6. Gabe

SIX

Gabe

It had been weeks since Kat had warned me off her land with a shotgun, and I still couldn't stop thinking about her.

In fact…that had just made me more intrigued. Because hell—in Montana, a girl threatening you with a shotgun is basically foreplay.

I'd come to Millie's Diner intending to pick up food for dinner with my dad, but somehow I'd ended up using this time to spy on Kat Martin. Leaning against the cool, chipped counter, I absently thumbed my phone screen, flicking through the endless feed of smiling faces and filtered sunsets. It wasn't like me to get caught up in the social media circus, but there I was, skimming through the pictures on Kat's profile. I couldn't help myself; after everything that went down, I just needed to know she was…I don't know, surviving?

Of course, I wasn't just making sure she was surviving. I was already a few years back in photos—which was, frankly, embarrassing. I scrolled through pictures of her eating ice cream with her niece, riding her horse in a field, standing on a movie set with her mare—whose name, I learned, was Sundance. Kat had grown into a beautiful woman with a wild life. I couldn't?—

"Order up, Gabe!" Betty announced, snapping me back to reality as she slid a hefty paper bag across the countertop toward me. Instinctively, my phone vanished into my pocket, though not swiftly enough.

Betty fixed me with a knowing look. "You got a thing for Kat Morgan now?"

"Thing? No, no, I…" I stammered, heat crawling up my neck. Damn. Busted by Betty Thompson, of all people. The woman could spot a lie faster than a grease fire in her kitchen. "I was just checking in on her, you know?"

"Uh-huh," Betty replied, clearly not buying what I was selling. She leaned against the counter opposite me, arms folded.

"It's just…" I exhaled, my voice a shade above a whisper, "since Ben passed, I can't shake it off." I avoided her gaze, focusing on the formica counter. "I was the one who drove her to the hospital that day. And watching Kat break down—I don't know. It sticks with you."

"I see." Betty's tone softened. "So you're worried about her."

"Yeah," I said, meeting her eyes again. "It was rough. And now…I want to reach out, but after what happened with Ben that summer…" My words trailed off, heavy with regret. Shit, it was nearly a decade ago, but I recalled it like it was yesterday. The memory of fists and fury, the sound of bone meeting bone, still haunted me. I didn't even remember what we'd fought about—just that Owen Martin had been egging us on, the asshole. "I don't think I have the right to just waltz back into her life."

"Fair enough." Betty nodded slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. "After everything, I didn't think you two would ever speak again, let alone share a car ride. We all heard who dropped her off at the hospital, and we were all surprised."

"So was I," I admitted. "I?—"

The vibration from my pocket was sudden, distracting me. I pulled out my phone, the screen lighting up with Dad's picture. A frown creased my forehead—he was waiting for me to swing by with dinner; I wasn't dragging my feet or anything.

"Hey, Dad," I answered, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. "Everything okay?"

"Son, calm down, I'm fine," he said. "But let's skip dinner tonight. Mandy thinks maybe it's not the best idea."

Mandy was his in-home nurse—which instantly set alarm bells going off in my head. I leaned back against the counter, the bag of food suddenly feeling like dead weight in my hand. "What's up? You sick or something?"

"Nothing serious, just a little under the weather. Maybe you can find another use for all that grub?" His voice had that twist of mischief I'd come to recognize, even when he was playing it casual.

"Another use? What are you talking about, Dad?"

"Just a stomach bug," he replied, too nonchalant for my liking. "I'm sure it'll pass."

"Come on, out with it." I knew there was more; he had that tone in his voice—the one that said he was up to something.

There was a pause, and then he sighed. "Alright, Gabe. Why don't you take that food over to the Martin place, check on the girls?"

The girls …Kat and Olivia.

Of course.

My hand went to my forehead, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose. "Dad, you had me worried sick here," I scolded.

"Sorry, son," he said, and I could hear the genuine apology in his voice. He'd mellowed a lot since his stroke; the gruff, hard edges smoothed into something gentler. It got to me—every single time.

