Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Luke
Three weeks into my return home, and I think I’ve spent more time elbow-deep in flour than I have on patrol.
The irony isn’t lost on me, though. I left the chaos of a big city and came home to take over as sheriff of a sleepy little town, but instead, whether I want to or not, I’m learning the ins and outs of running a bakery from my sisters.
“Don’t forget you’re making two dozen,” Anna says for the third time this morning from her perch at the edge of a large working counter.
Her voice carries a special edge when she thinks I’m not paying attention, and the tone hasn’t changed since she was a little girl chasing after me to play tea party with her and her stuffed toys.
“And…”
“And one batch has raisins and the other doesn’t.” I finish, not looking up from the dough I’m currently kneading. “I got it the first twelve times.”
She huffs, wiping her hands on an apron that displays the business logo, leaving behind smudges of chocolate from the buttercream she’s mixing. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to help run this place, you need to know what you’re doing.”
“I thought my job title read Sheriff, not Pastry Chef.”
The truth is, I don’t mind the work. Some of my fondest memories include spending hours with Mom and Grams while they baked and I tested.
When I entered grade school, they figured it was time to put me to use in the kitchen, since I spent every other day there.
There’s something oddly soothing about the routine of measuring ingredients, kneading dough, and the methodical process of creating something people want.
It’s a hell of a lot different from chasing down drug dealers and responding to domestic violence calls.
“Anna may have officially taken over the business, but this place belongs to all of us,” Harper adds to the conversation as she appears in the kitchen, leaving her post in the front of the store.
“We’ve sold exactly two cups of coffee, three muffins, and two mini loaves.
It’s almost noon.” Her disappointment is evident in the pout she’s sporting and the worry creasing her brow line.
Anna warned me she’d been struggling to keep the bakery open.
Since I arrived this morning after checking in at the station, only three customers had come through the door, one of them Mrs. Jenkins who bought a single muffin and spent the entire transaction giving Harper the stink eye while she looked me up and down from over the top of her glasses.
I got the distinct impression that if she could still drive, she would have gone to the next town to get her morning breakfast fix.
I start to roll out the dough, letting my hands work while my mind wanders. Although it’s been a while, I’ve made Gram’s cinnamon rolls hundreds of times and can do them in my sleep.
“This isn’t working,” Harper mutters, slumping against the counter, running a finger through the flour coating the surface. “Ever since the whole Kirk thing started, it’s like the entire town has decided to boycott us.”
I glance up at the exact moment my baby sister’s shoulders droop with defeat. She’s always been the sunshine of our family—optimistic, bubbly, seeing the good in everyone. Watching her deflate like this makes something protective flare in my chest.
“Maybe they just need time,” I offer, though I’m not sure I believe it myself. The thing with people in small towns is that they can be loyal as fuck. They can also pick sides and hold a grudge forever.
“Time?” She laughs bitterly. “Luke, it’s been eight months. If anything, it’s getting worse. Nobody believes that we didn’t do anything behind Callie’s back. And now with you back...”
She trails off, but I know what she’s not saying. With me back, the town has even more reason to avoid the Caldwell family business. The bad boy returns to add fuel to an already smoldering fire.
“I’m sorry, Harper. Maybe I should have stayed away.”
“No!” My sisters yell the word at the same time, and I almost jump out of my boots at the twin look of horror on their faces.
“We just wish you had come home sooner,” Anna adds, bringing it down a notch.
“I was talking about me,” Harper says quietly.
“You?” I’m not sure I understand how my return and Harper’s situation with Callie are connected.
From where I’m working, I have a direct line of sight through the front of the bakery and out the window to where I can see the library directly across the street.
Of course, I can’t see her. But it doesn’t matter.
Whether I’m at the bakery or on duty at my new job, I’ve been watching the library all week.
I’ve even started jogging by her place. I tell myself it’s a habit—observational skills ingrained since my training days.
But that’s bullshit, and I know it.
I’m watching for Callie’s honey-blonde hair and curves that still make my mouth go dry.
She arrives every morning at eight-thirty sharp, usually carrying a coffee from somewhere that isn’t Sweet as Sin and a bag that probably contains pastries my sisters didn’t bake.
