Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
KRISTIN
Ishould’ve known Lexie wouldn’t let it slide.
She and the girls cornered me as soon as we walked into the house.
The air still smelled faintly of wood smoke and coffee, and before I could even shrug off my jacket, I was surrounded.
Lexie’s arms folded tight across her chest, Fallon’s sharp eyes narrowing like she was gearing up for interrogation, and Nora hovered close, her soft smile the only thing keeping the room from catching fire.
Thankfully, Elle intervened. She didn’t even glance at the gold band on my hand.
Instead, she focused on the bruises, asking questions about the fall and my ribs.
None of it had to do with marriage. That alone made me want to hug her.
The fall was the easiest thing that had happened in the last two days. Between needing to be rescued, the gold wedding band that caught every bit of light, and being back in Montana facing my friends and family, I’d take the fall a hundred times over. At least that pain made sense.
Lincoln stood behind me like a soldier guarding the most prized possession.
Broad shoulders relaxed, hands tucked into his jeans pockets, looking as if this wasn’t a firing squad.
The entire kitchen vibrated with energy, their curiosity thick in the air.
His silence said more than any explanation ever could.
But my heart still beat a million miles an hour hearing him call me his wife.
I mean, of course, I was his wife, but when he spoke to Lexie and said the word 'wife' as if it had weight, I felt the shift in my chest. It was a piece of paper, nothing more. That’s what I told myself. We’d go home, figure all this out, and I could already see an annulment in our future.
But did I want that?
The thought needled at me, catching under my ribs worse than the bruise. Meanwhile, my hip throbbed, my head pounded, and I had zero patience left. I just wanted to go home. Wherever that was now.
“Married,” Fallon said, voice tight. Her sharp gaze bounced between me and Lincoln like she was trying to peel us open, layer by layer. “You can’t just drop that on us and expect business as usual.”
I took a sip of coffee I didn’t even want, mainly to keep my mouth busy.
The ceramic was too hot against my fingers, but it gave me something to hold on to.
Then I smiled, sweet as spun sugar. “That’s exactly how marriage works, Fallon.
One day you’re not, the next day you are.
It’s legal, clean, and done. No reason to complicate it. ”
Lincoln’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a laugh. “She’s not wrong.”
Griff didn’t find it funny. He thunked his mug onto the table so hard the coffee sloshed and ran down the side.
“Is this because of the handprint wrapped around your arm? If word gets out you two eloped and don’t even live together, that could cause huge problems.” The men gathered around me, all nodding, forming a wall of protective stares.
“Oh no,” I cut in, heart sinking. “I’m not, you’ve got another thing coming if you think.”
“Yes,” Lexie said crisply. “If you’re married, you live like it. Same roof, same space. No exceptions.”
I actually laughed, short and sharp. “You want us to playhouse? That’s ridiculous.”
“Whatever you two did in Vegas that led to you returning to Montana married, you have to live it. When you both decide to tell me what’s going on, I’ll back you, but until then, you’re legally married.
” She leaned back in her chair, arms folded, eyes cool and assessing.
The way she said it made it sound like a court ruling.
And then Lincoln, traitor that he was, put his hand on my shoulder, the gold band shining under the kitchen lights like this was no big deal, and said, “Fine. We’ll do it.”
I nearly spit coffee across the table. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t even flinch. “It’s not like we can’t handle it. I’ve lived with people worse than you before.” His eyes slid across the room, and the four other men smirked and rolled their eyes like they’d heard that one before.
My jaw dropped. “You think I’m as bad as these four?” I pointed to Linc’s business partners.
That infuriating smirk curved his mouth. “Depends on the day.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, but my cheeks burned hot.
Nora clapped her hands together, all cheerful finality.
“Settled. Kristin, you’ll move into Lincoln’s place.
It’s going to be so great having everyone close.
” Ever the eternal optimist, Nora grinned, and I wanted to snarl.
But deep down, I had to admit, over the last few years, the friendships in this room were what I’d missed almost as much as Linc.
I almost choked. “His place? That shoebox on the ridge?”
“I built a new place,” Lincoln muttered.
“You what?” I shot back.
“I built a new place, like the one we’d always talked about, on the edge of the meadow.” His voice trailed off, quiet, almost uncertain.
The words hit harder than I expected. For a moment, the air felt thinner.
My nostrils flared, but I refused to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing me crack.
I folded my arms and sat back, muttering under my breath about having to listen to him snore again and his ridiculous coffee habits.
Kipp tried and failed to hide his grin behind his mug.
“This should be fun,” Linc said. For him, maybe. For me? This was going to be hell.
By mid-afternoon, half my life had been dragged into Lincoln’s house. Boxes stacked in the truck bed, my duffel was slung over his shoulder like he’d been waiting years to do it. The drive out to his ranch was quiet, tension thick enough to chew.
The place was exactly like we had talked about that late summer night when the trees were changing, and we came out here before the nights turned cold.
