Chapter Four | Gage
Chapter Four
Gage
I pulled up to the building just after eight Sunday morning, bed of my truck loaded with security equipment.
I'd left Lacey's place around midnight—hated leaving her warm bed, but Judge needed to be let out and fed.
Spent the rest of the night thinking about her instead of sleeping, then loaded up my tools at first light.
The temperature had dropped overnight—couldn't have been more than thirty degrees—and my breath came out in white puffs as I grabbed the first toolbox.
The main entrance was unlocked. I climbed the interior stairs, each creak of the old wood making my jaw tighten. Anyone could walk up here. Anyone.
At the top, I tested the studio door. Still broken. Still swinging open with barely any pressure.
Not for much longer.
I was measuring the doorframe when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Lacey appeared at the landing, two cups of coffee in hand and that honey-blonde ponytail swinging.
"Thought you might need this." She handed me one. "Black, right?"
"Yeah. Thanks." The cup warmed my hands through my gloves. "You didn't have to come down here this early."
"It's my studio. I want to know how everything works.
" She set her coffee on the old couch and pulled off her jacket.
Underneath, she wore jeans and a sweater that hugged every curve I'd spent Saturday night memorizing.
"Plus, I'm making the decisions about camera angles and where that motion light points, remember? "
My mouth curved. "Yes, ma'am."
Her face flushed, but she held my gaze. "So where do we start?"
I showed her the deadbolt first—commercial grade, the kind that would take a battering ram to break through. She watched as I removed the old broken mechanism and fitted the new one into place.
"How'd you get permission from the landlord?" she asked, crouching beside me. "I've been asking him to fix this lock for six months."
"Called him yesterday. Got his name and number from you, remember?" I tested the alignment, made an adjustment. "Told him I'd pay for everything myself if he gave me permission to do the work."
"What'd he say?"
"That he was all too happy to agree." I couldn't keep the disgust out of my voice. "Saved him cost and labor, and he doesn't have to deal with his building being a liability anymore."
"So he was fine with some stranger doing work on his property."
"I'm the sheriff, not some stranger. And yeah, he about fell over himself agreeing." I drove the first screw into place. "Absentee landlords are all the same. Don't give a damn about their tenants' safety as long as the rent check clears."
Lacey was quiet for a moment, watching my hands work. "Thank you. For doing this."
I glanced up at her. "You don't have to thank me."
"I know I don't have to. I want to." She touched my shoulder briefly. "It means something that you asked him instead of just doing it."
The distinction mattered to her. I understood that now.
"Hand me that drill?" I nodded toward my toolbox.
We worked together for the next hour. I explained each piece of equipment—how the wireless camera worked, how it would feed to both our phones, where the motion sensor would trigger the exterior light. She asked questions, good ones, and made decisions about positioning.
"I want the camera angled so I can see who's coming up the stairs before they reach the door," she said, studying the stairwell. "Not just pointed at the door itself."
"Smart." I mounted the bracket where she indicated. "This way you'll have warning."
"And the motion light—can we position it so it covers both the main entrance and the bottom of the fire escape?"
"Yeah. Good thinking." The woman had instincts. "Anyone approaches either way, they'll trigger it."
The rhythm between us felt natural. Easy. She'd hand me tools before I asked, and I'd explain the technical details she wanted to know. When I needed to reach the top of the doorframe, she steadied the ladder without being asked.
"Test it," I said once the deadbolt was installed.
She turned the new key in the lock. The mechanism engaged with a solid click that echoed in the stairwell. She tried the handle from the outside—locked tight. Unlocked it, stepped through, locked it from the inside.
"Oh my God." She tested it again, and relief washed over her face. "It actually locks."
"It actually locks," I confirmed. "Nobody's getting through that without serious equipment and a lot of noise."
She pressed her forehead against the door for a moment, and her shoulders relaxed. The tension she'd been carrying finally eased.
"Hey." I moved close enough to touch her arm. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She turned, and her eyes were a little wet. "I just—I didn't realize how scared I've been. How much I've been trying to pretend this broken lock didn't matter."
"It matters." I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You matter."
She kissed me then—soft and quick, but it still made my chest tight.
"Come on," she said, pulling back with a smile. "Show me how to check the camera feed on my phone."
By the time we finished, it was nearly noon. The deadbolt was solid, the camera was live, and the motion light was ready to illuminate anyone who approached the building after dark.
