Chapter 13
Raine
By midmorning, the sun is already too bright, the kind of light that makes everything look sharper and a little unreal.
I keep replaying the scene in my head as I drive through town.
The way I turned a corner at the hardware store and slammed straight into a wall of muscle, coffee, and dark flannel.
Or rather, straight into him.
Tristan Blackwell.
Even now, just thinking his name sends a jolt through me.
I’d seen him from a distance before—from videos of council meetings years ago, in the old newspaper clippings Uncle Malcolm kept about the valley’s feuds—but up close, he’s something else entirely.
Broader than any rumor had prepared me for.
Colder, too. The kind of man who looks like he carries storms in his blood.
I should’ve said something… more. Something snappy, showing I’m in control.
Instead, I just stood there like an idiot, stammering out a sorry while my pulse tried to escape through my throat.
And then he looked at me—really looked—and it felt like gravity forgot how to work.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Get a grip,” I mutter to myself. “He’s just a man.”
The lie sounds thin even to me.
When I pull into the grocery store parking lot, I tell myself I’m just here for supplies—nothing dramatic, nothing that requires another emotional breakdown. The parking rows shimmer with heat, and I almost miss the figure leaning against a truck near the entrance.
Calder.
He looks the same as before—hands in his pockets, an easy grin that’s equal parts charm and trouble. But when his gaze lands on me, it shifts—something quieter, more thoughtful.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he says, pushing off the truck. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I force a smile. “Just a rough morning.”
“That so?” His tone is light, but his eyes track over me, sharp beneath the friendliness. “Or did you happen to run into someone close to me?”
I blink. “Close to you—?”
“My brother,” he clarifies, his grin fading. “Tristan. He was in town.”
My stomach dips. “We… ran into each other. Literally.”
Calder exhales through his nose, like that explains everything. “Figures. He’s been wound tight lately. Don’t take it personally if he seemed… intense.”
“Intense,” I repeat, half laughing. “That’s one word for it.”
He shifts his weight, crossing his arms. “Look, I shouldn’t tell you how to handle yourself. But Tristan—he’s not exactly neighborly. He’s protective of the valley, and he doesn’t like surprises. Especially not ones that wear blue shirts and walk straight into him.”
I raise a brow. “Is that supposed to be a warning?”
“A friendly one,” Calder says softly. “He’s not like me, Raine. When Tristan fixates on something, it doesn’t end clean.”
The words land harder than I want them to.
I lift my chin. “I can take care of myself.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods. “I don’t doubt that.” His smile returns, gentler now. “Still, be careful up there, yeah? The ridge has a way of keeping secrets.”
With that, he turns and opens his truck door. “You need anything—anything at all—come down to the distillery. Ask for me.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Thanks, Cal.”
“Anytime.” He hesitates, then adds, “And for what it’s worth—I like seeing life back on that hill again. Don’t let him scare you off.”
The truck engine roars to life. He gives me a small salute before pulling out of the lot, leaving me standing in the sunlight with the sound of his words echoing in my head.
He’s not like me. When Tristan fixates on something, it doesn’t end clean.
I draw a shaky breath, watching the dust settle.
The ridge road glints faintly in the distance, a thin scar curling toward home.
And for the first time, I wonder if I shouldn’t take Cal’s warning more seriously.