The two-story white house with a wraparound porch almost seemed to rise out of the ground as we climbed the hill.
The siding shone faintly under the weak sun, and the porch swing swung in the breeze.
It felt like stepping into a memory I wasn’t ready to face.
The front of the house faced west, so we could sit on the porch in the evening and talk about our day while the sun set peacefully. The swing creaked softly, wood against metal. I longed to curl up there and forget everything.
I didn’t need to see more to know this was the house we’d planned.
Inside, it would have dark natural trim and a large staircase just inside the door.
Three bedrooms upstairs, each with dormers that filled the space with light.
I could almost see them already — the way we’d once dreamed of a family here, how I’d imagined our kids sitting in those window seats, watching the world turn gold at dusk.
The primary bedroom was located on the first floor, tucked away at the north end of the house, offering quiet and privacy.
French doors opened onto a small terrace that overlooked the meadow.
I used to imagine sitting out there in the mornings, coffee in hand, wrapped in a blanket while Lincoln fed the horses.
Linc opened the front door, and the smell of leather and cedar hit me hard. It wrapped around me, feeling both familiar and grounding. It was him. It was home. But it was also suffocating. I stood in the doorway, clutching my bag to my chest, my pulse thrumming.
“This isn’t permanent,” I whispered.
Behind me, Lincoln brushed past, carrying two of my suitcases like they were weightless. “You talking to yourself already? We’ve barely started.”
“Just marking the days until I can move back to my own space,” I shot back.
He placed the boxes in the bedroom, straightened, and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. “Your own space won’t be possible for quite some time. This’ll have to do.”
His words stung more than I wanted to admit. My chest tightened, but I forced a bright smile that felt like glass cracking. “Then I guess I’ll just have to find a place you won’t be in.”
Lincoln groaned. “God help me.”
I followed him up the stairs, the floorboards creaking softly beneath our feet. He walked into one of the bedrooms and set my suitcase down with a thud. The zipper burst open, scattering clothes across the floor. Of course, it had to be the bag with my lingerie.
My stomach flipped.
“My room’s the one to the left,” he said.
“You don’t sleep in the room downstairs?” I asked as he turned to go.
“Nope, that was for us. Didn’t feel right to be in there without you.” His voice was gentle, but it settled in my chest like something too heavy to lift. Three years ago, walking away had seemed like a brave decision. Now, it just felt like a wound I’d never let heal.
I didn’t go downstairs right away. I unpacked, checked emails, ran through a few orders for my business, anything to delay facing him again.
When I finally emerged, the smell of chili simmering filled the air, warm and spicy.
Lincoln’s boots sat neatly by the door, his jacket draped over the back of a chair.
I stood in the kitchen doorway, my hip aching, ribs stiff, arms crossed. He was at the stove, stirring the pot as if it were second nature. Steam curled into the air, catching the light from the window, and for a strange moment, I felt something inside me unclench.
“You don’t measure anything, do you?” I asked, watching him dump in more spice.
“Don’t need to.”
“Some of us like food that doesn’t taste like fire,” I said, stepping closer.
He glanced over, lips twitching. “Relax, princess. You’ll live.”
I hated the way my mouth wanted to curve in response. I remembered how many nights we’d lived on his cooking, sitting on the porch until the stars came out. Before everything fell apart.
I turned away, setting the table, fetching the beer he liked from the fridge. My hand shook as I poured my water. “This doesn’t mean we’re playing house.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmured.
We ate in near silence. The scrape of spoons, the low hum of the heater, the rhythmic tick of the clock filled the space. Every time his knee brushed mine, heat rippled up my leg. I told myself it was just the small table.
After dinner, he tried to shoo me to the couch while he washed dishes, but pride made me insist. I rolled up my sleeves, ignoring the pain in my ribs, and scrubbed the plates until my arms ached.
Lincoln moved in behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him at my back. He reached past me to rinse a bowl, his arm brushing mine.
“Careful,” he said low. “You’ll make yourself even more sore than you are now.”
I froze. The plate slipped under the suds. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t act like you still get to care.” The silence that followed was heavy.
Finally, he stepped back. “Fine. Do whatever you want, Tin.”
The nickname still hit like a soft blow. It shouldn’t have made me feel safe, but it did.
When it came time for bed, I shut the door harder than I meant to. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that hums. I heard the faint creak of the floorboards as Lincoln climbed the stairs after locking up. Always careful. Always in control.
I lay stiff on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. The sheets smelled faintly of detergent and cedar. I told myself I didn’t care. That it didn’t matter that he was just on the other side of that wall. That I didn’t miss the sound of his breathing beside me.
But long after the heater cycled off, long after the moonlight shifted across the ceiling, I still lay awake. My ribs throbbed, my hip ached, and my heart refused to slow down.
How was I supposed to survive living with the one man I could never seem to quit?