Page 23 of Steeped In Problems (Badges & Baristas #3)

Chapter Twelve

The barn looked nothing like the place where he’d hauled hay as a high school kid.

It was transformed—every rafter was wrapped in strings of LED white lights, casting soft, golden lines on the floor.

The tables had tablecloths—actual tablecloths—and elegant white vases crammed with wildflowers.

Even the folding chairs looked better, grouped into little islands around the tables.

Tanner drifted through the crowd, shoulders squared and jaw set, but inside, every step was a jolt.

He didn’t recognize half the people in attendance, but that meant the outreach had worked.

Or maybe Rhonda’s advertising blitz had blanketed the entire county.

Whatever it was, the barn was packed wall-to-wall with every flavor of Clear Mountain resident: ranchers in boots, retirees in puffy jackets, a couple of the “remote worker” types in clean jeans and flannels, and a handful of teenage volunteers roving with trays of cheese cubes and mini cookies.

He caught sight of Kristy at the center of it all, clipboard in hand, her blonde hair down and catching the light like something out of a shampoo commercial.

She was running the event, but not in the frantic, barely-holding-it-together way he’d seen at the shop.

Here, she was in her element—smiling, pointing, making jokes loud enough to cut through the roar of the crowd.

She’d slip through the throng, coaxing people to bid on auction items, getting them to laugh, nudging them into going just a few bucks higher.

Tanner let himself watch for a long minute, arms crossed over his chest. Every so often, she’d glance up from her clipboard and scan the barn, maybe for trouble or maybe for him. When their eyes met, she’d grin and shake her head like she was surprised he hadn’t bailed yet.

The band started up—a country cover of something he barely recognized, but it got the tables humming and the attendees up and looking at the auction items. On the wall near the entry, Emily had set up a giant thermometer board to track the fundraising total.

It was already a third of the way up, thanks to a bidding war over a weekend at one of the new Air BnBs and a “Chief for a Day” police ride-along that Zach, predictably, had offered to personally supervise.

Tanner did a loop, said hello to Joe and Emily, who were working a different section of the room, followed by several of his former colleagues from the police department as well as the fire department, and then doubled back to the edge of the dance floor.

He was just close enough to hear Kristy’s voice as she ran a drawing for “biggest caffeine addict in town.” The prize: a year’s worth of Brave Badge brew.

The winner was a high school senior who looked like he’d already maxed out his heart rate for the week.

The kid’s table erupted into cheers as he took a bow, nearly spilling his lemonade on the town council president.

It was chaos, but the good kind. The kind where nobody cared if your shoes were dirty, where strangers clapped you on the back and called you by your first name even if they’d never met you. He felt it, down in his bones, and it was a different kind of alive than he’d been in years.

The auction crept closer to the target. Every time the thermometer inched higher, Kristy’s excitement was contagious—she’d whoop, clap, high-five whoever was standing closest. Even Rhonda, who was usually allergic to public displays of enthusiasm, was beaming as she brought out trays of lemon loaf and Brave Badge cupcakes.

A little while later, the band slowed things down. It was one of those old-school, country heartbreak ballads—something about stars and second chances. Some of the guests wolfed down dessert and refilled coffee cups, and for the first time all night, there was space on the dance floor.

Tanner hated dances, had always hated them.

He was the guy who guarded the punchbowl, the wallflower in a room full of peacocks.

But something about the way Kristy was looking at the couples shuffling through the slow song—hopeful, wistful, almost sad—made his feet move before he’d had time to think.

He crossed the room in six long strides, dodged a toddler and a tipsy old man, and stopped right next to her. She smelled like citrus and Sharpie ink.

“Hey,” he said because he never needed more than that.

She looked up, startled. “Hey.”

“Want to dance?”

He didn’t give her a chance to say no. He just offered his hand, bracing himself for a joke or a gentle brush-off. But she set the clipboard on the chair behind her, squared her shoulders, and took it. Her palm was warm, her fingers small and strong.

He led her out onto the floor, which was really just a patch of barn wood swept clear of folding chairs and dust. The song drifted over them, syrupy and slow, and they moved in a lazy circle. Kristy’s free hand landed on his shoulder, light at first, then settling there like it belonged.

She was a better dancer than him, but she let him set the pace, only occasionally nudging him back on beat.

