Chapter 5
The rooster crowed for the third time, and Liv still hadn't moved.
She'd been awake since four. Lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, phone face down on the nightstand like it might bite her if she looked at it again.
We know where you are.
She'd deleted the text immediately. Powered off the phone. Shoved it in the drawer.
Then she'd lain awake all night, racking her brain, trying to figure out what or who could have given up her whereabouts. The fact that she hadn’t been able to get through to Detective Sanchez filled her with dread.
Had something happened to him? Had his files been compromised?
Files that pertained to her? Specifically the phone number of the burner phone he’d given her?
And then it dawned on her. At the Colorado bus station.
She’d accidentally used her bank card. Olivia Langford’s bank card.
She’d nearly passed out when she realized her mistake, prayed no one would trace her, convinced herself she was being overly dramatic.
That she’d been watching too many crime dramas.
That she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Well, she’d obviously been wrong.
For the rest of the night, she’d listening to every creak in the old house, every rustle of wind against the window, every distant bark from Heather's dogs.
Waiting.
But nothing had happened. No footsteps on the stairs. No knock at the door. No black SUV tearing up the gravel drive.
Just silence. And the rooster. And now, golden light creeping through the gap in the curtains like the world hadn't just tilted sideways.
Liv pressed her palms against her eyes.
Maybe it was a wrong number. Maybe it was spam. Maybe. . .
She sat up. Swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Who was she kidding?
It wasn't spam.
Someone knew. And that meant she was out of time.
She should pack. She should leave. Disappear again before whoever sent that message decided words weren't enough.
But then she thought about Charlotte, sticky-fingered and earnest, telling her the biscuits tasted like a sunset had a baby. Thought about Heather, steady and kind, offering her space without questions. Thought about Mike, standing between her and trouble without even knowing what the trouble was.
Thought about the way his body had felt against hers last night. Solid, warm, like an anchor she hadn't known she needed.
Liv stood. Pulled on jeans, a sleeveless white blouse, and the worn leather boots Heather had given her. She braided her hair with shaking hands, swiped on concealer that didn't quite cover the shadows under her eyes, and took a breath.
One more day.
She'd give herself one more day to figure out if she was overreacting or if the walls were really closing in.
And if they were... she'd leave quietly. No goodbyes. No explanations.
Just gone.
Same way she'd arrived. She was beginning to fall in love with this family. The last thing she wanted was to put any of them in danger. That, she couldn’t bear.
When she walked into the kitchen, Mike was already at the stove, coffee brewing, bacon sizzling in the cast iron skillet. He glanced up when she came in, and his smile faltered.
Just for a second. But she caught it.
"Morning," he said, setting down his spatula. His eyes tracked over her face. "You look like you’re ’bout too pooped to pop."
“That bad, huh?” She’d never heard such a saying and it tickled her, despite the fact that she really was worn out. She poured coffee, added cream, kept her hands busy.
“In the best possible way,” he clarified lest she take offense. He was watching her. Not smiling anymore. Just... steady. Waiting.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just didn't sleep great. All the excitement and people yesterday. You know."
He didn't believe her. She could see it in the way his jaw worked, the way his shoulders tensed like he was bracing for something.
But he didn't push.
"Well," he said finally, turning back to the stove. "Any chance you're free this afternoon?"
Liv's eyebrows lifted. "Why? Planning another impromptu walk-in fridge date?"
He chuckled, but it sounded slightly forced. "As tempting as that is, no. It's the Bear Valley Town Rodeo and BBQ Day. Big deal around here. Parade, livestock, dancing, barbecue plates stacked a foot tall, you name it."
"After that banquet-sized dinner party last night you're already gearing up for another event?"
"We're not hosting. Just attending."
Liv's first instinct was to say no. To stay at the ranch. Stay hidden.
But if she said no, Mike would ask why. And she'd either have to lie or tell him the truth. And the truth felt too big, too dangerous to say out loud.
Besides, if someone really knew where she was, hiding in her room wouldn't stop them.
"Okay," she heard herself say. "I'll come."
Mike's grin came back, slow and warm. And genuine this time. "Good. You'll like it. Small-town chaos at its finest."
He tapped the prep board twice. "It's a planned outing for the guests, too.
The whole Watkins crew is going. Charlotte's riding in the sheep rodeo. Kenny and Joe are judging the calf scramble. Lyle’s on stand-by in case of animal injuries.