"I'll test the light tonight," I said, packing up my tools. "Make sure it's angled right."
"Okay." Lacey checked the camera feed on her phone one more time, watching the stairwell appear on her screen. "This is incredible. Thank you."
"You keep thanking me."
"Because I'm grateful." She touched my face, thumb brushing my jaw. "And because I'm not used to someone doing something nice without expecting something in return."
That hit harder than it should have. "I don't expect anything, Lacey."
"I know." She met my eyes. "That's why it means something."
My stomach chose that moment to growl, loud enough to echo in the empty studio.
Lacey laughed. "When's the last time you ate?"
"Coffee counts, right?"
"No." She grabbed her jacket. "Come on. I'm buying you lunch."
"You're not—"
"I'm buying you lunch," she repeated, that steel underneath the sweetness. "Don't argue with me, Sheriff."
I held up my hands in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it."
***
Faye's Kitchen was packed—Sunday after church in Crosswell, the busiest time of the week. Booths full of families finishing late breakfasts and older couples reading the paper over coffee. The smell of bacon and fresh biscuits hit me as soon as we walked in.
"Gage! Lacey!" Faye Lovelace, who'd owned the place longer than I'd been alive, did a visible double take seeing us walk in together. Her knowing smile spread across her weathered face. "Well, well."
She grabbed two plastic-covered menus and led us to a corner booth.
We slid in, and I was aware of the eyes tracking us. Mrs. Henderson from the animal hospital. Judd Nelson from the feed store. Half the damn town, apparently.
"They're staring," Lacey murmured, studying her menu like it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.
"Yeah." I stretched my arm across the back of the booth. "You okay with that?"
She glanced up, and her expression shifted. "Are you?"
"I don't have anything to hide." I held her gaze. "Do you?"
"No." Her face flushed, but she didn't look away. "No, I don't."
Faye returned with coffee. "Y'all know what you want?"
"Burger and fries," I said.
"Same," Lacey added. "But add double cheese."
"Going all in?" I asked.
She met my eyes. "When I want something, I don't do it halfway."
We both knew she wasn't just talking about burgers.
I looked up at Faye. "Make that two. Double cheese."
"Two double cheeseburgers, coming right up." Faye tucked her pad into her apron, still grinning. "Nice to see you two together."
After she left, Lacey took a sip of her coffee. "The whole town will know by tonight."
"Probably knew before we sat down."
"Does that bother you?"
"Does it bother you?" I countered.
"I asked first."
I leaned forward, elbows on the table. "No. It doesn't bother me. I'm done pretending I'm not crazy about you."
She bit her lip, and I wanted to do that for her. "I'm not pretending either."
"Good."
We sat there for a moment, her eyes on mine.
"Tell me about your military service," Lacey said, breaking the silence. She glanced at the tattoo on my forearm. "You were Army?"
I sat back, surprised she'd noticed. "Not much to tell."
"I don't believe that." She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup. "You're a sheriff now. That doesn't seem like an accident."
"I was Military Police. Joined up at eighteen, served four years. Just seemed like the natural path afterward."
"Gage." She waited until I looked at her. "I told you about Boyd. About my father." Her voice softened. "Talk to me. What made you want to be a sheriff?"
She'd been honest with me. I owed her the same.
"My family runs cattle on a ranch outside town. My brothers still work it with my dad. They all expected me to do the same, but ranching is insular—you're protecting your own herd, your own land. I needed to protect more than that. The Army gave me a way to serve people, not just property."
"And?"
"And I was good at it. Made some of the best friends of my life in that unit." The memories came easier than I expected. "Men I trusted with my life. Men who trusted me with theirs."
Faye appeared with our burgers, set them down, and disappeared again.
Lacey picked up a fry but didn't eat it. "What happened?"
My hands fisted on the table. "We were overseas. Routine patrol that turned into an ambush." The words came harder now. "My best friend—Cody Wakefield, kid from Oklahoma with a laugh that could shake a room—he got hit. I tried to get to him, tried to pull him out, but—"
The dust. The noise. The way his blood looked too bright against the sand. I could still feel his vest in my hands, the weight of him as I dragged him toward cover. Still heard myself screaming for a medic even though I knew—even though I could see in his eyes that he knew—it was already too late.