Chapter 27
Tangled
Burke
He climbed in, ran a hand across the worn steering wheel, and breathed in leather and oil.
This truck didn’t get him from field to field—it carried memories of his father’s sure hands, his laugh, the long summer drives when Burke was a boy.
Tonight, with Darcy heavy on his mind, it felt right.
He needed the comfort of something old and certain.
The engine roared to life on the first try, and Burke smiled.
Old faithful. He eased it onto the road, but his thoughts were anywhere but calm.
He couldn’t stop replaying last night—the way she’d looked at him, the warmth of her body against his, the soft sound of her breath when she let herself fall into him.
It consumed him. And yet her words from that morning gnawed at him: Maybe we should slow down.
He couldn’t stand the thought of this ending when it had barely begun.
When he pulled onto Oak Street and parked a few doors down, he tried to center himself. Darcy’s cottage glowed with the warmth of autumn: pumpkins and mums on the steps, a cheerful wreath catching the light. Unease crept in all the same. He needed to see her, to know where she stood.
She opened the door, looking lovely but shy, her expression tentative. She stepped back to let him in, and the faint scent of vanilla and spice clung to her, comforting but distracting. The cottage was warm, beautifully decorated, but all he could see was the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Wow,” he said softly, looking around. “You really have outdone yourself. This place looks great.”
Some of her anxiety seemed to melt at that, a small grin touching her lips. She poured them bourbon, her hand trembling just enough for him to notice, and they settled on the sofa.
She asked if he was hungry. He was starving, so she grabbed a menu and ordered from Josh’s Back Street, then excused herself to the bathroom.
Burke carried his empty glass into the kitchen. He set it in the sink, then noticed her tote bag sitting on the counter. It was open, and a glint of metal caught the light under the cabinets. He frowned, leaning in. No... it couldn’t be. He nudged the tote just enough to see inside.
A Glock rested there.
He rinsed the glass slowly, eyes shifting to the window above the sink. A heavy screw had been drilled into the frame, sealing it shut. The gun. The locked window. Darcy wasn’t just careful—she was afraid.
But afraid of what? Survival—from who? His one guess: an ex-husband. But now that he thought about it, she had never once mentioned being married. She hadn’t mentioned a single relationship at all.
When she came back, her expression softened again, though he saw the shadows beneath it now.
“Darcy,” he said, his voice low. “If I rushed you into anything last night, I need you to know I’m sorry. I would never want you to feel pressured.”
She lowered her gaze, twisting her hands in her lap. When she finally looked at him, her eyes shimmered.
“You didn’t rush me,” she whispered. “I wanted last night as much as you did. But... there are things about me you don’t know.”
He reached for her hand, gentle as ever. “Then tell me. You can tell me anything.”
Her lips quivered. She shook her head, fighting herself, then finally whispered, “I’m starting to fall in love with you. But there are things that could change the way you see me. Things I can’t just explain away.”
His chest ached at the sight of her trembling lip, the tears threatening to spill. He lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing against her skin. “Darcy... you can tell me anything.”
She drew in a shaky breath, her lips parting as though she might finally unburden herself—
The doorbell shattered the moment.
Darcy flinched, nearly spilling her drink. She hurried to the door, hesitated, and peered through the peephole—eyeing the porch before unlatching it.
“Izzy!” she cried, launching into the arms of the dark-haired woman on the porch.
They bounced and squealed like schoolgirls, hugging so tightly they nearly knocked the poor delivery kid sideways.
The sack of food wobbled precariously until Darcy noticed.
She laughed, took it from him, and ushered Izzy inside—suitcase and all.
The second Izzy’s arms wrapped around her, Darcy breathed in the familiar floral perfume she hadn’t realized she missed so much. The tension of the night eased—Izzy smelled like home, like the quiet comfort of someone who had seen her through everything.
Burke rose halfway from the sofa at the sound—those shrieks were delight, not alarm—and then he sank back with a faint, knowing smirk.
The warmth of her almost-confession lingered, but so did the cold weight of what he’d seen in the kitchen—the gun in her bag, the locked window.
Darcy was falling for him. But she was also hiding something, and whatever it was, it terrified her.
Izzy
The second Izzy stepped over the threshold, she halted mid-motion.
A tall man rose from the armchair—tan skin, broad shoulders, blond hair, eyes the startling blue of a summer sky.
His presence filled the room with a kind of authority that made her straighten instinctively.
He looked like he belonged here, solid and unshakable.
“Ohhh—” Izzy stammered, her mouth parting in surprise. “I didn’t know you had company.”
Darcy rushed to fill the silence, her cheeks flushed. “Burke, this is my best friend in the whole world—Izzy. Izzy Moreno.”
The man stepped forward, offering his hand. “Burke Scott.”
Izzy slipped her hand into his, arching a brow. His grasp was firm but not crushing, grounded as though he could anchor a storm. “So you are the sheriff.”
“I am.”
“I’ve heard a good bit about you, Sheriff,” she teased, her lips curving, though inside her sharp eyes catalogued everything—his calm posture, the way his gaze flicked to Darcy as though her reaction mattered most, the hint of protectiveness that rolled off him.
His eyes glinted with amusement. “Oh, you have, have you?”
“Yes, and I have to say—”
“Izzy,” Darcy cut in sharply, clearing her throat.
Izzy gave her a sly look, but Burke only smiled faintly, watching Darcy with interest. He seemed to read more into her interruption than she had intended. The way his brow arched ever so slightly made Izzy think he was a man who noticed everything.
