She shot me another mock glare, shook her head, and we headed for the register.
“Ooh, let’s hit Ethel’s next. I’m starving.”
When we left the grocery store, we stepped into the sunlight. She tilted her face toward the sky as if light itself were a blessing.
That’s when I saw it again: a dusty SUV idling across the street, engine low, windows tinted too dark for Everwood. It pulled away slowly when I glanced over. Milly didn’t notice. She was humming and loading groceries.
I tightened my grip on a bag and made another mental note.
By afternoon, we were finally back home. Milly moved in an easy loop: unpacking groceries, jotting notes, humming as she played music. Every time her phone buzzed, she lit up. Quick exchanges with Cassie about tutoring disasters. A text from Sue about Founders’ Day. Sarah inviting her to help with next week’s library event.
Meanwhile, my phone buzzed too, but the theme was different.
Mason: Feed bin emptied again.
Levi: Shed was open when I got home last night. Seeing this at your place?
Carl: Lumber out back has been rifled through. Missing a few boards. Keep eyes open.
Ace, an old buddy from West Point and one of the few I still trusted, texted: Don’t ignore the small stuff. It’s always the small stuff that trips you.
I slid the phone into my pocket and headed out. The motion sensor at the back gate had tripped twice this week. Today, the ground told the same story: prints angled along the shed wall, and one of the horse stalls was open. I didn’t have to look far for the horse. She was more interested in hay than running free. I put her back in her stall and opened my notebook. Under the GET list, I wrote: carabiners. Horses can’t open those.
I crouched, snapped two photos—one close and one wide—and logged the details. The tally in my notebook was no longer a neat column. It was starting to feel like a countdown.
When I stepped back inside, kitchen heat wrapped around me. Milly stood at the counter, pulling a tray from the oven, her braid slipping loose. She hummed as she took the steak and baked potatoes out of the oven. “Yay, not burned.” She smiled and made plates for both of us. I set the table and got us drinks while Milly added a small dessert plate with a triumphant smile. “Pie.”
Her voice lifted, light, almost musical. I paused in the doorway for a moment, caught between the weight of what I’d seen outside and the way she laughed at her own commentary inside.
The contrast landed hard. She was finding roots—anchoring herself here.
And I was in the shadows, hands full of evidence, wondering how long I could keep the unease from touching her world.
After dinner, gold light spilled over the porch, postcard-perfect. The swing creaked under our combined weight as we rocked gently. Milly sprawled sideways across it, back restingagainst my side, legs dangling over the armrest. Her planner balanced on her knees, sticky notes fluttering in the breeze. I sat quietly, notebook shut for once, a muffin and tea on the little table.
“I made these for you,” she said, tearing her muffin in half. “The Thomas Muffin Curse has officially been lifted.”
I took my half. Chocolate cut clean through vanilla. I bit in. Light, bright, actually good.
“Yum,” I said, smiling. “Lemon and blueberry was good, but there’s nothing like a good old-fashioned chocolate chip muffin.”
She squealed and did a quick shimmy that jolted the swing. I huffed a laugh. She angled her face toward me, grinning like my laugh was its own victory.
Dangerous. Want and duty tangled in my chest, refusing to let go.
My phone buzzed. Mason’s name lit the screen. Tracks by the west field. Keep sharp.
I thumbed back a short reply: Noted. Then locked the phone and slipped it away. Milly didn’t ask. She was too busy drawing LIVE SIMPLY across her planner like it was a mission statement.
The swing creaked as she leaned into me, humming softly.
I looked down at her—barefoot, laughing at her own joke, planning a future in a place she already loved—and thought how easily she was rooting here.
And how much harder my job was getting, keeping the shadows from reaching her porch, and keeping a distance I knew I couldn’t keep.
Chapter 9
Diner Confrontations
