Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KRISTIN
The bell over the café door jingled as we stepped inside.
Warm air wrapped around us, rich with the smell of coffee, sugar, and butter.
Nora led the way, her laughter bright and easy, already talking about mimosas and cinnamon rolls.
Tayla and Fallon followed close behind, bickering about whose turn it was to drive next weekend.
The world outside had been sharp and white with frost, but in here the windows fogged with warmth.
For a second, it felt like the kind of morning where nothing could touch us.
Fred looked up from behind the counter, a towel slung over his shoulder.
His grin came easy, but the worry underneath it didn’t.
I saw it the moment his eyes found mine.
That quick flash of tension in a man who never wasted movement.
The same kind of look I had caught on Linc’s face before I left the house.
“Well, if it isn’t the jewels of the Diamond,” Fred said, voice steady and booming enough to sound normal. “You girls here to eat me out of pastries again?”
“Depends,” Fallon said as she leaned across the counter to kiss his cheek. “Are you still making those caramel rolls, or did you run out like last time?”
Fred chuckled, but the sound was thin. “I ran out because you bought half the batch, sweetheart. Coffee?”
“Always,” Nora said, slipping behind the counter, and made our lattes so Fred and Wanda could wait on their regular customers. This cafe was the first place I’d met Nora, and when Fred needed help, she was always there to step up.
“Don’t forget the mimosas,” Fallon said as she slid into the booth we always took over on Saturday. Fred rolled his eyes, grabbed mugs, and filled them himself. The smell of the dark roast hit the air, cutting through the chatter.
He set mine down last, his hand steady but heavy on the table. “You girls stick close today, alright? No detours. No errands after.”
The table went quiet for a moment before Nora laughed. “You worried we’ll start a bar fight again?”
“With you girls, I wouldn’t put anything past you,” Fred said with a half-smile, but it didn’t chase away the edge.
I met his eyes. “I know he called you.”
Fred gave a single nod. “Said to keep an eye out. You don’t need to worry, Kristin. Nobody’s getting close to any of you while I’m on shift.”
“Thanks, Fred.”
“Always,” he said quietly, and walked off to refill cups like nothing had happened.
Tayla leaned in as soon as he was out of earshot. “Okay, that was weird. Fred never gets weird.”
“Yeah,” Fallon said, tone sharp now. “If Fred’s spooked, there’s a reason.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “You two are acting like we’re in a thriller movie. We’re fine.”
I tried to believe her. I tried to let the warmth of the café and the comfort of old friends melt away the unease that had started to crawl under my skin since the moment I left the ranch.
But every time the door opened, I looked up too fast. Every time a truck rolled past the window, my chest tightened.
Fred noticed. He didn’t say anything, didn’t let it show beyond the careful rhythm of the mug in his hand or the way his eyes flicked toward the glass whenever headlights passed.
By the time I started my second mimosa, his attention was no longer pretending. The towel hung loose in his hand. He wasn’t wiping down the counter anymore. His eyes were on the window, sharp and focused.
At our booth, laughter bubbled again. Tayla discussed the horses she and Jake had just purchased for the girls. Fallon argued that the barn cat was smarter than half the men on the ranch. Nora laughed so hard she snorted orange juice through her nose. I smiled, almost felt normal again.
Then the bell over the door didn’t ring. It clicked. Soft and slow.
The sound alone froze me. Someone was easing it open instead of letting it swing.
Fred’s head turned first. His hand came down flat on the counter. His voice was calm but low. “Be right with you.”
The person didn’t answer.
Every nerve in my body went tight.
I turned in my seat. A man stood just inside the door. His coat was heavy, zipped high. His hat brim shaded most of his face. He looked like every other ranch hand in winter, except for his eyes. They swept the room like a calculation. He wasn’t looking. He was counting.
My heart stuttered.
Fred stepped forward from behind the counter. His towel was still in his hand, the motion smooth, casual. “Coffee’s fresh if you’re looking to warm up,” he said.
The man hesitated. “Just passing through.” His voice was too calm. Then his eyes met mine. It lasted only a second before he turned and stepped back into the cold.
I didn’t breathe until the door shut behind him.
Fred went to the window, lifted the edge of the curtain. His voice came low. “Black pickup. Parked across the street. No plates on the front.”
Fallon was already standing. “Fred.”
“Sit down,” Fred said, tone quiet but iron-hard. “No need to start a show. I’ll call Linc.”
He reached for the phone. At that exact moment, mine started buzzing in my coat pocket.
Linc.
“Hey,” I whispered as I answered.
“You alright?” His voice was sharp and breathless, like he’d already been moving.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“The south alarm just tripped again. Someone’s moving toward the road.”
My throat went dry. “Fred saw a truck. Black pickup. No plates.”
He cursed under his breath. “Stay inside. Don’t leave with the girls. You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I hear you.”
Fred hung up his phone. “You girls need to come upstairs.”
Nora blinked. “Why? What’s—”
“Now.” That was all he said.
No one argued. Fallon grabbed her purse. Tayla reached for her coat. We followed Fred down the narrow hall, which smelled of flour and coffee, our footsteps uneven on the cracked linoleum. The metal stairs behind the kitchen were cold and steep. My hand slipped on the railing as we climbed.
The apartment above the café was small, but it initially felt safe. The furniture was mismatched. The floral curtains sagged a little. The quilt on the couch had been there since Fallon married Nash. Fred’s boots hit the floor once, heavy and certain. Then he locked the door behind us.