And I'm manning the pie auction table. I could use your expertise. "
The warmth in her chest tried to spread like honey, but fear kept it contained. "Well, I guess there's no sense in me staying here by myself if all the guests are going to town."
"That's the spirit," he said.
Liv wrapped both hands around her coffee mug and tried to believe that going to a crowded public event was anything other than the worst idea she'd ever had.
By noon, she was standing at the edge of the Bear Valley Fairground under wood beams and brutal sun, surrounded by an ever-present soundtrack of country twang and hollering children.
"Wow," she said, taking it all in.
Mike got out of the truck and came around to join her, adjusting his hat lower on his brow, his boots crunching on the gravel lot. "It's something, isn't it?"
A dozen canopies lined the dirt walking path, each decorated with gingham banners and ropes of little metal stars.
Locals in cowboy boots and well-worn jeans shuffled between stalls of homemade hot sauce, wood-carved wind chimes, kettle corn, and "World's Best Jerky" samples.
Over to the left, a small petting zoo emitted equal parts laughter and goat bleats.
To the right, an arena stretched out, packed dirt churning under the gallop of a barrel-racing horse.
Liv adjusted her sunglasses and took a deep breath. Scanned the crowd. Looking for... what? A man in a suit? Someone watching her too closely?
Everyone looked normal. Families. Couples. Kids sticky with cotton candy.
"You weren't kidding," she said. "This is a whole town in motion."
"Bear Valley doesn't do things in half measures." Mike's hand settled at the small of her back, guiding her forward. "If we find an excuse for a party, we bring the lawn chairs and the smokers."
The scent of mesquite smoke mingled with roasted pecans.
As they made their way toward the main arena, several heads turned their way. Liv's stomach tightened.
Mike leaned in and whispered, "You're new. New always draws eyes."
"Gee, thanks."
"Word's already out about your dessert empire. You're halfway to sainthood for that torte."
At the livestock pen, Charlotte stood beaming beside a small spotted sheep while Heather adjusted the child-sized helmet on her head. Lyle hovered nearby with his cell phone, ready to capture every moment.
"Miss Liv!" Charlotte cried. "Look! My sheep's name is Chicken, but I call him Noodle!"
"Well, that's smart of you. I don't imagine any self-respecting sheep wants to be called a chicken."
The little girl laughed and lovingly brushed her sheep's coat. Then she looked up at Liv, eyes serious. "You have to talk to them in a high voice. Otherwise they think you're a coyote."
"Is that true?" Liv asked Heather.
"Not even a little bit," Heather said, fighting a smile. "But she read it in a book, so now it's law."
Charlotte nodded, satisfied with her expertise.
Heather stood, slapping dust from her jeans. "First event starts in fifteen minutes. Charlotte's in the sixth slot, so you have time to grab some barbecue while the line's short."
"I think I will. I'm starving. You coming?" Liv asked, glancing at Mike.
"You go ahead. I need to swing by the auction table for pie inventory."
"Do you need a bodyguard?" she asked.
He raised a brow. "Are you offering?"
"I'm... adaptable."
He grinned. "I think I can handle myself around a bunch of pie bakers."
She'd just bet he could. "I'll grab you a plate while I'm at it."
"Appreciate it. I'll be fast. Meet you back at the sheep pen so we don't miss Charlotte's race."
Liv made her way to the food pavilion, allowing herself to enjoy the chaos of fiddlers sawing out bluegrass tunes, giggling teens jumping from hay bales, and a man with a waxed gray mustache hawking jars of ghost pepper jelly like they were gold bars.
This was Americana in high definition.
She'd just accepted two paper plates piled with brisket, pickles and tangy baked beans when a man came out of the line beside her, brushing her arm.
"Olivia?"
She went rigid.
Her vision tunneled. The noise of the fairground--the laughter, the music, the announcer's voice crackling over the PA--went muffled, like she was underwater.
Run.
The word screamed through her head, primal and loud.
But her feet wouldn't move. Her hands locked around the paper plates, grease soaking through, burning her palms.
The man, mid-thirties, sunburned, holding a plastic cup half full of beer, squinted at her. "Olivia Langford?"
The ground seemed to tilt.
"No, I think you've got the wrong person."
"I knew I recognized you," he continued, swaying slightly. "New York. Man, you were at that gala with those ridiculous chocolate towers! You catered that thing at the... what was it? Chelsea Pier?"
Liv's heart stopped.
"C'mon... I remember that accent. I asked if you made that mousse with goat cheese." He laughed, like they were old friends.