Chapter 57
Haven
Caitlin
The mountains were still half-asleep, mist curling low across the ridge when Caitlin’s phone buzzed against the kitchen counter.
A group text — Turkey Trouble — lit the screen.
Izzy: Happy Thanksgiving, my mountain people. All’s quiet out here in Denver — no ledges, no lunatics, no courtrooms. Just coffee, sunshine, and a pie I might’ve baked myself.
Izzy: I’m alive, caffeinated, and thankful — especially for you three.
Izzy: Save me a slice of pie and a chair by the fire. I’ll be back around Christmas. Promise.
Caitlin smiled, warmth spreading through her chest.
Caitlin: We’ll keep the cocoa hot and the porch light on.
Scout: Sylva’s not ready for you yet. Let us recover.
Izzy: Ha. You’ll survive. Tell Rosie I’m thankful for her, too.
Caitlin lowered her gaze. Rosie lifted her head, tail thumping once like she understood.
Burke’s truck rolled to a stop behind the house, headlights sweeping across the frosted glass before fading. A county cruiser idled a block down, windshield fogged in the cold.
Burke climbed out, juggling three coffees and a paper bag that smelled faintly of cinnamon muffins. He nodded toward the deputy in the cruiser — Baker — then rounded the porch, knocking on the kitchen door with the tip of his boot.
“Who’s out there causing trouble this early?” Caitlin called, smiling as she opened it.
“Just me — and breakfast on the brink of disaster,” Burke said, grinning as the cups wobbled dangerously.
Before she could answer, Rosie bounded forward, nails clicking on the floor, tail wagging like a metronome. She bumped his knee, nearly toppling a cup.
“Whoa, easy there, girl!” he laughed, steadying the tray as Caitlin caught the edge to help.
For a heartbeat, their faces were close — the cold air between them — and then they both laughed.
“Teamwork,” she said.
“Best save of the morning,” he said. Then, to Rosie, “You think I’d forget you, Deputy?”
At the crinkle of the bag, Rosie sat instantly, eyes wide. Burke fished a small bone from his jacket and held it up.
“Good girl.”
She snatched it gently, trotting to her bed by the fire to chew in private — as if she suspected he might change his mind.
Burke chuckled. “Smartest deputy I’ve got.”
He set the coffees down. “Be right back. Gotta deliver one to Baker before he freezes solid.”
Caitlin watched through the window as he crossed the yard, breath steaming, then turned back toward the porch.
When he stepped inside again, stamping the cold from his boots, he said, “All right. You ready for the annual Scott Thanksgiving food coma?”
Her laugh came soft, a little nervous. “Ready, yes. But a little terrified.”
“Don’t be. They’ll love you — and besides, Maggie Scott would have my hide if I showed up without you.”
He slid one arm around her waist, voice low and sure. “You’ve already won her over, pie or not.”
“Still bringing the pie,” she said.
“Good,” he murmured. “Then we’re even.”
He brushed a kiss against her temple, the scent of coffee and cinnamon between them.
“Come on, darlin’. Let’s go meet the clan.”
The Scotts’ farm spread wide across rolling pastures outside of town. A white farmhouse gleamed beneath ancient oaks, a swing swaying gently from one branch. Red barns dotted the fields, tin roofs flashing in the late-autumn sun.
Out in the pasture, a tractor rumbled along the fence line — Burton Scott at the wheel, posture straight as if he were still on patrol. The old sheriff lifted one gloved hand in salute before cutting the engine.
Rosie tore across the yard, tail high, while Caitlin stepped from the truck with the pie dish in hand. Her heart lifted as the screen door banged open.
“Burke!” Maggie Scott’s voice rang out — warm, commanding. She bustled onto the porch in a flour-dusted apron, silver threaded through her auburn hair. “And this must be Caitlin.”
She hurried down the steps, arms open. “Darlin’, it’s about time we got to meet you.”
Caitlin nearly fumbled the pie, but Maggie steadied her with a hug and a wink. “You brought something? I knew I’d like you.”
By the time Caitlin looked back toward the field, Burton had joined them, wiping his hands on an oil-stained rag. The lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled.
“So this is the woman who finally got Burke to take a day off.”
Burke grinned. “Don’t start, old man.”
Burton chuckled. “Just saying, it’s good to see him bring someone home.”
