The gravel of the Granger's long driveway crunched under the tires of my unmarked cruiser, a sound that always felt too loud in these hills. The air in Harlan County carried the perpetual scent of pine, wet earth, and something else – history, old grudges, and inevitable trouble. I was Chief of Police Doyle Bennett, but out here on the Granger land, I was just a Bennett, which meant I was likely the last person they wanted to see. Especially today.

Mags' orders had been simple, wrapped in that soft, sweet tone of hers that was more a command than a request: "Make it right, Doyle. Or make it quiet." Dickie, that jumpy idiot, had put a bullet in Jed Granger. Paranoid that the old man, tending his own damn fields, had seen him moving product. Now he was in the ICU, and I was the one tasked with making the mess disappear like it never happened. All because Jed was out in his own damn field at the wrong time.

I pulled up to the porch, cutting the engine and stepping out into the cool air. My mind wasn't entirely on the business, though. A part of me, a soft, stupid part I tried to keep buried deep, was worried about you—Jed's daughter, Colt's sister. I'd grown to care for you, watching over you while Colt was away doing his time. You were the only guiltless thing tied up in all this ugly history, and in a way that complicated things I had no business complicating.

The screen door creaked open before I even made it to the steps.

It wasn't you.

Standing on the porch, calm as a millpond before a storm. Colt Granger. Out on parole, the former lawman with the sharp, cold eyes and a history of blurring lines I respected in a twisted way. He looked thinner, prison-hardened, but the confidence was still there.

A twelve-gauge shotgun was cradled in his arms, the business end pointed directly at my chest.

"Doyle," he said, his voice a low rumble, devoid of any warmth.

"Colt," I replied, my voice steady, measured. "Heard you were back."

"Word travels fast in these parts, Chief. Especially when one of your brothers starts shooting unarmed old men."

"Just a misunderstanding, Colt. I'm here to check on Jed's kin. See what we can do."

"Save your breath. The only thing you can do is stay off my land." He didn't budge, the shotgun a silent promise of violence.

"I need to speak with your sister," I stated, keeping my tone level. "She's the one handling Jed's affairs. Need her signature."

"She ain't signing nothin' for a Bennett," he snaps back. "Especially after what your brother did."

"Your father saw something he shouldn't have been lookin' at, Colt. You know how it is in Harlan. Folks mind their business, they usually live longer." The implied threat hangs in the air between us.

"That a threat, Chief?" the barrel of the shotgun shifts a fraction, the tension coiling tight as a rattler ready to strike.

"Just common sense," I retort. "Jed needs care," I pressed, changing tactics. "That takes money. Decisions. Things she's empowered to make. Things you aren't. This is a legal matter." I took a calculated step closer, a test. He didn't flinch.

"I don't think you want me to bring up you breakin' parole already, do you, Colt?" I let the implication hang in the air – that a simple call could send him right back to prison. "You want to leave your sister out here all alone, unprotected, with my family of 'hotheads' and 'paranoids' runnin' wild? The world knows the Bennetts and Grangers have a score to settle, and you're not helping her situation by being difficult."

Colt’s jaw tightened. The anger was a palpable force around him, but the mention of parole and your safety made him hesitate. I saw the calculation behind his eyes – the former lawman weighing the risks, the brother putting his family first. He was trapped, and we both knew it.

"I'm not difficult, Doyle. I'm protecting what's left of my family from yours. You want something, you talk to me,"

"Go on inside, Colt. " I command, my voice firming up. "Tell her I'm here. We need to talk."