Chapter Six
B y the time she and Matthew and Sammy circled back to the main lot, the nursery had settled into its usual rhythm.
The sprinklers ticked quietly in the distance like a metronome keeping time.
A pair of employees worked near the shade tunnel, their motions fluid and practiced as they unloaded bags of soil onto a wooden cart.
The air smelled of lavender, damp earth, and the faint tang of fertilizer.
Normally, that mix grounded her. Today, it scratched at her nerves.
Too much sat beneath the surface, unspoken but undeniable.
Caspian stood near the potting shed, talking with Nate and Rosie from the front desk.
He leaned against one of the posts, arms crossed casually, but his posture was all purpose.
Callie slowed her steps. She didn’t want to interrupt, but Caspian’s voice reached her anyway, low and measured.
There was nothing urgent in his tone, but it held that quiet command people didn’t ignore.
He was asking the right questions, and her team was listening.
Rosie shook her head at something. Nate pointed toward the lot. Callie caught enough to know they hadn’t dismissed the strange delivery as a fluke. Caspian gave a nod, said something that made Rosie smile, and then turned to walk toward her.
“Nothing out of the ordinary from your team,” he said, brushing dust off his palms. “Nobody recognized the truck or the driver. But they all mentioned Mickie showing up late.”
“He had a flat tire,” Callie replied, a little sharper than she meant to.
Matthew’s brow ticked upward. “So that explains the ghost delivery taking his place.”
Callie frowned. “Sort of. Mick doesn’t use third-party suppliers. Never has.” She crossed her arms, the breeze catching the hem of her shirt. “If someone hijacked his delivery window, they knew our schedule.”
The idea lodged deep in her chest, an anchor pulling against her ribs. Intentional. Timed. Whoever had done it knew the routine here. They’d chosen this place on purpose.
Matthew’s gaze shifted to the gravel lot where the truck had parked.
His expression didn’t give anything away.
When he looked at her again, there was something steady in his eyes, like he’d already started calculating the next move.
Having him there, grounded and watching, made it easier to breathe.
She didn’t say anything, she just nodded. It wasn’t over. Not yet.
Caspian bent to pet Sammy before he glanced up and divided his gaze between them. “Okay,” he said, rising to his feet. “What’d you find?”
“There’s a scuffed area near the back corner—black rubber mark at the base of one of the posts,” Matthew said. “Could’ve been a tire spin. Not enough to ID, but fresh. Grass was still matted.”
“You get a photo?”
His lips twitched. “Of course.”
“And one of the motion sensors was shifted,” Callie added, her voice tight. “The one by the landscape display. I check it all the time. It’s not something that would slide on its own.”
“Deliberately turned,” Matthew confirmed. “Angle was clean. No storm damage, nothing broken.”
Caspian’s posture shifted, more alert now. “Someone walked the perimeter ahead of time. Scoped your layout. Knew how to avoid triggering the lights.”
“That’s what it felt like.” Callie’s fingers curled around her elbow. “As if they were testing us.”
Caspian nodded slowly, processing. “We’ll get a camera on that section of fence. Motion-triggered, wide lens. I’ll loop Carter in on what you found.”
“I’ll forward the photos to Carter and Gabe now,” Matthew said, holding up his phone.
“Good,” Caspian said. “Let’s make it harder for whoever this is to play invisible.”
Callie felt her shoulders ease the tiniest bit. Not because it was over, but because they weren’t brushing it off.
And this time, she wasn’t facing it alone.
“I’m going to go check by the road,” Caspian said before turning to walk in that direction, leaving her alone with Matthew and her jagged thoughts.
She headed over to the low bench under the shaded eave of the potting shed, while Sammy happily trotted over to his water bowl.
Her legs didn’t feel tired, but the weight in her chest had grown heavier with every passing minute.
A few yards away, the sound of shovels clinking against wheelbarrows mingled with the chirp of cicadas.
Familiar noise. Not enough to distract her.
Matthew joined her on the bench, close but not crowding her. He handed her a bottle of water without saying anything. He must’ve snagged two from the employee fridge.
She took it, grateful for the gesture. Her hands were steadier than she expected, but tension still buzzed beneath her skin, coiled tightly. She cracked the seal and took a sip. Cool, clean, but it didn’t wash the unease from her tongue.
