Page 17 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

I've never stepped foot in Krissy’s Bar before.

After leaving town at eighteen and only returning three weeks ago, I haven’t had much time to explore the places where the younger crowd now spends their nights.

Growing up, my world revolved around the creek—where Maverick, Colt, Regan, and I would swim on scorching summer afternoons—and the fairgrounds, the beating heart of every seasonal festival, parade, and, of course, the annual state fair each autumn.

Back then, those moments felt like the height of excitement. The state fair, with its grand parade honoring the fall harvest that kept our farms alive and our town’s economy running, was the event of the year—and it’s fast approaching again.

But the town has changed since I left. New bars, small restaurants, places that never existed when I was young. Whitewood Creek has grown in ways I never expected, offering more than I remember. More than I ever thought it would. I wonder if I could find my place here again.

Krissy’s Bar, for instance, is a charming surprise—a nostalgic homage to days gone by.

The front half of an old vintage Ford juts out near the entrance, setting the tone for the quirky décor inside.

The walls are an explosion of Coca-Cola memorabilia: tin signs, glass bottles, and retro logos everywhere you look.

Even the chairs are the old-school molded plastic kind, their surfaces cracked from years of wear, each bearing a faded Coca-Cola emblem.

A jukebox is tucked in the corner playing country classics—Martina McBride, Tim McGraw, and other legends—while a handful of regulars linger around, shooting pool and playing darts.

It feels frozen in time yet somehow vibrant, alive.

“This place is cute. Is it anything like the bar and restaurant that your family is building in Charlotte?” I ask over the loud music.

Colt shakes his head. “No. The Whitewood Creek Brewery and Restaurant is more upscale. Fancy lights, a dress code and less dive bar.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see it.” I smile genuinely.

We follow Lydia and the five other volunteers from the community center who joined us today toward the two large, rectangular bar tables situated near the back of the restaurant.

The space is lined with dartboards, and an unused pool table sits quietly, waiting for someone from the loud crowd to jump on it.

“I call the first game!” Lydia shouts, grinning as she grabs the arms of three of the other volunteers and pulls them toward the tables. “Molly, Colt, will you pick up the first round for everyone?”

I toss her a thumbs up then slide off my bar stool with Colt following close behind.

He’s still wearing the same jeans from our parole meeting earlier, though his beard has somehow thickened since this morning, giving him a rugged edge that only adds to his already intimidating presence.

I lean over the bar, catching the bartender’s eye and then place the order for our group.

Colt stays close, his eyes constantly scanning the room like he’s searching for a threat. There’s a tension in his stance, a sharpness to his scowl that feels off. The air around him hums with unease, his body language making it clear—he’s uncomfortable here tonight.

“Hey… are you okay?” I ask, turning to face him and resting a hand on his arm.

“Yeah,” he exhales, but the clipped edge to his tone doesn’t match the word.

He doesn’t look anywhere close to fine, and the way his jaw tics tells me something’s eating at him.

Maybe he hadn’t really wanted to go out tonight after all.

But he’s the one who invited me to volunteer, so I’d assumed he was up for it.

When the bartender hands me the tray of drinks, I reach for it, but Colt is faster—grabbing it from my hands without a word. He carries it back to our table, methodically setting each glass down without taking one for himself.

“You’re not drinking?” I ask, arching a brow before taking a long sip of the cold, frothy beer. The crisp bitterness is a welcome relief, though I probably should’ve eaten something first. After the day I’ve had, I’m both starving and parched.

“Nah.”

I nod, wondering what has him so on edge tonight.

The music gets turned up louder as our group of volunteers cheer from the pool table where a heated game has begun.

The sound of pool cues hitting the balls as they sink into the sockets filters around us while a few couples start line dancing to the jukebox that’s playing hits in the corner.

“Hey... are you sure everything’s okay?” I don’t mean to prod but he looks like he’s a live wire, ready to snap. His hazel eyes are darker, and his forehead has been permanently creased since we got here tonight.

He puffs out a breath and nods his head, leveling me with a cool stare. “Last time I was in here was five years ago. It was the night that I got arrested.”

I set my beer down hard. A slop of the liquid slips over the top and spills onto my ripped jeans with the movement.

“Ah, shit.” I grab a napkin and dab at it while I try to collect my thoughts about how I dragged him back to the place where his life was ruined.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I mean, I never really heard the full story.

I knew you’d been at a bar, but I hadn’t realized it was this one.

I would have never suggested we come here tonight if I’d known. ”

He shrugs but doesn’t meet my eye. His gaze is fixed on the bay doors that lead out to the bar’s patio. “It’s alright. Had to face the scene at some point.”

I nod, my mind racing with questions I’ve always wanted to ask but never did.

Since moving back, all I really know is what little Regan’s shared with me from her perspective.

Maverick didn’t have all the details either when I’d asked, and it’s always been clear to me that Regan doesn’t enjoy discussing it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask carefully.

He hesitates, eyes drifting toward the sticky, bar floor before meeting mine with a hardened gaze. “It’s not my favorite story to relive, but I don’t mind telling you what happened.” He exhales as if the weight of the memory is settling over him.

“It was a Friday night, and I was here having a drink with Maverick and Kody. I’d finished a beer, and a little over an hour had passed.

