time or place.”
“When is the time or place?” Aidan countered. “Our brother looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, his wife is suddenly living elsewhere, and we’re supposed to just pass the potatoes and make small talk?”
Wyatt set his napkin beside his plate, his appetite gone. “Raven and I are going through some things right now,” he said carefully. “It’s personal.”
“Personal?” Duncan echoed. “We’re family. Since when do we do ‘personal’ around here?”
“Since now,” Wyatt said firmly.
“Boys,” Anne interjected, her tone brooking no argument. “Wyatt will share when he’s ready.”
But the dam had broken. Hank, who had been unusually quiet throughout dinner, exchanged a glance with Sophie.
“You two are awfully quiet over there,” Aidan observed, his gaze sharp. “Something you want to share with the class?”
Sophie flushed, studying her plate. Hank met Aidan’s challenging look with a steady one of his own. “Not our story to tell.”
The implication that there was indeed a story to tell hung in the air. Wyatt felt a surge of frustration—at the situation, at his inability to explain, at the concern on his family’s faces.
“Look,” he said finally. “I can’t get into details right now. Raven and I are having some…communication issues. We’re working through them.”
“Communication issues,” Aidan repeated skeptically. “Is that what we’re calling it when your wife moves out? Raven is part of this family too. We’re not just going to kick her to the curb because you’re having communication issues.”
“That’s enough,” Mick said, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Your brother doesn’t owe us an explanation.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt said, grateful for his father’s intervention.
But Aidan wasn’t finished. “What I don’t understand is why you’re letting her go without a fight. The Wyatt I know would move heaven and earth for Raven. Instead, you’re sitting here looking miserable while she’s holed up across town.”
“You think I want things this way?” Wyatt snapped, his composure finally cracking. “You think I wouldn’t give anything to fix this? It’s not that simple.”
“Then explain it to us,” Duncan pressed. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re letting the best thing that ever happened to you slip away.”
Wyatt pushed back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. The frustration that had been building for weeks threatened to boil over. These were the people he trusted most in the world, and he couldn’t tell them the truth either.
“Wyatt,” Blaze’s voice cut through the rising tension, commanding attention the way he did as sheriff. “Sit down.”
Something in his cousin’s tone made Wyatt comply, though his hands remained clenched at his sides.
Blaze looked around the table, his expression serious. “I think it’s time I stepped in here.” He met Wyatt’s eyes. “As sheriff I have a responsibility to not just the people of this town, but to those who help keep it safe. That includes Wyatt, who’s been coordinating with my department as part of his DEA duties. And I’m not bound by the same level of secrecy. There’s a time and place for it, but there’s also a time when it’s foolish.”
Wyatt hesitated, then nodded slightly. As sheriff, Blaze had been briefed on certain aspects of the operation—not everything, but enough. And unlike Wyatt, he wasn’t bound by the same level of confidentiality.
“Wyatt is involved in something important,” Blaze said, addressing the family. “Something that requires absolute confidentiality for the time being.”
“What, like a case?” Duncan asked, confused.
“I can’t go into specifics,” Blaze continued. “But what I can tell you is that your brother is doing something vital for this community, and it’s put him in a difficult position personally.”
“And Raven doesn’t know about this…something?” Hattie asked, catching on quickly.
“She can’t know yet,” Wyatt said quietly. “That’s the problem.”
Understanding dawned on several faces around the table. The O’Haras were no strangers to duty for country and family. Even their ancestor who’d settled in Laurel Valley more than two hundred years before had been the first lawman in the area.
“How much longer?” Anne asked, her voice gentle.
Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t know. Soon, I hope.”
A thoughtful silence fell over the table. Then Simone, Tommy’s wife and Blaze’s mother, who had been listening intently, spoke up. “I’ve noticed some strange characters at The Lampstand lately. Not our usual tourists. Men who sit for hours nursing one coffee, watching everyone who comes and goes.”