She’s making a statement without having to say a word.
And the rest of the town seems to be on her side.
I’ve caught glimpses of her helping townspeople I’ve known my whole life find a book, laughing with that assistant librarian of hers, organizing what looked like a children’s reading corner.
She moves with purpose and confidence. The library is her domain.
I know this because I’ve snuck in and peered around the shelves, watching her.
I’m a cop turned stalker.
“Earth to Luke,” Anna says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “You’re overworking that dough.”
I glance down to find that the poor blob of white has been practically beaten into submission. “Shit. Sorry.”
She follows my gaze and smirks. “I can guess what’s got you so distracted. Here, let me take over.”
“I’m not distracted.”
“Right.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Just so you know, I’m not worried about this place going under.”
“Anna, I saw the bills at Mom’s.”
Her cheeks redden, but she doesn’t look up. “Gram got behind on the bills before she died, and I’m still catching up.”
“Is that all it is?”
She gives me a one-shoulder shrug. “It has been a little slow.”
“The place has been dead,” Harper chimes in.
“Let me help,” I say.
Anna stops kneading. “It’s not your job to bail me out.”
“I thought this was a family business?”
“In name only. I have it under control.”
Not based on the pile of bills I saw and the baking that’s going to waste. “Look, I have some money saved. At the very least, let me help with a few of the bills to take them off your plate. If you want, you can repay me in cinnamon rolls.”
Tears shine in her eyes, and she glances to the floor. “You don’t have to.”
I bend down, forcing her to look me in the eye. “I want to, Anna. Please.”
“Don’t you have to get back to work?”
“Anna—”
“Fine. But I will pay you back.”
While I’m pouring a coffee to go, satisfied that at least there’s something I can fix, the bell above the front door chimes, and we all turn hopefully toward the sound.
But it’s just Mr. Henderson, the high school principal.
That man has been the principal for as long as I can remember.
Only now is his hair a mix of salt and pepper, and he wears reading glasses. At least he’s a loyal customer.
“Morning, Mr. Henderson,” Harper calls out, her customer service smile sliding into place.
“Morning, Harper. Luke, nice to have you back in town where you belong, son.” He nods at me, and I’m grateful he doesn’t seem to hold my reputation against the bakery.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“I’ll take my usual.”
As Harper rings him up, I catch movement across the street. Callie’s standing in the library doorway, and for a moment, I’m certain our eyes meet. She stiffens, her hand tightening on the door frame. Then she’s gone, disappearing back inside like I imagined the whole thing.
“You know,” Mr. Henderson says, pulling my attention back, “that young lady sure has done wonders with the library. Programming book clubs and story hours for kids. She has a real community spirit. I’m glad she didn’t stray too far from town for too long.
She and her sister are the last living Coopers.
They belong here.” He takes his muffin and heads for the door, then pauses.
“Shame about all this business with that Kirk Adams fellow. Outsider, he is. That boy never deserved her anyway. Or you, Harper.”
Harper gasps as Mr. Henderson leaves the shop.
Anna shakes her head, and I shove a plastic lid onto my coffee cup, not sure what to say in the awkward moment. But before I can make my escape, the bell chimes again, and we all glance up to see Callie strolling through our front door.
It’s like my heart stopped beating for a solid two seconds before kicking back into overdrive.
She’s wearing a sundress the color of a summer sky, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail that makes her appear younger than her thirty-two years. She looks like sunshine, but there’s steel in her spine, determination in the set of her shoulders, and pure resolve in her eyes.
This isn’t a casual visit.
“Callie!” Harper’s voice is bright with surprise and something that might be hope. “What brings you by?”
Callie’s gaze flicks to Harper briefly before settling on me. “I need to talk to Luke.” Her voice is steady, controlled. Professional.
Harper’s grin drops, and the hurt in her face is unmistakable as Callie’s cold tone hits its mark. The hopeful light that had brightened her expression when Callie walked in is extinguished, as if someone snuffed out a candle.
“I’ll go check on the oven,” she mumbles, her voice catching slightly. She turns away quickly, shoulders hunched as she makes her retreat to the kitchen, where Anna’s already disappeared.