BECAUSE YOU'RE MINE

Lydia

The first man I piss off in my new diner is six foot four, built like he could bench-press the jukebox, and apparently under the impression that owning a black pickup gives him constitutional rights over my back road.

I’ve been open fifty-two minutes.

Strong start.

“Move it.”

He looks at me over the rim of his coffee.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

As if perhaps nobody has spoken to him in the imperative since kindergarten and he’s trying to remember the procedure.

I smile.

Helpful.

His friend across the booth lowers his fork.

“Frank never cared.”

There it is again.

Frank.

Former owner.

Retired.

Not currently standing in my diner trying to unload three crates of tomatoes through a delivery bay blocked by somebody’s emotional-support truck.

“Frank also kept a broken freezer in the storeroom for eight years because he was convinced he might need it for parts.”

The man’s mouth tightens.

“Road’s always been open.”

“And yet today it’s closed.”

His gaze moves past me towards the windows at the rear of the diner.

The old road runs behind the building, cutting between the trees before disappearing in both directions.

I own it.

This is a fact I have become increasingly fond of since yesterday afternoon when I discovered approximately half of Montana appears to believe otherwise.

People drive through without stopping.

Park behind my kitchen.

Leave vehicles for hours.

Yesterday I found a set of keys beneath the till with R.C. — MIKE written on masking tape.

Nora took them away before I could ask why my cash register apparently doubles as a valet stand.

So this morning I put a chain across the road.

Mostly because my produce guy threatened to stop delivering if one more truck trapped him against the loading bay.

Apparently I have inadvertently declared independence.

The big man puts down his mug.

“You shouldn’t have closed it.”

I blink.

Oh.

Excellent.

We’ve escalated from Frank never cared to telling me what I should do with my own property.

I put the coffee pot on the table.

“Would you like to try that sentence again?”

His friend coughs into his fist.

The big man looks at him.

He immediately becomes fascinated by his eggs.

Coward.

“I said—”

“Oh, I heard you.”

I lean one hand on the back of the empty chair opposite him.

“It was the confidence I admired.”

His eyes narrow.

“You new around here?”

I glance down at my apron.

Then towards the enormous UNDER NEW OWNERSHIP banner still hanging across the front windows.

“No. Twenty-seven years behind this counter. I moisturise.”

Someone at the counter laughs.

The man doesn’t.

Tragic.

“Luke,” his friend mutters.

At least now I have a name.

Luke ignores him.

“That road matters.”

“Then somebody probably should have mentioned that before I bought it.”

Silence.

There.

Interesting.

Not the annoyed kind.

The oh kind.

Like I’ve accidentally said something more important than I realise.

I straighten.

“Anything else?”

His jaw works once.

“Open it.”

I smile.

“No.”

Then I pick up the coffee pot and walk away.

My survival instincts have always been present.

They just occasionally have to wait until I’ve finished making my point.

Nora catches me at the end of the counter.

“Office.”

“I’m working.”

“Lydia.”

“Nora.”

Her eyes narrow.

Mine probably do too.

We’ve known each other eleven days and have already developed the relationship of two women who would hide a body for each other but complain about the inconvenience.

She grabs two clean mugs and jerks her head towards the kitchen.

I follow because she’s fifty-six, has worked at The Junction longer than I’ve been alive and possesses the sort of authority that comes from knowing where every electrical fuse, spare key and local secret is buried.

Also because I would like to know why Luke looks ready to annex my delivery bay.

The second the kitchen door swings shut behind us, she turns.

“What did Frank tell you about the road?”

“That it’s mine.”

Her lips flatten.

“Anything else?”

“That people use it.”

“And?”

“And apparently I should have requested a fucking archaeological survey.”

She closes her eyes briefly.

That is not encouraging.

“Nora.”

“The Junction has always been neutral.”

I wait.

She waits.

I make a circling motion with one hand.

“More words would really elevate this explanation.”

Her mouth twitches despite herself.

“Red Creek uses the road.”

“Luke?”

“Luke’s Red Creek.”

“Is that a surname?”

