Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Hopper
Maddison’s head droops against my chest, her tiny fingers tangled in the fabric of my shirt. Her soft breaths, slow and rhythmic, tell me she’s almost out, but her eyes flutter open one last time as I turn the page of Goodnight Moon .
“‘Gain, Daddy,” she murmurs sleepily.
I smile, brushing a curl from her forehead. “We’ve already read it twice, Maddie. How about we let the bunny and the moon get some sleep, too?”
Her lips push into a pout, her eyes going wide with that look—one I swear she’s been practicing. Someone’s been teaching her how to pull this off, because it’s getting harder to say no.
But I’ve got a few tricks of my own.
I pull her closer, swaying gently as I hum a lullaby. Her fingers curl into my shirt, her breath slowing. The fight slips from her little body, sleep pulling her under.
Carefully, I ease her into bed, tucking the blanket up to her chin. By the time I step back, she’s already lost to dreams. I kneel beside her for a moment, taking in her warmth, the quiet hush of the house, the softness of this small moment. She’s my everything, and nights like these remind me how much I’d give to protect her from anything that could ever harm her.
The glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling cast a faint shimmer, just enough for me to brush a kiss to her forehead and step away without disturbing her.
As I close her bedroom door, the house settles around me.
I head toward my room, rolling my shoulders, already thinking about the stack of paperwork waiting in my office downstairs. I’ve been pushing it aside for days, but first, sweats.
Tonight, the wind has been restless.
I pause by my bedroom window, glancing outside. The land beyond stretches into darkness, blanketed in shifting shadows. The barn stands in the distance, its silhouette etched against the tree line, as familiar to me as my own reflection. Beyond it, across the fields, is the neighbor’s house.
It’s been empty for years—windows dark, driveway overgrown. No one’s lived there since I bought this property almost three years ago. Back then, I tried to buy it too, but no one could tell me who owned it. Every lead hit a dead end. I keep meaning to check with the county records, see if it’s for sale.
But as I glance out the window again, something catches my eye.
A light.
Faint, barely there. But unmistakable.
It flickers, then steadies, glowing from inside that house. My stomach twists into knots. Maybe it’s nothing. A reflection, a trick of the moonlight. But something about it doesn’t sit right. No one’s been in that house for years.
In no time, I head downstairs. I grab my jacket, step into my boots, and reach for the flashlight by the door. As I step outside, the night air bites at my skin, crisp and cold, turning each breath visible. The wind moves through the trees, carrying a quiet unease I can’t quite shake.
The light flickers again as I make my way across the field, the flashlight bouncing in my grip. The next door neighbor’s barn comes into view first, its doors slightly ajar. I stop, my pulse ticking up. I don’t jump to conclusions, but this doesn’t feel right.
“Who’s there?” My voice cuts through the silence.
No response. Just the creak of the barn doors swaying in the wind.
I move closer, sweeping the flashlight inside. The beam catches on old tools, piles of hay, and shadows stretching like fingers across the ground. Everything looks untouched, abandoned. But the air—it feels alive.
And then I see her .
She’s crouched behind a stack of hay bales, her face half-hidden but unmistakable.
Like my brother Malerick—who worked for the FBI—taught me, I catalog the basics. Shoulder-length dark auburn hair. Brown eyes, wide and startled, locked onto mine like a deer caught in headlights.
For a second, neither of us moves. Time suspends, the world holding its breath.
“Are you okay? Can I help you?”
She doesn’t answer. She just tightens her grip on something—then I see it. A knife, small but firm in her hand. She’s cowering, but not in fear. More like she’s bracing for a fight.
I take a careful step closer, keeping my voice calm. “You don’t need to hide. What are you doing out here? Do you need help?”
Her breath comes in quick, shallow pulls. Then, finally, she speaks, her voice low but edged with steel. “I’ll call the police if you don’t leave.”
I exhale, tilting my head. “Not sure how well that’ll work since you’re the one trespassing.”
Her shoulders stiffen. “This is my property.”
She stands, all five-foot-three of her, her chin lifting in defiance. I’m six feet, and she still manages to make it feel like a standoff.
“This place has been abandoned for years,” I counter, arms crossed.
“Not abandoned. Just . . . momentarily unoccupied,” she shoots back.
I arch a brow. “Is that what we’re calling it? Because in the two and a half years I’ve been living here no one has been around.”
“Here, you live here?” she asks.
“No, I live next door,” I correct. “And I know for a fact that this place has been abandoned.”
“This land belongs to me,” she states.
I want to believe her, but a couple of weeks ago, there was an explosion. According to the sheriff—Malerick— the Doherty mansion caught fire due to a faulty gas line. That’s the official statement. However, I dragged the truth from him. It was criminal activity.
This woman might be part of the gang or whoever set the house on fire.
“Listen, I want to believe you,” I say, crossing my arms, “but I know for a fact there’s no listed owner. I tried to buy this place three years ago, and no one could even tell me who it belonged to.”
“Well,” she says, gripping the knife a little tighter, “now you know. Go away.”
I let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, see, that’s not how this works. How about we just call the sheriff and clear this up? You know, make sure everything is nice and legal.”