From the barn, a tall man with sun-streaked hair stepped out, grin easy.
“Grant Scott. The better-looking brother.”
Burke snorted. “Better at running your mouth, maybe.”
“Boys,” Maggie warned, eyes twinkling.
The banter felt natural — like Caitlin was stepping into a rhythm that had been there long before her.
By late afternoon, the house smelled of roast turkey, sage stuffing, and fresh rolls. The big oak table sagged under platters — mashed potatoes, green beans, sweet potatoes with marshmallows.
Her chocolate chess pie sat at the center, glossy and rich. Burton carved a slice and took a bite. His weathered face broke into a grin.
“Well, I’ll be. Maggie, you’re off pie duty. This one’s got us beat.”
Grant nodded. “Amen. Never cared much for pumpkin anyway.”
Maggie swatted his arm. “After thirty years, now you tell me?”
Caitlin traced the pie plate with her thumb, nerves prickling beneath her skin. Old habits whispered that she’d be on the outskirts — barely noticed, too awkward, too new.
But Maggie’s arms had wrapped around her with a mother’s warmth, and when Burton grinned, all the judgment she’d braced for simply wasn’t there. She felt the knot in her stomach loosen by degrees, surprise blooming into something softer.
Grant winked across the table, and Rosie pressed her head to Caitlin’s heel — as if reminding her she was right where she belonged.
“New tradition, honey,” Maggie said, smiling. “They’re sick of my pumpkin pie.”
Laughter filled the kitchen, and Caitlin’s cheeks warmed, her chest loosening in a way she hadn’t known she needed.
Stories rolled on — dirt bikes, Aunt Emma, the sheriff’s boys who never stayed clean. Maggie only shook her head.
“They nearly gave me gray hair before my time. But they turned out all right.”
Caitlin smiled, picturing two wild boys tearing across the pasture, dust flying.
When the table was cleared, the sun slipped behind the hills, casting the pastures in lavender haze.
Burke led Caitlin to the porch swing. Rosie curled on her blanket at Caitlin’s boots.
The screen door creaked again. Maggie pressed a handwritten recipe card and a jar of dark apple butter into Caitlin’s hand.
“The card’s my mama’s recipe. The jar’s mine — for your toast tomorrow.”
Her voice softened. “I haven’t seen Burke this happy in years — or this worried. Having you here helps with both.”
Burton Scott stepped out, cap pushed back. “We don’t say much. But if you need a truck, a fence mended, or a porch to sit on till your heart steadies, you call. We’ll come.”
Caitlin nodded, voice thick with gratitude.
“All right,” Maggie said briskly, dabbing one eye. “Go swing before I fuss.”
Burke ducked back inside and returned with a thick throw from the sofa — soft, flannel-lined, still carrying a trace of the house’s warmth. He draped it across the swing and settled beside Caitlin, pulling the edges around them both.
The swing creaked as she eased down, knees drawn beneath the blanket. Kitchen light spilled across the steps, painting them gold. Beyond the porch, dusk softened the world, turning everything private.
“This feels like home.”
The words left her on a tender breath.
Burke’s answer was wordless — a look, warm and wanting. He slid his arm along the back of the swing, fingers hooking behind her neck. The scent of his aftershave, clean and familiar, wrapped around her. His thumb traced her cheek, slow and sure.
He leaned in, pausing close enough to feel her exhale, and gave her every chance to meet him there. Caitlin bridged the distance. Their lips pressed together, gentle at first, then deeper — deliberate, lingering, a kiss that said every quiet thing they’d held back.
Wrapped in the embrace of the throw, anchored by the crisp air and the man beside her, Caitlin felt the shiver of anticipation build between them.
Her hand found his, fingers entwining beneath the blanket, neither wanting to let go. Burke’s touch was sure and steady, but a faint tremor ran through him, giving her a secret thrill — he wanted her just as much.
The kiss drew out, sweet and yearning, both of them keenly aware of the porch steps and the possibility of someone coming out, but unable to give up the moment just yet.
At last, they rested their foreheads together, silent, breath mingling. Burke’s hand lingered at her cheek, memorizing the shape of her smile in dusk-light.
The swing rocked quietly, Rosie snoring at their feet, while the world faded to nothing but two hearts finally finding home.