He felt the eyes on them—Aiden and Lindsay at a table, Zach and Erica near the food, and even a few of the teenage helpers.

He didn’t care. It was the most normal he’d felt in two years, maybe longer.

Kristy was looking anywhere but his face at first. At the ceiling lights, at the wildflowers on the tables, and at the chart with the rising red marker line. But after a minute, she looked up at him, really up, and whispered, “Thank you for this.”

He wanted to play it cool, to say it was nothing, but the words stuck. So he squeezed her hand a little tighter and murmured, “It’s my pleasure.”

Another couple joined them, then two more. By the end of the song, a dozen people were swaying to the music, and the band shifted to something a little faster, but Kristy didn’t let go.

She leaned in, voice barely above the music. “If we get to thirty-five hundred, Emily said she’ll make Joe do the two-step onstage.”

Tanner snorted. “That’s worth a donation all by itself.”

She laughed, and the sound vibrated through his chest, spreading warmth everywhere it touched. He didn’t want to let go. The lights, the noise, the feeling of being part of something again—it was better than he remembered.

The song wound down, and they paused, still holding hands.

He looked down and noticed the freckles on her nose, the way her lips parted just slightly like she was about to say something.

He leaned in, closer than he had any right to, and watched her eyes flicker to his mouth.

He was about to kiss her. He was really about to do it, and for once, he didn’t care who saw.

But the spell broke all at once. The barn doors clattered open, letting in a gust of cold air—and a familiar voice, sharp and ugly, rang out over the music.

“What a joke,” Mark snarled, standing in the doorway with a half-empty whiskey bottle in hand. His shirt was untucked, his face red. He looked like he was looking for a fight, and he was walking right toward them.

Kristy’s whole body tensed, including her hand in Tanner’s. He pulled her closer, wanting to protect her from whatever came next.

Mark’s eyes flicked from Kristy to Tanner and back again like he was calculating the odds in some twisted game. He stopped just short of the dance floor and wagged the bottle in their direction. “Guess it’s true what they say—some people really do end up settling for less.”

The music faltered; the whole barn seemed to go quiet at once. A few heads turned. Someone near the stage muttered, “Oh no,” under their breath.

Tanner let go of Kristy’s hand, stepped in front of her, and squared up. His voice was low and even. “You should leave, Mark.”

The other man grinned ominously, teeth bared. “Or what? You gonna arrest me? Oh, wait. You can’t. Not anymore.”

He was drunk, but his words were sharp enough to cut. Tanner could feel every muscle in his body go taut, but he kept his hands at his sides.

Kristy stepped up next to him, voice calm but tight. “Mark, go home. You’re not welcome here.”

Mark sneered. “Not what I heard. Isn’t this shindig supposed to be for everyone in the community? Last time I checked, that included me.”

“Invited members of the community,” Tanner emphasized the first word. “Kristy’s right, you need to leave...now.”

Tanner could see the embarrassment flicker across Kristy’s face. He wanted to hit the other guy or at least drag him outside by the collar, but that wasn’t going to help. Instead, he planted his feet and stared Mark down.

Aiden and Zach were already on the move, skirting the edge of the crowd. If Mark tried anything, they’d have his arms pinned in two seconds flat.

“So that’s it, huh?” Mark shouted. “You went from saving lives to...what? Begging for spare change with this ex-cop loser?” His finger jabbed at Tanner, missing by a mile.

People stopped pretending not to watch. Conversations hiccupped and died. Even the band couldn’t play past it. Someone at the food table snorted, but it was the only laugh in the place.

Mark was winding up for another volley when he tripped over a bundle of extension cords. He barely caught himself on the auction table, knocking a row of shrink-wrapped baskets to the floor. Cellophane burst. Wine bottles rolled. Someone shrieked as a shower of gourmet popcorn hit their shoes.

“Oops,” Mark gurgled, smiling with all his teeth. “Guess that’s coming out of your tip jar, Kristy.”

He tried to right himself, failed, and then turned to the nearest group of guests.

“You all know, right? This—” He waved his arms, nearly clocking an old man in a ball cap.

“—this is just a scam. There’s no way she’s dating him.

It’s all for the cameras. You think a guy like that could land a looker like her? Get real.”