He downed half his water, and the silence stretched between them.
She rested the bottle against her thigh, the condensation dampening her jeans. A breeze lifted a loose strand of hair against her cheek, but she didn’t brush it away. Her gaze had locked on the gravel lot across the way, even though the truck was long gone.
“They were on my land,” she murmured.
Matthew didn’t ask who she meant, he just waited.
She blinked and let out a slow breath. “They stepped onto my property, uninvited. Messed with my surveillance. Tried to leave something that shouldn’t be here. Then drove off like it didn’t matter.”
He downed half his water then lowered his bottle. “That kind of thing sticks with you.”
She nodded once. “It’s not the truck, it’s the intent. Whoever did this…they watched us. They knew our schedule. They waited for a gap and filled it like they belonged. That’s what’s getting to me.”
Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full.
Then Matthew spoke, his voice low and steady. “Used to see it on ops. The worst ones weren’t loud. They blended in. Came dressed like routine.”
Callie’s mouth quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “That’s how this felt. Not loud. Just…wrong. Wrong enough that I can’t stop thinking about it.”
He didn’t offer hollow reassurance. He didn’t tell her it would be fine.
Instead, he said, “It’s smart to listen to that.”
She turned her head, and their gazes met and held. There was something steadying in the way he looked at her, like she could lean into that strength if she wanted. The moment didn’t spark or burn. It settled deeply, like roots finding purchase in solid ground.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed that.
After another sip of water, she finally let her shoulders relax. “Carter’s running the plate. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Matthew nodded. “And if we don’t, we dig deeper.”
Another beat of quiet passed, but this time it felt different.
She wasn’t calm, not exactly. But she was no longer coiled so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Sammy must’ve sensed it because he curled up by her feet and closed his eyes.
“Thanks for the recon,” she said, glancing sidelong at Matthew.
He gave her a small smile. “Anytime.”
The breeze stirred the baskets overhead, sending a few loose petals skittering across the flagstones.
Callie rolled the bottle of water between her palms, watching as Rosie and Nate finished stacking soil bags by the tunnel.
Routine moving forward like nothing had happened. That should’ve been a good thing.
Matthew sat quietly beside her, not filling the space with words, but letting it breathe.
He glanced toward the greenhouse. “You’ve built something solid here.”
She huffed out a breath, not quite a laugh. “That’s the hope.”
“You’ve got eyes on everything. Your crew listens to you. No panic back there.”
“It’s not just mine,” she said, still watching the fluttering shade cloth along the tunnel line.
“My grandfather started this place, and my dad helped him build it before my grandfather passed. I worked alongside both and learned more than I could ever explain. After my dad died, I kept it going. My sister handles the books and jumps in when I’m buried in invoices.
This place was built on Morgan blood, sweat, and tears. ”
Matthew didn’t respond right away, but she could feel his attention settle on her, measured, respectful, nothing intrusive. The kind of silence that didn’t demand anything, only held space.
Finally, he said, “It shows.”
She blinked. “What does?”
“That this place means something. That someone loved it into existence. It sticks.”
Callie’s throat tightened unexpectedly. She looked away before the emotion could rise too close to the surface.
He didn’t press. He sat with her, letting the wind do the talking.
She took another sip of water, then set the bottle beside her. “I guess that’s what’s pissing me off the most. We fought to make this place real. If someone’s screwing with it on purpose…”
“They won’t get far,” he said simply.
She turned to look at him. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you saw something that didn’t sit right, and you didn’t shrug it off. You took a photo. You called it in. That’s the difference between getting lucky and getting answers.”
Callie didn’t respond at first, letting his words settle. That calm, measured confidence again. The kind that didn’t rely on luck at all.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Carter. He’s got something.”
She blew out a breath and stood. “Then we should probably go to my office.”
Matthew nodded and rose to his feet. “I’ll text Caspian to join us.”
There was no urgency in his movements. Only a quiet readiness she was already learning to read.
Sammy stood as they did, giving a full body shake before falling into step beside her.
Callie led the way toward the office, her boots crunching over the gravel path. The sunlight had shifted since morning, casting long shadows across the rows of potted herbs. Everything looked the same as it had when they first walked the perimeter. But it didn’t feel the same.