Chapter 16 #2
We stayed there until the storm gentled, the rain sliding off the roof in long steady sheets. She leaned against me, head tucked beneath my chin, and the world seemed—for one impossible hour—safe again.
Morning came washed in golden light. The puddles looked like mirrors. The fields steamed, dew still clinging to the fence wire, and the world smelled new again.
I found Milly already in the kitchen, hair damp from her shower, humming at the coffeemaker. She wore one of those soft sweaters that somehow managed to look like home.
“Morning,” she said, handing me a mug. “We survived the night. No lightning damage, no goats on the porch.”
“High bar for success, but I’ll take it.”
She smiled. “You worried half the storm away. You can relax now.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Inspector jumped to the counter, demanding breakfast, and she scattered kibble with surgical precision. The simple ordinariness of it all tugged something deep in me—a reminder that peace wasn’t a stranger here; it just needed protecting.
The knock came mid-sip. Sharp, quick.
I crossed to the door, half expecting Levi or Mason, but a delivery driver stood there with a box tucked under one arm.
“Package for Milly Thomas,” he said. “Paid delivery. No signature needed.”
Milly wiped her hands on a towel. “That’s strange. I didn’t order anything.”
“Who’s it from?” I asked.
He pointed to the label. “Red Hollow.”
The name landed like grit in my teeth. Penny’s old disputes had all come from that place—land, inheritance, long memories.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the box. By the time I turned around, the truck was already pulling away down the lane.
Milly frowned. “Austin, what is it?”
“Let’s just check it first.”
“It’s a cardboard box,” she said, exasperated but smiling. “I don’t need a security detail to open birthday mail.”
“Humor me.”
She sighed but stayed by the counter as I slit the tape with my pocketknife. Inside was a folded piece of paper wrapped around a small, rusted key. The note smelled faintly of smoke.
Everwood doesn’t need another Thomas. Take the hint.
No return address. Just those words, the letters uneven and angry.
Milly’s face went pale. “That’s… someone’s idea of a joke, right?”
“I don’t think so.” I reached for my phone, snapping quick photos of the note, the key, the label. Old habits—catalog, document, contain.
Her voice cracked the silence. “You were going to hide that from me, weren’t you?”
“Milly, I was trying to—”
“Protect me,” she finished. “That’s what you always say.”
I set the phone down, careful, measured. “Because that’s my job. Because it matters.”
Her eyes flashed. “Your job? I thought we were past the part where this was just an assignment.”
“It’s not,” I said, but the words came too fast, too defensive. “I just—can we talk about this after I take it to Palmer?”
She shook her head, the hurt surfacing through the anger. “Every time something happens, you decide how much truth I get. You keep saying you trust me, but you don’t.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is being shut out of my own life.”
For a second, neither of us moved. The only sound was the coffeemaker spitting its last drop.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said finally. “We’ll figure it out then.”
“Don’t bother rushing,” she whispered, turning toward the door. “Seems like you’ve already decided how this story goes.”
The screen door banged behind her.
I stood there, holding the evidence bag I’d pulled from the drawer weeks ago and never hoped to use. The note felt heavier than paper—like proof that the calm we’d built was already cracking.
Inspector leapt onto the counter, tail flicking, gaze fixed on the door Milly had disappeared through. “Yeah,” I muttered, sliding the bag into my jacket pocket. “I messed that up.”
By the time I reached the sheriff’s office, the morning had dissolved into that gray stretch of afternoon where even the sun looked tired.
Palmer was behind his desk, a mug of something that might once have been coffee cooling beside a half-eaten donut.
He looked up, saw the expression I wasn’t hiding, and sighed.
“This about the power call?”
“And this.” I set the bag on his desk. Inside lay the note and the key, sealed, labeled. “Red Hollow postmark.”
He squinted, adjusting his glasses. “That name again. You sure this isn’t someone’s idea of a prank?”
“Not unless they’ve got access to Penny’s old property records.”