I was messing around with some of the older locals, playing darts, talking shit, then decided to head out to my truck and go home.

Mav and Kody wanted to stay but I had an early morning at the distillery.

” He chuckles but it isn’t a happy sound.

“I walked outside and that’s when I saw a guy beating on a woman at the store across the street.

I told him to stop, gave him a fair warning but he didn’t listen.

Had her by the hair, yanking her around like a rag doll.

When I got closer to try to intervene, he swung at me, connected with my nose and broke it.

It was too late to even register who he was before I started knocking the shit out of him. ”

He shrugs. “I broke his jaw in three places and permanently damaged the vision in his right eye.”

“Shit, Colt.”

He nods. “Guy deserved it.”

“What happened to the woman?”

“She was pretty banged up—bruised and beaten, but she was okay. Lost a chunk of hair from her scalp. When the sheriff showed up to talk to her, though, she suddenly changed her story. Claimed I was the one who swung at the guy first and that she’d just fallen or some bullshit, pretending she was just a bystander in the whole thing.

It was all a lie.” He pauses, his jaw tightening.

“The bar was subpoenaed, and they handed over footage of me earlier in the night, having a single drink, which they used to build my case. But when they tried to get footage from outside the bar to figure out who started it, all of it mysteriously disappeared.”

“That’s insane.”

He nods, his eyes narrowing. “Troy did what he could, but by then he was living in New York, with Max in his senior year of high school. He hired me a good lawyer, but the law wasn’t on my side that day.

I hadn’t realized that the guy I hit was the sheriff’s son, so I guess it makes sense how the evidence vanished, and the woman suddenly changed her story when the sheriff interviewed her. ”

“That’s… that’s insane.”

“Yeah. It took four years—and Troy running for governor—for them to dig up footage from across the street that backed up my version of things. The guy swung at me first. But even then, the guy still walked free. The witness disappeared, and they said the force I used was excessive.” He shakes his head.

“That footage, though—that’s what finally pushed my appeal forward and helped me get out. ”

I’m silent shaking my head, feeling a ripple of anger rush through me. “I’m so sorry, Colt. I never knew what exactly happened.”

His brown eyes turn towards me as he studies me seriously. “Does it make you look at me differently?”

My eyebrows scrunch as I take him in, surprised by that question. “No. Why would it? I know who you are inside. You were doing the right thing protecting that woman. Imagine if you hadn’t intervened…”

“Yeah...” he shrugs, his voice deepens as the emotion in his eyes disappears. “Well, shit happens.”

Shit like this doesn’t just happen. It’s allowed. People in power turn a blind eye, letting violence go unchecked, with no real consequences for the ones who deserve them. Colt wasn’t some reckless criminal—he was defending an innocent woman, stepping in before she faced something far worse.

The thought makes my stomach twist. It hits too close to home, stirring up things I’d rather keep buried. The only thing I’ve eaten today was a single mint from Lydia’s desk back at the precinct, and now, even that feels like it’s threatening to come back up.

“Well… if you’re not drinking tonight, I guess that means I’m drinking for both of us.

” I grab my beer, because I don’t know what else to say—how to smooth over the weight of our conversation—so I do the next best thing and down a long gulp.

Then, without hesitation, I signal the bartender and order a round of shots for the group.

Colt watches me, that unreadable expression still in place, as I knock one back. The burn settles in, warm and distracting, and before I can overthink it, I grab his hand and tug him toward the dartboard. “Come on—let’s play.”

An hour later, after a competitive round of darts with Colt and another shot Lydia insisted that I take, the familiar hum of alcohol spreads through my veins.

It’s a comfortable kind of buzz, loosening my limbs and making me talk faster, filling Colt in on all the little details of my new home—the way Regan and I are decorating, the things I’m most excited about now that I’m back in town.

I’m doing anything to keep the conversation going to distract him from where he is and distract me from how good he looks tonight and the heaviness in my heart for him.

I shift on my barstool, gesturing animatedly, when suddenly, the seat tilts beneath me. A startled laugh escapes me as I slip, but before I can even process it, Colt’s hands are on me, steady and strong, keeping me upright.

“Molly…” Colt growls in a low warning, his large hand steadying me on one of my hips.

A rush of heat blooms in my chest as his hand lingers, his hazel eyes locking onto mine like a magnet I can’t resist. Those eyes—rich with swirls of green and gold, like a damn kaleidoscope—pull me in, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

My thoughts spiral, teetering on the edge of saying something stupid.

Something reckless that could nudge me out of the friend zone and straight into a casual hook-up with the man sitting in front of me.

I shove the thought aside, forcing my mind to latch onto something— anything —safer because I can’t acknowledge what’s really bubbling beneath the surface: the crush I’ve nursed for years, no longer innocent and harmless but now a full-blown ache for a man who’s so far out of my reach, it’s almost laughable.

For a man who takes care of the people around him and is wounded at his core.

I’ve sworn off men like him—men who are too beautiful for their own good. After my ex, I learned my lesson: dangerous, gorgeous men with devastating smiles and bodies carved from stone are heartbreak waiting to happen.

Men like Colt? They’re a risk I can’t afford to take.

Not when I’ve barely pieced myself back together.

Not when I know how easily he could shatter me all over again.

Not when I need his friendship more than a casual hook up.