“No.”

“A company?”

“No.”

“Gang?”

“No.”

She gives me a look.

“Community.”

That sounds suspiciously like a polite word for cult.

“And the other one?”

“Blackridge.”

“Also a community.”

“Yes.”

“And they hate each other?”

Her hesitation answers before she does.

“They don’t always agree.”

“Luke looked like he wanted to set fire to my tomatoes because I chained a road.”

“That’s not about tomatoes.”

“Well, it is to Cal. He was very passionate.”

Nora sighs.

“The road lets both sides pass through without causing problems.”

“Problems where?”

“Between them.”

I stare.

She stares back.

This entire town communicates like it’s being paid by the withheld noun.

“So they both use my road because neither side considers it the other side’s?”

“Basically.”

“That was surprisingly coherent.”

“Thank you.”

“Why didn’t Frank tell me?”

Nora looks away.

Ah.

There it is.

I fold my arms.

“Nora.”

“He probably assumed you knew.”

“Why would I know?”

Another pause.

Tiny.

Wrong.

I catch it.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I point at her.

“You are becoming dangerously close to being charged every time you say that.”

Her expression softens slightly.

“Your grandmother understood how it worked.”

Grandma.

That gets me.

Not enough to stop the morning. Enough to lodge somewhere behind my ribs.

“She worked here.”

“Yes.”

“I know that.”

Nora nods. Doesn’t elaborate.

Fine.

Later.

I have eighty-seven other questions about Evelyn Davis and approximately twelve people currently waiting for breakfast.

The bell over the front door rings. Nora glances through the serving hatch.

Then mutters, “Of course.”

“What?”

“Blackridge.”

I look through.

Three men have just walked in.

And apparently both mysterious communities recruit by shoulder width.

The first is blondish, broad, smiling like he’s walked into a room already expecting to enjoy himself.

The second is darker, solid, watchful.

The third has dark hair, pale grey eyes and the kind of face that makes you think he could either fix your fence or bury someone behind it.

All three notice Luke’s table.

Luke notices them.

The whole diner changes by approximately half a degree.

Nobody stops talking. Nobody moves. But something settles. Tension without theatre. Recognition without greeting.

Oh.

So that’s what Nora meant.

I look at her.

“Children?”

“What?”

“Do I need to separate them?”

She nearly smiles.

“Just serve breakfast.”

Excellent advice.

I push through the kitchen doors.

The blond one looks at me. His smile widens.

“Morning.”

“Debatable.”

He laughs.

I point towards the counter.

“Sit wherever there’s space. If anyone starts a fistfight before I finish this coffee, I’m charging a cover fee.”

Grey Eyes looks at Luke.

Then back at me.

Something almost like amusement crosses his face.

Good.

At least Blackridge comes with humour.

They take three stools.

I grab mugs.

“Coffee?”

“Yes,” Blond says.

“Please,” Grey Eyes adds.

Watchful just nods.

Polite enough.

I pour.

“Names.”

The blond one lifts his mug.

“Jace.”

He nods towards the quiet one.

“Grant.”

Then Grey Eyes.

“Parker.”

I look at him.

“Parker.”

“Yes.”

“Feels suspiciously clean-cut for someone who looks like he knows where bodies are.”

Jace chokes on his coffee.

Parker’s mouth moves.

Grant stares straight ahead.

I smile.

“Lydia.”

“We know,” Jace says.

My hand stills. Just for a second.

He catches it immediately.

“New owner,” he adds.

Right.

Tiny town. Public business sale. Nothing strange.

I slide Parker’s coffee towards him.

“Nora says you’re Blackridge.”

That does it.

Not much.

But all three look at me differently.

Parker glances towards Nora. She is wiping a perfectly clean table.

Traitor.

“What else did she tell you?” he asks.

“That you and Red Creek have a weird relationship with my road. Which I've just closed.”

Parker lowers his mug.

“Your road.”

“Yes.”

Jace looks at Grant.

Grant looks at Parker.

I tap one fingernail against the counter.

“Careful. I’m beginning to think the staring is contagious.”