“Phones on silent,” he said. “Stay away from the windows.”
Nora tried to laugh, but her voice cracked. “Fred, you’re scaring me.”
“Good,” he said simply. He went to the window and lifted the edge of the curtain. “Truck’s still there. Been idling for at least ten minutes. Black. No plates.”
My stomach dropped. “The same truck from the ridge?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But whoever’s in it keeps looking this way.”
Fallon’s face went pale. Tayla muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer.
Fred turned to the closet. The scrape of wood against metal followed, then the hard, mechanical sound of a shotgun being pulled free. He checked it once, loaded it, and stood ready.
Nora’s voice was small. “You keep that up here?”
“Been years since I needed it,” Fred said. “But I didn’t throw it out.”
He moved back to the window, posture relaxed but steady. His face didn’t show fear, but the air around him changed.
Fallon stepped closer to me, her hand brushing mine. Her voice came out barely a whisper. “If he comes in.”
Fred didn’t turn around. “He won’t. If he does, he won’t get far. Stay put.”
The hum of the engine outside sank into the floor. I could feel it in my shoes, a faint vibration like the building itself was holding its breath.
The silence pressed heavily. Tayla crossed her arms and started pacing. “How long are we supposed to just sit here?”
“As long as it takes,” Fred said. “Lincoln’s on his way.”
That made my throat tighten. I wanted to believe that meant we were safe. I wanted to believe everything would be fine now that he knew.
Time stretched. The room grew warmer, stuffier. The smell of coffee turned bitter. Every creak of the old wood made us jump. The sound of a door closing somewhere outside made Nora flinch.
Tayla pulled the curtain an inch before Fred said sharply, “Don’t.” She stepped back, eyes wide, muttering an apology.
Fallon sank into the couch, hands twisted in her lap. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered. “We’re sitting ducks.”
“No,” I said softly, forcing my voice to stay even. “We’re fine. Fred knows what he’s doing.”
But my pulse told a different story.
Nora sat beside me. She reached for my hand without looking at me, her fingers cold. “Do you think it’s the same guy?” she whispered.
I didn’t answer. The thought alone made the air thin.
Fred stayed at the window, eyes steady, breath even. Every minute or so, he adjusted his stance, just a small shift, like he’d been trained to conserve energy for when it mattered most.
The truck engine kept idling. Sometimes it revved, just slightly. It was like a taunt.
Fallon stood again and began to pace, her boots whispering against the worn rug. “This is insane,” she said under her breath. “He’s just sitting there.”
Tayla pressed a hand to the back of her neck. “Maybe he’s waiting for someone.”
“Or maybe,” I said, my voice tight, “he’s watching.”
That shut everyone up.
The quiet after that was worse. You could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen below, faint but steady. You could hear the low hum of the refrigerator through the floorboards. You could even hear the snow sliding off the roof in heavy, wet clumps.
Every sound felt like a signal. Every minute a test.
Fred didn’t waver. He just watched.
After what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes, I heard it —a low, deep rumble from down the street. More trucks, not the one outside. This rumble sounded familiar.
Fred exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly. “That’ll be Linc.”
I stood before my brain caught up. My heart thudded against my ribs.
“Stay here,” Fred said, already moving for the door.
When it closed behind him, the silence he left behind felt alive.
Tayla sat on the arm of the couch, one knee bouncing. “I hate waiting,” she muttered.
Nora had her phone clutched in her hand even though Fred told us to silence them. Fallon stood by the wall, staring at the floor like she was willing it to hold steady.
The air in that small apartment felt thick enough to choke on. I tried to listen for voices, for anything at all. For a second, I thought I heard gravel shift outside, but then it stopped.
From the window, I could see Fred standing in the street. The black pickup still sat across from the café, exhaust curling into the cold air. He stood with the shotgun lowered, his body steady but ready.
Then more sound. More engines. A low, rolling growl that made the windows tremble.
Five white ranch trucks turned down Main Street, headlights blazing. The Flying Diamond Five brand on the side of each door. Not intended to intimidate, but they inadvertently did so when they traveled like this.
We all recognized them instantly. Kipp’s Ford in front, Linc’s right behind it. Ryder, Nash, and Griff followed close behind.
The black pickup hesitated. Brake lights flared red against the snow before it pulled away. Slow at first, then faster. Out past the corner, out of sight.
I pressed my hands against the table. “He’s gone,” I whispered, and we all let out a collective sigh.
Outside, the trucks lined the curb. Men climbed out, moving slowly, scanning the street. Linc was already crossing toward the café, his stride long and purposeful.
When the door opened downstairs, I didn’t wait. I ran for the stairs.
He met me halfway up, his eyes sweeping over me before I could speak. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice shaking. “Fred got us upstairs.”
Linc nodded, his jaw tight. “He did good.”
“He always does.”
He pulled me in, strong and solid. The hug was quick, grounding, everything I needed.
“We’ll sweep the area, make sure he’s gone,” he said quietly. “Then everyone’s going home with their men. No detours. Kipp’ll drop Tayla off.”
“Got it.”
He pressed a kiss to my hair and stepped away. His hand brushed mine once before he turned back toward Fred, already speaking low.
Outside, the snow fell harder, covering the tracks and hiding the evidence that anything had happened at all. But the tension in the air didn’t ease. Not completely.
Somewhere out there, a man in a black truck was still moving. Still watching. Still waiting.
And deep down, I knew this was only the beginning.