"Look, Dad," I started, shifting the phone to my other ear as a group of teenagers burst into laughter behind me, "I don't think dropping by the Martins' is such a hot idea. Last time I set foot on their property, Kat said she would shoot me, and I don't think she was kidding around."

His laugh crackled through the speaker, too hearty for my comfort. "Gabe, Gabe, Gabe," he chortled, "since when did you start taking threats like that seriously?"

"I'm dead serious, Dad. She looked about ready to turn me into Swiss cheese."

"Ah, son, but the fastest way to a woman's heart is through her stomach," Dad stated with a knowing tone that suggested he'd unraveled the mysteries of the universe.

"Is this really the hill you wanna die on?" I asked, exasperated.

Knowing him, it probably was.

"Son, if there's one thing true about me, it's that I'm stubborn," he declared. "Everyone knows it."

"He's right!" I heard Mandy call in the background.

I sighed and shook my head. "Fine. I'll drop off the food. But if Kat decides today's the day to pull the trigger, I'm coming back to haunt you. You got that?"

"Deal," he said, the grin practically audible. "But you won't have to. Trust your old man."

I ended the call and looked up to find Betty, her knowing smile just shy of mocking. "You're in luck," she said, the twinkle in her eye doing nothing to soothe my nerves. "Kat's usual is the burger you got for your dad."

"Great minds think alike, huh?" I muttered, but the way my chest tightened told me it wasn't mere coincidence. No…my dad had planned this from the outset and dragged me all the way out from my cabin just to bring Kat dinner.

Damn it.

"Could you also whip up Olivia's favorite?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "You know her better than I do."

"Sure thing," Betty replied, her voice warm and matronly. She scribbled onto her notepad before turning to the kitchen window to call out the order. "Chicken tenders with gravy, coming right up!"

"Thanks, Betty," I said, though my gratitude was laced with a sense of impending doom. Dad's schemes had a way of throwing me into the deep end.

"You got it, kid," she said with a wink, then busied herself at the counter, leaving me to stew in my own thoughts.

The diner hummed softly around me, the familiar scent of fried food and strong coffee unable to comfort the twist of anxiety in my gut. Kat Martin. The girl I'd bullied relentlessly in high school, pushed around, called names…now my greatest obsession.

And here I was, about to waltz onto her property with a peace offering of burgers and chicken tenders.

Bag in hand, I left the diner, the door chiming overhead. I got in my truck and hit the road, passing by the middle school…

…and who did I see but Olivia Martin.

She was sitting on the curb, looking solemn. She should have gone home long ago—and I didn't see the school bus around. I knew Kat would have a conniption if I did what I was about to do…but I couldn't just leave her there.

I pulled over with a frown and she looked up at me. It was the first time I'd actually seen her face to face since she'd asked me if her dad was dead at the hospital. She didn't look much better than she had then.

"Hey," I said. "Are you okay?"

She frowned like she was tired of people asking her that, but then she cocked her head to the side. "You're that guy," she said. "Aunt Kat's friend."

I almost laughed out loud. Me and Kat were not friends—quite the opposite, in fact. But I didn't want to scare Olivia, so I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "I was actually headed out to the ranch if you want a ride."

She had her hands clasped around something, and she glanced down at it then. I realized it was her cell phone—dead, from the looks of it. She looked around and then she stood up, sighing. "Okay," she said, "but if you turn out to be a creep, my aunt knows how to use a gun."

Yeah…I was well aware of that.

"I'm not a creep, just a loser," I said with a grin, then stuck my hand out to her. "Pinky swear."

Her mouth tilted upward and I was shocked when I actually got a small laugh out of her. She was so stoic I hadn't figured that was possible. "Okay," she said. "What's your name?"

"Gabe," I said. "And you must be Olivia."

"Yeah, but everyone calls me Livy, so you should too," she said as she rounded the front of my truck. In a matter of seconds, she was in the passenger seat, her backpack on her lap. She looked at the radio, heard the boilerplate country streaming out of it, then she let out yet another small laugh.

"Yeah," she said. "You are a loser."

I put the car in drive as I laughed with her, even though I knew Kat was going to bite my head off for this.

If this wasn't playing with fire, I didn't know what was.