“I’ve seen them too,” Mick agreed. “And there was that group camping up by Redemption Falls last month—had all the gear but didn’t look like they’d ever set foot on a hiking trail before.”
One by one, family members began sharing observations—unusual vehicles with out-of-state plates, strange activity at night near the lake, tourists whose wealth seemed suspicious.
“Tommy heard something interesting from one of the fishing guides,” Simone continued. “Apparently there’s been unusual activity around the old Murphy cabin. Lights at odd hours, vehicles coming and going.”
Wyatt kept his expression neutral, though his pulse quickened. His family was unknowingly providing intelligence on Moss’s operation.
“And Anne—” Mick turned to his wife, “—didn’t you mention overhearing something at The Lampstand the other day? About a delivery?”
Anne nodded. “Two men at the counter. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but they weren’t exactly being discreet. Something about ‘the biggest shipment yet’ coming through next week. I assumed they were talking about restaurant supplies until one mentioned how much money they stood to make.”
Wyatt’s eyes met Blaze’s across the table, a silent confirmation passing between them. This matched the DEA’s intelligence exactly—the shipment timeline had been confirmed by an independent source.
“This town has changed,” Mick said, shaking his head. “When I was a boy, everyone knew everyone. Now we’ve got all these strangers passing through, and not all of them are here for the mountain air.”
“That’s why we need to keep these Sunday dinners going,” Tommy added, nodding at his brother, Mick. “Keep the family connected no matter what changes come to Laurel Valley.”
“Still,” Hank said, “that’s the price of becoming a destination. More tourism means more opportunities—legitimate and otherwise.”
Blaze set his glass down firmly, commanding the table’s attention with the authority that came naturally to him as sheriff. “I appreciate everyone’s observations, but I need to be clear about something,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If any of you see suspicious activity, report it directly to me or Wyatt. Do not investigate on your own, do not approach anyone you think might be involved in something illegal, and for heaven’s sake, don’t discuss your theories around town.”
His eyes circled the table, making contact with each family member. “Whatever’s happening could be dangerous. The last thing I need is well-meaning O’Haras playing amateur detective and getting hurt—or worse, compromising an ongoing investigation.”
Wyatt nodded in agreement. “Blaze is right. Keep your eyes open, but keep your distance and your observations to yourselves. This isn’t a mystery novel—it’s real, and it could be dangerous.”
The conversation continued, but Wyatt felt a weight lift slightly from his shoulders. His family had pieced together enough to understand that something serious was happening, even if they didn’t know the details. And more importantly, they were backing off, giving him the space he needed to handle both his professional and personal crises.
As coffee and dessert were served, Blaze moved to sit beside him, speaking low enough that only Wyatt could hear.
“Kwan called me this morning,” he said. “They’ve got confirmation on the shipment route. Trucks coming in through the north pass, then transferring to smaller vehicles at the Murphy cabin.”
“When?” Wyatt asked, tension coiling in his gut.
“Three days from now,” Blaze replied. “They’re moving the timeline up. Seems they’re getting nervous.”
Wyatt nodded, processing the information. “I’ve got a meeting with Moss tomorrow night. He’s expecting me to clear the routes.”
“Be careful,” Blaze cautioned. “I don’t like how he’s been watching Raven’s shop. Could be he’s suspicious, using her to get to you.”
The thought sent a chill through Wyatt. “I’ve had deputies drive by regularly, but they can’t be there all the time without raising questions.”
“I can increase patrols,” Blaze offered. “Make it look routine, festival security follow-up.”
“Thanks,” Wyatt said. Then, after a pause: “How is she?”
Blaze’s expression softened. “Holding up. Stubborn as ever. Reminds me of someone else I know.”
A ghost of a smile touched Wyatt’s lips. “She’s got every right to be angry.”
“She does,” Blaze agreed. “But she loves you. And once this is over and you can explain everything…”
“If she’ll still listen,” Wyatt said, the fear that had been haunting him finally spoken aloud.