Palmer studied the letter, lips pressing thin. “We’ve had the occasional crank from Hollow try to stir things—mostly inheritance gossip. I’ll run prints, check the handwriting. But you know how this goes, Austin. No return, no witnesses, no crime. Just noise.”
“Noise gets people hurt,” I said.
He met my eyes. “You’re wound tight.”
“She saw it before I could hide it.”
“That why you’re here and she’s not?”
I didn’t answer.
Palmer leaned back, the chair creaking. “I’ll handle the paperwork. You handle the apology.”
“Working on it.”
He gave me a look that said he’d heard that before. “Don’t wait too long. This town forgives slow.”
I left before I said something I’d regret. The sky had begun to bruise again, clouds thickening along the ridge. By the time I pulled into the drive, Milly’s truck was gone. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house sat dark and silent.
The evening dragged itself out. I fixed the gate latch that didn’t need fixing, then rewired a porch light that worked just fine. Anything to keep from hearing the echo of her voice when she’d said, You don’t trust me.
By full dark, I couldn’t take the quiet anymore. I poured a cup of black coffee and stepped outside. The air smelled like rain again, like unfinished business.
I scrolled through my phone until I found the number I shouldn’t still have.
Reaper picked up on the second ring. “Adams.”
The same gravel voice, the same unshakable calm. It steadied me even as it scraped raw.
I told him everything—the outage call, the tracks, the Red Hollow package, the argument. Left out nothing but the way my chest hurt when she’d walked out.
When I finished, there was a long silence on the line.
“You keep calling it the job,” he said finally. “You sound like a man halfway in love and halfway in denial.”
“I’m protecting her, like Penny asked.”
He chuckled, low and humorless. “That’s the story you tell yourself. But let’s call it what it is. You care. And that makes you sloppy.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“Listen to me, Adams. The closer you get, the messier this’ll be when she learns the truth. You should’ve told her from the start.”
“I wanted to,” I said quietly.
“Then things got real.”
“That’s what love does.” He paused, voice softening. “But she deserves the whole picture. Don’t let her find it out from someone else.”
The line clicked dead, leaving only the buzz of insects and the low hum of the power lines overhead.
Behind me, a hinge creaked. I didn’t turn. Probably the screen door shifting in the night breeze.
When I finally did look, the porch was empty. The kitchen light was on.
I exhaled, long and slow, and told myself she hadn’t heard a word.
I was wrong.
The night had settled deep and heavy by the time I went back inside. The kitchen light was the only one still burning, washing the room in that pale yellow that makes everything look lonelier.
Milly stood at the sink, hands resting on the edge, shoulders tense. She didn’t turn when I stepped in.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Her voice was calm, practiced. “Fine. Just cleaning up before bed.”
The counter was spotless. The lemon-bar pan from this morning gleamed like new.
“You were out late,” she said without looking up.
“I needed to talk to an old friend about the package.”
“Reaper,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
Something cold slid down my spine. “You heard?”
“Just enough.” She finally turned, eyes steady, unreadable. “Enough to know I’m an assignment you care too much about.”
“Milly—”
“I get it,” she said, cutting me off softly. “You made a promise to my aunt. Protect me, keep secrets, check the shadows for monsters. I just didn’t realize I was one of the shadows you were keeping things from.”
“That’s not what this is.”
She brushed past me, the faint scent of rain still clinging to her hair. “You don’t have to explain. I don’t think you even know how.”
The bedroom door clicked shut before I could cross the room.
For a long time, I just stood there, the house too still, the echo of her footsteps fading into the hum of the fridge. Inspector jumped onto the counter, tail twitching, eyes on me like he expected a plan.
“I don’t have one,” I admitted.
I turned off the light and stepped out onto the porch. The boards were damp under my boots; the air smelled of wet earth and lemon sugar. Somewhere down in the valley, a train whistle blew, long and mournful.
Reaper’s voice circled back through my mind: You’ve lost the line between job and home.
He was right. Somewhere between duty and love, I’d built a wall. And tonight, Milly had walked straight into it.