Parker looks back at me.

“You closed it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy chaos.”

His eyebrow lifts.

“And because nobody asked permission, people keep blocking deliveries, and someone has apparently been using the space behind my diner as long-term parking.”

Jace’s grin disappears slightly.

“Ah.”

“Exactly.”

Parker glances over his shoulder at Luke.

Luke is openly listening now.

No shame.

“Frank always left it open,” Parker says.

I close my eyes.

Once.

Then open them again.

“If Frank walks through that door and tells me he secretly retained ownership of the road, I will apologise personally.”

Jace smiles.

“Otherwise?”

“Otherwise Frank can enjoy retirement.”

Grant’s mouth twitches.

Tiny.

I caught it.

Parker studies me for another moment.

“What exactly did you close?”

“Through traffic.”

He goes still.

Not alarmed.

Focused.

“No parking behind the kitchen unless you’re eating here. No leaving vehicles overnight. No using my staff spaces. No keys behind the register.”

That last one gets a reaction.

Jace glances at Parker.

Grant’s eyes narrow.

Interesting.

“And,” I continue, “the chain stays up until somebody explains why half the county has apparently been using my business as a service station.”

Parker’s gaze sharpens.

“Lydia—”

“No.”

His brows rise.

I rather enjoy that.

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to tell me the road has always been open.”

A pause.

“I was.”

“Then I saved us both time.”

Jace laughs.

Parker gives him a look.

Jace immediately drinks his coffee.

Interesting.

Luke pushes back from his booth. I hear the scrape before I see him.

He crosses towards the counter. His friend stays where he is.

Possibly the clever one.

“You tell them yet?” Luke asks.

I look at him.

“Tell them what?”

“That you’ve closed neutral access.”

Parker turns.

“Luke.”

Luke ignores him.

Finally.

Actual information.

I look between them.

“Neutral access.”

“Yes,” Luke says.

“Meaning?”

“The road.”

“I gathered that.”

“It’s the one route both sides use without crossing into the other’s ground.”

Simple. Clear.

Finally.

I stare at Nora. She lifts both hands.

“That’s what I was trying to explain.”

“It absolutely was not.”

Jace coughs.

I turn back.

“So you both need it.”

Luke answers first.

“Yes.”

Parker nods.

“And neither side owns it.”

Silence.

I smile.

“Great.”

Luke’s expression darkens.

Parker’s doesn’t.

He already knows where I’m going.

“If neither of you owns it, then neither of you gets to decide whether it stays open.”

Luke folds his arms.

“That road has been neutral longer than you’ve been alive.”

“There really is something about my age that fascinates you.”

“It’s an agreement.”

“Between who?”

“Red Creek and Blackridge.”

I spread my hands.

“Wonderful.”

Then wait.

Nobody says anything.

“Do I look like either?”

Jace looks suspiciously entertained.

Luke does not.

Parker is studying me again. Not annoyed. Thinking.

That is somehow more irritating.

I lean both palms on the counter.

“I bought the diner. I bought the land. I apparently also bought your weird little peace corridor because somebody forgot to put a giant asterisk on the sales particulars.”

Luke says, “You can’t just change it.”

“I literally already did.”

His jaw flexes.

Parker says nothing.

I look at him.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You’re Blackridge. He’s Red Creek. You’re both standing in my diner arguing about something you apparently agree on. This feels historic. Enjoy it.”

Jace laughs outright.

Luke glares at him.

Parker rubs his thumb once over the side of his mug.

“What do you want?”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“I don’t know yet.”

Luke exhales sharply.

I point at him.

“I learned what neutral access means three minutes ago. Give me a fucking minute.”

Parker’s mouth almost moves.

“Until then,” I continue, “the road stays closed.”

Luke’s stare hardens.

“No.”

I look at him.

“Yes.”

“That affects more than your deliveries.”

“Then perhaps somebody should have explained that before treating my property like public infrastructure.”

“It’s always worked this way.”

“And now it doesn’t.”

The room has gone quieter.

Not silent.

Close.