Her fingers tighten around the handle, her knuckles pale in the dim light. I half-wonder if she’s about to plant that blade between my ribs or just bolt.
“Honestly,” she exhales, “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
I tilt my head, studying her. “Notice what? That you’re back? Or that you’re hiding in my barn, looking like you’ve got something to run from?”
Her gaze flicks to the open barn door, then back to me. “I didn’t mean to . . . attract attention.”
“Well, congrats. You failed.” I take a step closer. “People might not have noticed you sneaking around, but they’ll notice lights in the house.”
She shifts, standing slowly, like she’s deciding whether to argue or make a break for it. “I wasn’t planning on being noticed.”
Her voice is stronger now, but there’s an edge to it, something raw and unguarded. Up close, I can see the exhaustion carved into her face, the way her shoulders pull inward, like she’s bracing for an impact that hasn’t come yet.
“Yeah?” I arch a brow. “Well, you’re doing a lousy job of being invisible.” I ask, keeping my tone gentle, “What are you so afraid of?”
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she won’t answer. But then she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “It’s complicated.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Complicated enough to hide in a barn in the middle of the night?”
That earns me a faint smile. “I was looking around. After all these years, it still doesn’t feel safe, you know?”
“Is that why you left?”
“You still ask a lot of questions,” she says, letting out a long breath and sliding the knife into her pocket. Her gaze flicks to mine.
“I ask a lot of questions?” I repeat, confused but trying not to let it show. It’s the way she says it, like she knows me. Then again, in this town, everyone knows the Timberbridge brothers. We have . . . a reputation.
“I remember you,” she says after a pause. “From high school. You looked a lot younger, but everyone talked about how smart you were. And hot.” Her cheeks flush as the words slip out, and she quickly looks away. “I mean, it’s not like I wanted to date you or anything.”
“You didn’t want to date me?” I say, clutching my chest with exaggerated hurt, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Well, that sucks because I would’ve dated you.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement there, almost hidden beneath the guarded look she wears like a shield.
I take a moment to look at her. Really look at her. Her cheekbones are high and defined, giving her an elegant, almost regal profile, though softened by the warm undertone of her light tan skin. Her nose is small, with a subtle upturn at the tip that gives her a hint of defiance, like someone who doesn’t back down easily. And her mouth—her lips are full, with a natural curve that’s almost teasing, even when she’s trying to hold a straight face.
The dark auburn hair brushing her shoulders, those wide brown eyes that dart between wary and determined . . . there’s something about her. She’s petite, barely reaching my shoulder. This is a woman I would’ve given the time of day if she had approached me back in high school.
And it’s not like I’m offended, but of course I have to ask. “Why not? I would’ve dated you,” I add, my voice dipping slightly, just enough to make it a playful challenge.
Her lips press together, and for a second, I wonder if she’s going to bite back—or just walk away.
“No, really, tell me why not?”
“I was a freshman. You actually tutored me in biology,” she says matter-of-factly.
Okay, now I’m confused. I know this girl and didn’t try to date her? I dated . . . well, I’m not proud of my dating record from back in the day. Then again, I wouldn’t have given the time of the day to a freshman. Too young, and probably too innocent for me. Though I really have to ask: “Who are you?”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the barn feels smaller, the space between us shrinking. There’s something in her gaze—a mix of fear and relief, like she’s been holding her breath for years and is only now letting it out. “Nysa Calloway.”
The name is familiar, but Nysa Calloway was . . . well, definitely very different back then.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “All of you—Timberbridge brothers—left.”
“Neither did I,” I admit, glancing toward the open barn door, the dark night stretching endlessly beyond it. My plan was to be gone for the rest of my life. “But here we are not. And if you need anything . . .” I trail off, unsure how to finish.
She nods, her expression unreadable. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” I say instead, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s get you back to the house.” I pull out my phone to check the baby monitor. Maddie is still fast asleep. “It’s too cold to stay out here.”
She hesitates but eventually nods, following me out of the barn and into the quiet night. The air is cool and crisp, no longer biting. I glance back at her as we walk, her face illuminated by the pale glow of the moonlight.
Her features catch me off guard—the strength in her jawline, the determination in her eyes, and the way her lips press together like she’s holding back something. There’s a fragility about her, but not the kind that breaks easily. It’s the kind that survives, that bends and bends but doesn’t snap. And it makes me feel . . . protective, even though I have no idea why she’s here—or what she’s been through.
As we reach her porch, she pauses, her hand resting on the railing. “Thanks, I guess, for walking me here.”
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask, glancing at my phone again to check the monitor. “If not, I can have my brother come by.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Your brother?”
“Malerick. He’s the town sheriff now.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but then she shakes her head. “Nah, just keep this between us, please. I really don’t want anyone to know I’m back yet. Thank you, though.”
I nod, my expression softening. “Anytime.”
As I walk back to my own house, the faint light in her window glowing behind me, I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. It’s not just her sudden reappearance. It’s the way she looks at the world, like it’s out to get her. Like she’s been running for a long time and isn’t sure if she’s finally stopped—or if this is just a break before whatever was chasing her catches up.