Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LINC
Nora’s kitchen looked like organized chaos by the time everyone showed up.
Boots thudded across the porch, doors slammed, and voices rolled down the hallway like a flood no one bothered to stop.
The smell of woodsmoke mixed with coffee, cider, and the faint sweetness of cinnamon.
Jackets piled on hooks, gloves landed on the counter, and someone’s scarf was tossed across the table like a flag of surrender.
The air shimmered with warmth, with breath, with the hum of a dozen conversations happening all at once.
It should have been overwhelming. Instead, it felt like the first real breath I had taken all day.
After the hours of silence that followed that black truck on Main Street, I needed this. I needed the sound of people I trusted filling every space that danger had touched. Dealing with something other than her situation was a more than welcome reprieve.
Kristin was right in the middle of it. Her sleeves were rolled, her braid had half fallen apart, and loose strands curled against her neck.
There was a faint smudge of flour on her cheek, though she hadn’t baked anything.
She smiled at the right times, laughed when Fallon cracked a joke, but I could see the truth in her eyes.
That tension didn’t leave her shoulders.
She was still hearing that café door click open, still seeing the dark shape across the street. Still wondering if it was really over.
Fred came in last, snow dusting his shoulders. He stamped his boots clean and leaned his shotgun against the wall beside the door. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The look he gave me was enough. We’ll talk later. He went straight for the coffeepot and poured a cup without asking.
“Alright,” Nora said, dropping her notebook on the table with enough force to rattle the saltshaker. “If we’re actually doing this Christmas Eve rodeo, we need a plan before we run out of time and sobriety.”
Tayla smirked. “We’ve got a few days left, and we know what we’re doing, and I think sobriety’s clinging by a fingernail.”
Fallon snorted and poured steaming cider into mugs. “So, business as usual.”
Laughter rolled through the room. The sound was sharp at first, then softened into a steady tone.
Even Kristin laughed, her shoulders loosening a fraction.
She brushed her hand across mine as she passed, fingers warm from the mug she was carrying.
I caught her hand and gave it a small squeeze.
She squeezed back without looking up, and for a second, it felt normal again.
Nora cleared her throat. “We’re hosting, which means we’re responsible for everything. Arena setup, concessions, lights, music, livestock, parking, crowd control. And no one mentions last year’s fiasco.”
Kipp raised his hand. “You mean when Griff fell off the hay wagon into the cocoa table?”
Griff frowned. “Are you planning to bring that up every Christmas or just until I die?”
“Both,” Kipp said, grinning.
Nora pointed her pen at him. “Exactly the attitude that cost us a fifteen-hundred-dollar cleaning bill.”
Kristin’s quiet laugh slipped out again, the sound more real this time. I leaned back, arms crossed. “You know what I think?”
“Here we go,” Nash muttered.
“I think if we’re doing this, we make it count. Not just another rodeo and auction. We go big. Lights, music, a bonfire, food enough for the whole town. Something that feels like everyone belongs.”
Fred looked up. “That’s what Miller used to say every time we planned one.
Make it matter.” The words hit hard; we all missed Kipp, Fallon, and Tayla’s dad every day.
This entire place was standing because of him, and it took five of us to fill his boots.
For a moment, nobody spoke. Kristin rested her hand on the back of a chair, tracing the grain with her thumb.
“He’d want that,” Tayla said softly.
I met her eyes. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Nora cleared her throat and brought everyone back to work. “Alright then. Griff, Kipp, Nash, setup. Pens, fencing, bleachers, lights, sound, all of it.”
“Meaning we’re doing the heavy lifting,” Griff said.
“Exactly,” Nora said sweetly.
“I’ll handle the stock,” I said. “We’ll rotate from the main herd. Nothing too green for a crowd. The last thing we need is another runaway steer.”
“That was one time,” Kipp said.
“You nearly took out the mayor’s truck.”
“He was parked crooked.”
The room filled with noise again, laughter, chatter, teasing. Fred wrote something down in his neat block letters, mumbling about donations and insurance. Fallon was already trying to convince Tayla to handle concessions.
Kristin slid into the chair beside me, pulling a notepad closer. “If we start the kids’ events early, parents will stick around. Barrel race first, then pony rides, then the petting pen. That fills the gaps before the rough stock.”
Fallon nodded. “And it keeps the kids out of the beer garden.”
“Exactly.”
Kristin’s pen scratched fast, arrows and boxes covering the page.
She bit her lip as she worked, that same habit she had when she was thinking too hard.
I reached over and brushed my thumb along her jaw.
Her skin was warm, her pulse quick under my fingers.
She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either.
“Don’t drift too far,” I said softly.
Her eyes lifted, tired but sharp. “I’m fine.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t have to babysit me, Linc.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s in the vows.”
That earned me the smallest grin. “Pretty sure ‘watch for unmarked trucks’ wasn’t part of the ceremony.”
“It probably should’ve been.” I laughed before I kissed the side of her head, making her blush.
Nora slapped a pile of papers down. “You two done flirting? We’ve got work to do.”
Kristin hid her smile behind her mug. “What’s next?”
“Volunteer sign-up sheets. We’re short ten people.”
Tayla tipped her chair back. “We could bribe them with pie.”
Fred nodded. “That works better than money.”
The laughter that followed carried higher this time, louder, easier. Griff started marking names, Fallon scribbled notes about who she could guilt into helping, and the room began to hum with purpose.
The longer it went on, the lighter the air became. Fear turned into planning. Worry turned into jokes. The sharp edges of the day dulled, replaced by something like hope.