“Well, I’ll let you ladies catch up,” he said after a moment, slipping back into his usual politeness. “I should head home.”
“Ohhh, no,” Izzy countered quickly, not ready to let go of the game. “Don’t let me run you off, Sheriff.”
“Burke,” he corrected gently.
She leaned against the back of a chair, mischievous. “No, I think I’ll stick with Sheriff. It has such a nice ring to it—don’t you think?”
His chuckle was low and warm. “No complaints here.”
“Then tell me, Sheriff,” Izzy went on, her eyes dancing, “how have you been keeping my girl occupied while she’s been here?”
Darcy groaned softly, shooting her friend a warning look. Izzy only smirked, clearly enjoying herself. Burke, though, stayed relaxed, letting the banter play out as if he could wait forever to see where it led.
They shared a drink, laughter loosening the edges of the moment, though Darcy couldn’t quite shake the nervous flutter beneath her calm. Burke’s gaze kept flicking her way, unyielding and unreadable.
They passed around the takeout, eating straight from the cartons between sips and teasing each other with conversation, the warmth of it briefly masking the undercurrent of tension.
When at last he rose to leave, he lingered at the door. “It was a pleasure, Izzy. I look forward to seeing you again.”
“My pleasure,” she replied, her eyes widening with a sly grin. “Sheriff, let’s do drinks later this week, shall we?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Darcy walked him out on the porch. Burke leaned closer, brushing a soft kiss across her cheek.
“Our conversation,” he said quietly, his voice dropping into something more intimate, “to be continued?”
She nodded, biting her bottom lip—her nervous tell. His eyes flickered to the motion, taking note of it.
Burke
When he slid into his truck, he sat for a long moment, fingers drumming the steering wheel. His mind wasn’t on Izzy’s teasing or even Darcy’s blush. It was on the gun.
Why was Darcy carrying one? What kind of danger made her feel she needed it?
Burke stared out at the dark street. In his years as sheriff, he’d seen all kinds of women carry weapons—cops who wore them as tools of the job, battered women who held them as a last resort, criminals who thought a pistol made them invincible.
But Darcy? She didn’t fit any of those neat categories.
There was something about the way she hid it, tucked deep in that tote, as though it wasn’t just protection but a matter of survival.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t push her before she was ready, but that gun spoke volumes she wasn’t saying. Whatever it was—whatever she was running from—it wasn’t small.
If she was carrying a gun, then her past wasn’t just chasing her. It was hunting her.
Darcy & Izzy
The cottage was quiet after Burke left, the rumble of his truck fading into the night. Darcy leaned against the door, her breath uneven, trying to steady herself.
Izzy curled up on the couch, her dark curls wild around her face. The sight of her was such a comfort.
Darcy crossed the room quickly, her eyes shining.
“I’m so happy you’re here. When I opened the door and saw you standing there, I thought I was dreaming.
Thank you so much for coming.” She beamed as she squeezed Izzy’s hands.
“Are you sure you weren’t followed? I’m so sorry about your break-in, Iz.
I wish I had never dragged you into this. I’ve made such a mess.”
Izzy squeezed her hands back, calm as ever. “Hey, don’t do that. You didn’t drag me anywhere—I came because I love you. And no, I wasn’t followed. Whoever trashed my place, I took care of it. You don’t need to carry that guilt on top of everything else.”
Darcy sank onto the sofa beside her, pulling the throw blanket into her lap.
The fire popped in the hearth, shadows dancing across the cottage walls, making the tiny space feel safe—though Darcy knew better.
Safety was always temporary. She glanced at the windows, at the locks she’d checked twice, and still the unease crept in.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered. “Living like a ghost. Hiding, flinching every time headlights slow outside.”
Izzy reached for her hand, squeezing tight. “Then stop hiding.”
Darcy blinked at her. “Iz—”
Izzy cut her off, pulling a thick manila envelope from her bag. “I brought them.”
“What is that?”
“Divorce papers,” Izzy said firmly. “All ready. We need to file.”
Darcy stared at the envelope. “If Jason finds out—”
“He will,” Izzy said softly. “But this way it’s on your terms, not his.”
Darcy shook her head, emotions tumbling—worry, grief, and the faintest flicker of hope. “Filing means war.”
“Filing means freedom,” Izzy countered, her voice low but resolute.
“We can scan everything here and send it to my lawyer in Denver. I’ll take the originals back with me.
Cate, you don’t have to live in his shadow.
This isn’t just ink on paper, Cate. This is the first step to taking your life back. ”
The envelope sat on the table between them, heavier than stone. The light from the fire caught its edges, making it look like a weapon of paper and ink. Darcy’s hand hovered above it once, pulling back as trepidation surged. Then, trembling, she reached again.
Finally, her fingertips brushed the envelope. The paper crinkled softly, but it felt like thunder in her ears.
“Okay,” she whispered. “We file.”
Izzy let out the breath she’d been holding and leaned over, wrapping her arms around her best friend. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow we scan them. And I’ll make sure they get to Denver.”
Darcy leaned into the embrace, eyes burning with tears she wouldn’t let fall.
Jason West still believed he had control.
But when the papers reached him, that illusion would shatter.
Outside, a gust of wind rattled the glass, and the two women flinched. Neither spoke of the storm pressing closer, but both felt it—silent and sharp, waiting beyond the light of the hearth.