I become aware that several customers are listening without pretending otherwise.

An elderly woman at the window actually turns her chair slightly towards us.

Excellent.

Free entertainment with breakfast.

Luke takes a breath.

Parker speaks before he can.

“Call Cooper.”

Jace already has his phone in his hand.

“Done.”

I look at him.

“That sounded ominous.”

His grin returns.

“A little.”

“Who’s Cooper?”

Parker lifts his coffee.

“Alpha—”

He stops.

Interesting.

Then:

“Boss.”

I catch the correction. Store it for later.

“Your boss?”

“Yes.”

“Does he come with a PowerPoint explaining the road?”

“Probably not.”

“Shame.”

Luke returns to his booth.

Not happily.

Blackridge stays at the counter.

I go back to work.

Because this may be a regional crisis, but Table Four still wants extra bacon.

For the next twenty minutes, everybody waits for Cooper while pretending not to.

I refill coffees. Clear plates. Reprogram the till after someone somehow changes the tax setting. Tell a child that no, he cannot take the syrup bottle home even if he loves it and has licked it..

Normal things.

Every few minutes, I catch Parker looking towards the back road.

Then me.

Grant watches Luke’s table.

Jace eats half a piece of pie I distinctly remember telling Nora we were saving for lunch.

I slap his hand away when he reaches for the rest.

He looks offended.

“You’re charging me for that.”

“I assumed.”

“And the second half.”

“I didn’t eat the second half.”

“Emotional damages.”

Parker laughs quietly.

Better.

I am beginning to like Blackridge.

Annoying.

The bell over the door rings once as somebody leaves.

Then an engine pulls into the front lot.

Parker looks through the window. His entire posture changes.

Not tense.

Alert.

Grant straightens.

Jace puts down his fork.

There we go.

Boss.

I glance outside.

Black pickup. Another behind it. Because apparently subtle vehicles are illegal here.

The driver’s door opens. A man steps out. And something inside me pulls tight.

I stop moving.

Not metaphorically.

Actually.

My hand is halfway towards a stack of clean cups and simply stops.

What the fuck?

The sensation has been with me since I arrived.

Faint.

Easy to dismiss.

A strange little tug beneath my ribs whenever I drove certain roads.

A sense that I had ended up somewhere I was meant to be.

I blamed Grandma.

Mum grew up here.

I spent summers here when I was little enough that most of the memories are just flashes.

Pine trees.Heat. Pie cooling on a windowsill.

It made sense that the area felt familiar.

Except this doesn’t feel familiar.

It sharpens.

The man closes the truck door.Turns. Looks towards the diner.

And the pull snaps into place so hard I suck in a breath.

Oh.

No.

Absolutely not.

He hasn’t even crossed the car park and already my body has developed opinions.

He is—

No.

I need a better word.

Tall is inadequate.

Large sounds like furniture.

Built like an extremely persuasive argument against heterosexual celibacy is probably closer.

Broad.

Dark hair, shorter at the sides, longer on top.

Heavy beard.

Black T-shirt stretched across a chest that appears to have personal issues with fabric.

Ink down both arms.

More disappearing beneath the collar.

Late twenties, maybe.

And fucking beautiful in the least convenient way possible.

Not pretty.

Not polished.

Hard.

Controlled.

The kind of man who looks like he says very little because everybody around him has learned to listen the first time.

His eyes find mine through the window.

He stops.

Completely.

One hand remains on the truck door. His shoulders lock.

His face changes.

Not much.

Enough.

Parker stands.

“Fuck.”

Quiet. Serious.

I look at him.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer.

Naturally.

The man outside takes one slow breath.

Then another.

His fingers tighten against the truck.

For a second, I wonder if he’s ill.

Then his gaze moves over me.

Not casually.

Not the usual male sweep that tells you exactly what’s been noticed.

This feels different.

Checking.

Verifying.

Like something about seeing me has fundamentally fucked up his morning.

Good.

Mutual.

Because whatever faint restlessness I’ve felt since arriving in this town is suddenly gone.

Not faded.