Kipp tried to nominate himself as the decorating consultant, but Nora hit him with a balled-up napkin. “You can lift things. That’s your creative contribution.”
Kristin laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. It was the first sound from her that didn’t feel cautious.
Fallon and Nora started debating the arena lights, warm white versus colored. Tayla turned to Kristin. “You have taste. Break the tie.”
Kristin studied both piles of bulbs. “White,” she said. “Simple. Clean. Christmas should look like home, not Vegas.”
“Thank God,” I said. “Finally, someone I agree with.”
Tayla smirked. “You only agree because you’re lazy and don’t want to change them.”
“Efficiency,” I corrected.
They ignored me. Griff found an old radio station and turned it up—Country Christmas, tinny but cheerful. The dogs sprawled by the hearth, noses twitching toward the shortbread cooling on the counter. Someone opened another bottle of wine. The whole house smelled like sugar and wood smoke.
Kristin moved between people easily now, sleeves rolled, cheeks flushed. She refilled mugs, scribbled on the lists, leaned over Fallon’s shoulder to double-check measurements. The more she worked, the less haunted she looked.
When she caught me watching, she tilted her head. “You’re staring again.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Of what?”
“Working with my wife.” I smiled, wiggling my eyebrows at her. Kristin blushed as she shook her head.
Nora raised her glass. “Alright, team. To the nineteenth annual Flying Diamond Christmas Rodeo, and to the idiots brave enough to host it.”
Kipp clinked his mug against hers. “To poor life choices.”
Fred lifted his cup. “To community. To doing something that matters.”
Mugs clinked all around the table. The sound felt like a promise.
Fred stayed by the door, the shotgun still leaning beside him, but his eyes were softer now. “You all did good tonight,” he said. “Town’s going to show up in droves.”
“They better,” Fallon said. “I’m not baking two hundred cookies for nothing.”
Tayla gasped. “You’re baking? Willingly?”
“Don’t start.”
Nash chuckled. “Set up tomorrow?”
“Morning,” I said. “If the weather holds, we’ll get the pens and lights done before noon. Griff, east section. Kipp and Nash, power.”
Griff looked up. “And what are you doing?”
“Supervising.”
Kristin tossed a napkin at me. “You’re working like everyone else.”
“Fine,” I said, smiling. “But only because you asked nicely.”
The laughter that followed carried into every corner of the room.
The night lingered. Lists grew longer, mugs emptied, and refilled. Someone turned the lights low, leaving only the fire and the small string of bulbs along the mantle. The radio played softer now, the hum of conversation falling into a rhythm that felt like family.
Fallon peeled oranges for another pot of cider. Tayla washed dishes, humming under her breath. Fred wrote down supply lists in his tight, script-like handwriting. Outside, the wind pushed against the windows, but inside, it was all warmth and movement.
Kristin leaned against the counter beside me. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
“For this.” She nodded toward the room. “For not letting me stay stuck.”
I brushed my knuckles against hers. “Wouldn’t let you if I tried.”
“I know,” she said, voice soft. “Still, thank you.”
I didn’t say anything. I just took her hand. She didn’t pull away.
Across the room, Fred was in the middle of a story about the early rodeos. He was talking about a bull named Whiskey that refused to load and how he and my dad had chased it half a mile through a snowstorm. Fallon was laughing so hard she wiped tears on her sleeve.
By the time everyone started leaving, the clock had passed midnight. Griff and Nash went out to check the generators, their voices low outside the window.
I followed Kristin to the porch and helped her into her coat. We said quick goodbyes, and I wrapped my arm around her, because she wasn’t walking a straight line very well.
“You ever notice,” she said after a while, “that even when things go right, it still feels like we’re waiting for something bad to happen?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s ranch life. Always another fence to fix, another storm rolling in.”
She turned toward me. “And now another stranger is watching from the dark.”
“We’ll handle it.”
She studied me for a moment. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
Kristin stumbled up the porch steps and burst into laughter when she sat in the snowbank beside the stairs. In that moment, she was herself, and everything that had happened in the past month seemed to disappear. She was relaxed, and my heart exploded with joy seeing her like that.
“Come on, wife, let’s get you in the house.” I hoisted her off the porch and threw her over my shoulder.
“Did you know the view from her is really good?” She said, sounding muffled.
“I’ll have to take your word for it, but the view is pretty good from here,” I laughed as I slapped her ass.
“Hey, not fair.” She gave a half attempt at slapping me, but her positioning wasn’t great for contact.
Tossing her down on the sofa, I lit the fire in the fireplace and then took off her boots and coat. It had been a day I wanted to forget, but the evening had redeemed most of the shit.
Kristin rested her head on my shoulder. “You think the rodeo will really help? Bring people together again?”
I looked at her. “Yeah. People need something good. Something that reminds them of what they’re part of.”
That hit deep. I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her closer. “Then maybe we’re doing something right here.”
She tilted her face up, kissed my jaw, and whispered, “Maybe we are.”
The rest of the world fell away. The house creaked softly around us, old wood settling in the cold. The dogs snored in front of the hearth. Outside, snow gathered on the fence line, covering the prints from the trucks that had come and gone.
For the first time in days, the weight on my chest eased. I could almost believe that this moment would hold. That laughter and light could keep the dark at bay.
But deep down, I knew better. Trouble was still out there, waiting just beyond the reach of the porch light.
Still, I tightened my arm around her and let the warmth sink in.
Tonight, we had this: friends, family, the scent of woodsmoke and cider, the soft glow of Christmas lights across the floor.
And for now, that was enough.