Chapter 3
This morning, it wasn't working.
Bacon fat popped in the cast iron behind her. Coffee burbled in the industrial pot. And somewhere outside, that damn rooster was winding up for round two.
Mike moved quietly across the kitchen, covering yesterday's bread with a cloth, piling onions onto a cutting board, checking the smoker temperature out back. He was all business this morning. Tall, broad, frustratingly handsome, and moving like the kitchen was an extension of his own body.
Liv caught him glancing her way across the steam-coated window, his blue eyes quiet with questions.
She hadn't said more than four words since entering the kitchen today, and she knew he'd noticed.
The side door opened without a sound.
Liv's hands stilled. She didn't hear footsteps, just the faint shift of air and the smell of hay and leather.
Kenny Watkins crossed to the coffeepot like he'd been there the whole time.
"Morning," Mike said with a nod.
Kenny gave a slight grunt in response, unsmiling. He filled his insulated cup with coffee, then his eyes flicked toward Liv. Stayed a beat too long.
Liv turned back to her dough, but her shoulders had gone tight. Kenny Watkins didn't say much. Didn't smile much. But he seemed to notice everything. And right now, he was noticing her.
"Want a scone?" Mike asked his brother casually.
Kenny hesitated before nodding, then plucked one from the tray cooling on the counter. He walked out without another word, his boots thudding softly across the wooden floor.
Liv exhaled.
"You all right?" Mike asked softly.
"I'm fine."
"Liv…"
She shook her head. "I'm used to kitchens being busy. It's just quiet here right now. That's all. And I don't think your brother likes me."
Mike laughed. "You'll get used to Kenny. He's like that with all of us. He was special ops in the service. Came home…different. He's never talked about it with any of us. So don't take his moods personal."
She nodded.
Mike studied her for a long beat but said nothing. Instead, he stepped closer, reached over for a mixing bowl behind her, and gave her shoulder the lightest bump with his. "And we're never quiet for long. Especially with the goats."
As if on cue, a sharp laugh drifted through the screened kitchen windows.
Liv looked out in time to see a tan-and-white colt skidding along the gravel toward the barn at a full gallop while Lyle and Heather chased after it with a lead rope flapping in the breeze and two border collie pups yapping at Heather's heels.
Liv let out an accidental snort.
Mike grinned. "Looks like they could use a hand. Wanna go help wrangle our future rodeo star?"
Liv took a step toward the door, then hesitated. She looked down at her apron, then at the lively chaos unfolding beyond the porch. "I think I'll stay like Switzerland for now. Neutral kitchen territory."
"Cowgirl in training," he teased. "No pressure."
As he moved past her, something in Liv's chest shifted. Watching him disappear through the screen door, his laughter mingling with Lyle and Heather's, the world began to feel just a little less foreign.
Liv was elbow-deep in pie dough when Charlotte appeared at the screen door, one boot on, one off, her braid half-undone and decorated with what looked like a small twig.
"Can I come in?" she asked, solemn as a judge.
"Sure, honey." Liv wiped her hands on her apron. "But I think you're missing a boot."
Charlotte looked down at her sock foot like she'd just noticed. "Tiny ate it."
Liv blinked. "The goat?"
"He didn't eat the whole thing. Just the laces. And part of the tongue." She said it like this was a reasonable Tuesday morning occurrence.
"Does Heather know?"
Charlotte climbed up on the stool by the counter, swinging her feet. "Uncle Mike's getting it back. He said a bad word, though. I'm not supposed to repeat it."
Liv pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. "Probably wise."
"Can I have a cookie?"
"It's not even ten in the morning."
Charlotte gave her a look that said mornings and cookies were not mutually exclusive concepts. "Uncle Mike gives me cookies."
"Does he now?"
"For breakfast sometimes. He says cookies are just flat muffins."
Liv laughed. "Well, I can't argue with that logic." She pulled a small oatmeal cookie from the jar by the stove and set it on a napkin. "But just one. And don't tell Heather."
"I won't." Charlotte bit in, chewing thoughtfully. Then she tilted her head, studying Liv with the kind of focus only six-year-olds could manage. "Are you scared of something?"
Liv's hands stilled. "What makes you ask that?"
"'Cause you look like Holly does when there's thunder. Like you're waiting for the loud part."
“Who’s Holly?”
“My dog. Well, one of them. We have a lot.”
Liv crouched down so she was eye-level with Charlotte. "Sometimes grown-ups get worried about things. But I'm okay. Promise."