Finished.

The destination has been reached.

Him.

My stomach drops.

No.

That’s ridiculous.

I don't believe in signs.

I believe in bad decisions with paperwork attached.

The diner door opens. The bell jingles. Every conversation in the room dips.

He steps inside.

Up close is worse.

Much worse.

Dark eyes. Strong nose. Beard cut close enough to show the shape of his jaw. Tattoos climbing one side of his neck.

Built like the concept of personal space was designed for smaller men.

His gaze locks on me.

Heat curls low in my stomach.

Traitor.

Eleven weeks single and apparently my libido has decided to celebrate by selecting the most intimidating man in Montana.

Excellent work.

Parker moves towards him.

“Cooper.”

Cooper.

Of course.

The name suits him irritatingly well.

Cooper’s attention stays on me for another beat.

Then another.

Finally, he looks at Parker.

“What happened?”

Low voice.

Rough.

Because apparently the universe is committed to making this difficult.

“Rear road.”

Parker nods towards the back.

“She closed it.”

Cooper’s gaze comes back to me instantly.

She.

I fold my arms.

“Lydia.”

His eyes sharpen.

A tiny pause.

Then:

“Lydia.”

My own name sounds different in his mouth.

That annoys me immediately.

“Cooper.”

Something passes across his face. Gone before I can identify it.

Jace looks between us.

Grant goes very still.

I ignore all three.

“You’re the boss.”

Cooper looks at Parker.

Parker gives the smallest shrug.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I gesture towards the back.

“Your people and Red Creek have apparently been using my road under an agreement nobody thought to mention before I signed enough loan documents to develop repetitive strain injury.”

His gaze doesn’t leave mine.

“It's neutral access.”

“So I’ve learned.”

“And you closed it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I own it.”

A flicker. Almost amusement. Gone.

“People were blocking deliveries, leaving vehicles and using the back lot like communal parking. Nobody asked me. Nobody explained. So I closed it.”

Cooper looks towards Luke’s booth.

Luke stands.

“Clarke.”

The entire atmosphere tightens.

Cooper finally turns away from me.

I dislike that.

What?

No.

Absolutely not.

Luke approaches.

“Tell her.”

Cooper’s expression cools.

“Tell her what?”

“The road stays open.”

I lift a hand.

“Careful. We’ve already tried that approach.”

Cooper looks at me again.

There.

Better.

For fuck’s sake.

He studies my face for one long second.

Then asks, “You understand why they use it?”

“Now I do.”

“And?”

“And historical convenience doesn’t create ownership.”

Luke scoffs.

I look at him.

“Do you want coffee or an invoice for legal consultation?”

Jace makes a strangled noise.

Cooper’s mouth moves.

Barely.

He caught it too.

Good.

I continue.

“If both sides want access, both sides can talk to me. Until then, nobody uses it.”

Luke’s jaw hardens.

Parker says nothing.

Cooper watches me.

Not my body now. My face.

Like every word is being stored.

I’m beginning to find it distracting.

Luke turns towards him.

“You’re agreeing with this?”

Cooper doesn’t answer immediately.

His gaze shifts towards the back hallway.

Then Parker.

Then Luke.

Then me.

Something settles behind his eyes.

Calculation. Decision.

Whatever he sees when he looks at that road clearly matters.

Good.

Maybe now somebody will finally explain why.

“The road stays closed,” he says.

Silence.

Proper silence this time. Even I blink.

Luke stares at him.

Parker goes completely still.

Jace’s expression changes.

Grant looks towards Cooper like he’s just done something far more significant than agree with a woman about traffic management.

Interesting.

Very fucking interesting.

Luke laughs once.

No humour.

“You might want to think about what that costs you.”

Cooper finally looks at him.

“I have.”

Then his eyes come straight back to mine.

My pulse kicks.

Hard.

There’s something in that look I don’t understand.

Something far too certain for a man who learned my name five minutes ago.

And suddenly I have the uncomfortable feeling that whatever argument these men were having before Cooper Clarke walked through my door—

It isn’t about the road anymore.