“She will,” Blaze assured him. “The O’Haras are known for our second chances. It’s practically a family tradition.”
As the evening wound down, Wyatt found himself cornered by his mother in the kitchen while helping with dishes—a transparent ploy to get him alone, but one he didn’t have the heart to avoid.
“I won’t ask you to tell me what’s going on,” Anne said, handing him a plate to dry. “But I will ask you this—are you being careful?”
“As careful as I can be,” he answered honestly.
Anne nodded, accepting this. “And Raven? Is she safe?”
The question hit him squarely in the chest. Was she? With Moss potentially watching her, with the operation approaching its most dangerous phase, could he really guarantee her safety?
“I’m doing everything I can to make sure she is,” he said finally.
His mother studied his face, then reached up to touch his cheek, the gesture achingly tender. “When your Uncle Tommy first went into special ops, Simone didn’t hear from him for months at a time. There were missions where he couldn’t tell her where he was going or when he’d be back.”
Wyatt nodded, familiar with the stories of his uncle’s military service that had inspired Blaze and his siblings to follow similar paths.
“Simone told me once that she was so angry,” Anne continued, surprising him. “She felt shut out, like Tommy didn’t trust her enough to include her. One night, she packed a bag and was halfway to her parents’ house when she realized something: his silence wasn’t about a lack of trust in her. It was about protecting her from a burden she didn’t need to carry.”
She turned back to the sink, rinsing another plate. “Sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is carry our heaviest burdens alone, so those we love don’t have to. But Wyatt?” She looked at him again, her blue eyes serious. “Don’t carry them alone for too long. No marriage can survive that indefinitely.”
“I’m trying, Mom,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“I know you are, sweetheart,” she replied. “And so does Raven, deep down. Give her time.”
Time was exactly what he wasn’t sure they had. But he nodded anyway, accepting the comfort his mother offered.
As goodbyes were exchanged in the driveway later, Wyatt found himself hugged tighter, clapped on the shoulder more firmly, looked at more intensely by each family member. The O’Haras took care of their own—that had always been their way. Tonight, he felt the full weight of their support, even without them knowing the details of his struggle.
Colt pulled him aside before he left. “She’s okay,” he said simply. “Comes and goes at regular hours, keeps to herself. Zoe’s been checking in on her.” As the town’s doctor, Colt had the perfect cover for keeping an eye on Raven without raising suspicions—his apartment above the medical clinic provided both privacy and protection.
“Thank you,” Wyatt said, grateful for his brother’s discretion and care.
“Whatever this is,” Colt added, “I trust you’re doing the right thing. But when it’s over, you might need to grovel spectacularly to win her back.”
Despite everything, Wyatt smiled. “I’ve already got plans for that.”
“Good man,” Colt said, clasping his shoulder.
As Wyatt drove home, the weight of the evening’s revelations settled over him. The operation was accelerating, Moss was watching Raven, and in three days, everything would come to a head. The risks were mounting on all sides.
On impulse, he turned his truck toward town instead of heading home. A few minutes later, he found himself parked across the street from Colt’s clinic, looking up at the apartment windows where a soft light still glowed. Raven was there, so close and yet completely out of reach.
His hand hovered over his phone, tempted to call her again. To tell her everything. The operation, Moss, Kwan, the danger—all of it.
But Agent Kwan’s warning echoed in his mind: “Operational security isn’t just bureaucratic protocol—it’s what keeps people alive.”
People including Raven.
With a heavy sigh, Wyatt put the phone down and started the engine again. Three more days. If he could keep the operation intact, if he could bring Moss down, if he could make it through without compromising either his mission or Raven’s safety—then maybe, just maybe, he could begin to rebuild what his secrets had broken.
As he drove away from the softly lit window, Wyatt made a silent promise: When this was over, he would do whatever it took to win back his wife’s trust—if she would still have him.