Charlotte nodded, apparently satisfied. "Uncle Mike worries too. But he smiles a lot so people don't notice."
Liv's throat went tight.
"You should smile more too," Charlotte added. "You're really pretty when you do."
Before Liv could respond, the little girl hopped off the stool and padded toward the door, one boot on, one sock trailing crumbs.
"Thanks for the cookie!" she called over her shoulder.
And then she was gone, leaving Liv standing in the middle of the kitchen with flour on her hands and something warm and achy lodged in her chest.
Heather knocked gently on the doorframe of the walk-in pantry a little after eleven. "Got a few minutes?"
Liv looked up from labeling ingredient containers. "Sure. Is something wrong?"
"Not at all. Just wondering if you might want to come watch me work with Mo. He's our newest pup. Smart as a whip, but distractible as a toddler with Skittles."
Liv glanced toward the window. The open space beyond the barn. "I should probably stay close to the kitchen. I've got pie dough chilling and—"
"Mike can handle pie dough." Heather's voice was gentle but firm. "You've been inside way too much. Come on. Fresh air won't kill you."
Liv wanted to argue. Wanted to say that fresh air meant being visible, exposed, easier to spot if someone came looking.
But Heather was already halfway out the door.
Liv followed, pulse ticking faster with every step away from the house.
The sun had warmed into mid-morning, the light soft and golden without the harsh glare of glass and concrete.
Around the side of the barn, a fenced-in area had been set up with small agility stations.
A wire-haired black-and-gray puppy with mismatched ears sat in the middle, chewing on a bright orange rope toy.
Heather pulled out a treat pouch and tied it around her hip. "First goal is building trust. They don't work for people, they work with them. We do this right, and when someone's lost out there in the canyon or flood plain, this little guy will find them."
Liv leaned against the fence rail, watching the puppy race forward to sniff a training cone and then dart away again.
"You do search and rescue work?" she asked.
Heather nodded, her eyes more shadowed now.
"Mostly just training the dogs. But sometimes I go out on missions.
We had a scare with Charlotte a while back.
Scout and Holly found her." She glanced over at the German Shepherd and Golden Retriever sitting patiently—if a little judgmentally—as little Mo got distracted and had to be guided back to the training path.
"What made you want to do this?"
"I've always loved animals. But my real motivation came when my roommate in college went out for a run one morning and didn't come back.
" Heather's voice went quiet. "We never found her body.
But watching those dogs give their hearts and souls to looking for her showed me what I wanted to do with my life. "
"Oh!" Liv's heart pinched. "I'm so sorry."
Heather gave a small smile. "These animals saved me in ways I can't even explain. I was in a very abusive marriage before I married Lyle. And now... well, sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure this life is real. I'm a very lucky and well-loved woman."
Liv felt a pang of envy and tried to push it aside.
"You want to try calling him?" Heather asked.
Liv glanced up. "What if he doesn't come?"
"Then we try again."
It sounded like a metaphor. Everything did lately.
Liv crouched down. "Mo."
The puppy's ears swiveled toward her, but he didn't move. Just sat there, head tilted, like he was deciding whether she was worth the effort.
"Come here, baby," she tried again, softer this time.
Mo stood. Stretched. Ambled over like he was doing her a favor.
Then he flopped sideways in front of her, belly-up, paws in the air.
Liv laughed, surprised by how good it felt. She scratched his belly, and the puppy groaned, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
"He likes you," Heather said.
"He's bribing me for treats."
"Maybe. But he's picky about who he flops for."
Liv brushed her hand against Mo's scruff, and something in her chest loosened. "I forgot what this felt like."
"What?"
"Normal.”
Heather tilted her head. "Well, that’s us. Just normal people. And I want you to know, Liv. We’re here for you if and when you need us. Because I have a feeling you really do need us."
Liv blinked fast, her throat tight with emotion she hadn't expected. Was her fear really that obvious? "Thank you. I don't mean to be mysterious. I've just got a lot to process."
"Well, this is a good place to do that."
Late afternoon brought the hush of golden light and a faint breeze rustling through the porch screens as Liv worked in the kitchen alone.
The day's breakfast rush had long passed, and lunch dishes had been washed and stacked.
The only sounds came from the ticking clock and the soft hum of the walk-in fridge behind her.
Mike returned from leading a trail-ride picnic and dropped his hat on the hook near the back door, dust and sun clinging to his skin.
"You always this quiet?" he asked after a moment.