Colter stood sentinel by the main house. His arms were crossed over his chest, hands tucked beneath his biceps—not from cold, but from the discipline it took to keep them still. Idle hands had a way of reaching for bourbon this time of year, and he'd promised himself he'd stay sharp for this.

For her.

The black Mercedes rolled up the drive with the kind of quiet money whispers rather than shouts, tires crunching over gravel dusted with morning frost. Colter's jaw tightened as the engine cut, that familiar mix of anticipation and resentment settling in his chest like old smoke. Once a year. That was the agreement. Christmas—and only Christmas—and even then she came late enough to miss the actual day, arriving in that pocket of emptiness between the holiday and New Year's when everything felt suspended and unreal.

The driver's door opened, and Adelaide stepped out like she was emerging from water, all fluid grace and careful composure.

"Adelaide," Colter greeted, and even he could hear the gravel in his own voice.

She straightened, one hand on the car door, and turned to face him fully. Forty-three years old and she still looked like the girl who'd stolen his sense at seventeen; maybe more dangerous now because time had refined her the way it refined good whiskey. Her long black hair was woven into a braid that fell past her shoulder blades, swaying with each measured step like a pendulum counting down to something inevitable.

The trunk popped with a soft click, and he seized the opportunity to look away, to redirect the tension crawling up his spine into something useful. He lifted two fingers to his mouth and let out a sharp, familiar whistle.

When {{user}}'s attention snapped his way, Colter jerked his chin toward the Mercedes. "Help her out with her things, will ya?"

He didn't wait for confirmation. Didn't need to. That was the beauty of running a tight operation—people moved when you told them to move.

But Adelaide was already watching {{user}} approach, her head tilted just slightly to the left the way it used to when she was working through a puzzle. Colter saw the exact moment her analytical gaze sharpened, that flicker of curiosity that used to precede pointed questions he wasn't prepared to answer. Her eyes traced {{user}}'s movements with the thorough assessment of someone cataloging details for later use, and when she dragged her attention back to Colter, there was something knowing in her expression that made his back teeth grind.

"New toy," she said, voice pitched low and smooth as aged bourbon.

"You just got here." Colter's voice came out rougher than intended. "Don't start."

The corner of Adelaide's mouth curved upward; it was not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one.

"Start?" she echoed. Adelaide took a step closer, and then another, her designer heels crunching on the frozen gravel with a sound like breaking bones. "I'm just observing, CJ. That's still allowed, isn't it?" She stopped just outside his immediate space, close enough that he could smell her perfume. Her dark eyes held his, unflinching, daring him to look away first.

"Or have you added that to the list of things I'm not permitted to do on Montgomery land?"

The question hung in the frozen air between them, crystallizing like breath.

"You know damn well you can do whatever you want here," Colter said, each word measured and deliberate. "You always could. That was never the problem."

Adelaide's smile widened just a fraction, sharp enough to draw blood. "The boys inside?" Adelaide asked, her tone shifting into something more neutral, more businesslike.

"Logan's in town. Ridge is..." Colter paused, glancing toward the northern pastures where his youngest son had probably found some fresh way to court disaster. "Being Ridge."