Her Cowboy Sheriff

by Leigh Riker

  Finn stared at him. Was he telling the truth?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  WHAT IF DEREK had steered Finn and Annabelle to an innocent man? She was about to find out, and since this was not a criminal matter she’d eliminated Finn from the equation for now. Showing up with the sheriff didn’t seem like the best idea and Annabelle had come alone to test the waters. This is my problem.

  She pulled into a parking spot at the Barren Community Center, which housed the seniors’ meeting space and various civic offices. When Finn had stopped by the diner to tell her what he’d found out, she’d been as incredulous as when Nell had told her about Derek.

  I know I stood up for him before, but I can’t imagine Derek turning the spotlight on someone—anyone—else, she’d said. Knowing your history with him, he could have been tweaking you about this.

  Which wasn’t her only concern. I’m here, Finn had said last night, changing her view of their relationship—whether or not he wanted one—changing her feelings about the closet, and from the moment she’d laid eyes on him at the diner today she’d felt shaky. What if their relationship could become more? What if he wanted her and Emmie? Finn had made her feel safe but also capable. What did she really want?

  Forcing her doubts from her mind, Annabelle got out of the car. She couldn’t decide whether she hoped this man, like the one connected to Vegas, was Emmie’s dad or not.

  She strode up the walk to the front entrance then took the stairs to the second floor. As she opened the door onto the suite of offices, she fought an urge to flee. She’d never had the courage to do something like this before. At the receptionist’s desk she gave her name then said, “I’d like to see the mayor, please.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I think he’ll be interested in what I have to say.”

  In hushed tones, the receptionist spoke briefly to him over the intercom, and Annabelle was soon shown into the mayor’s inner sanctum. Seated behind his broad desk, Harry Barnes studied her before recognition dawned in his sharp gaze. “Miss Foster. Did my assistant fail to thank you for your generous donation to my last campaign?”

  “No, I received a note, and you’re welcome. I was happy to donate this year on behalf of Annabelle’s Diner.” The last year, she thought.

  He waved her toward a chair in front of his desk. Its surface was bare except for a thin stack of papers, and she knew that wide smile, which he wore in any photograph Annabelle had ever seen of him. Of course his meals with his staff at her diner were legendary, too. Townspeople often stopped by to greet him or to catch the mayor’s ear about some pet project. “What have I done?” He grinned. “Committed a fund-raising violation? I didn’t realize you were on the county election commission.”

  “Nothing like that.” Getting to the heart of the matter before she lost her nerve, Annabelle squared her shoulders. She hated having to do this. “It’s about Sierra Hartwell.”

  She watched Harry’s expression change. A small crease formed between his eyebrows. “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but...ah, yes. The woman who was killed in that accident.”

  “She was my cousin.”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, I remember the newspaper reports. And of course, considering my position in the community, I made an appearance at the gravesite to pay my respects. A tragedy like that doesn’t often happen here, thank goodness.”

  Yes, he’d shown up at the cemetery, but as if it was another campaign event. He’d given Annabelle his condolences but was there more, it seemed, to work the crowd.

  “Did you know Sierra personally?” she pressed.

  In the light coming through the office windows, his skin seemed to turn a sickly gray. “I never met the woman.” He looked at his watch. “Now, if that’s all, I have a meeting with the town planner. You’ve heard about my hope to develop the park by the creek?” It was a worthy cause, the spot where Emmie had fallen. “The playground is inadequate for our young people, and we need a better picnic facility, perhaps with a pavilion—if the voters approve.” He glanced toward the door to the reception area.

  Knowing she’d run out of time, she reached into her pocket for the photograph she’d brought with her of Sierra and Emmie. Annabelle had found it among Sierra’s things when she and Emmie made the collage. “This is my cousin’s daughter,” she said, holding it out.

  He barely focused on the image before handing it back. “A pretty child. I have a three-year-old son.”

  “He and Emmie are friends at day care,” she said.

  “Elizabeth did tell me that. It can be a delightful age until it’s not.” He tried another smile that fell flat. “What does this have to do with me?”

  Annabelle tried to sound...tactful. “I think you did know Sierra, and quite well. A few years ago, four in fact.”

  His gaze shifted. “That’s absurd. What are you implying? I’m a married man.” As if that protected him from scrutiny. And for a second, it did. She knew and liked Elizabeth. Annabelle didn’t want to hurt her, but she could see beads of moisture on Harry’s forehead, and his obvious discomfort gave Annabelle courage. His voice sounded strangled. “Why on earth would you come here like this—into my office as mayor—and make this accusation? Do you have any idea how important I am in this town?” He went on, his face red, “Do you know anything about Sierra Hartwell? She was a man-eater.”

  Annabelle leaned forward. Harry was giving himself away with every word. “I thought you didn’t know her.”

  “All right, I did. She had this way about her of charming, enticing, making promises, leading a man on, but it took no time to see what she was.”

  His tone was harsh and there was building anger in his eyes, yet he also looked trapped. She would confront him as she’d never dared to challenge her parents. For Emmie’s sake. “Did you or did you not enjoy a romantic interlude with Sierra—”

  “This is not a court of law, but please, say what you really mean,” he said, his hands shaking. He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I’ll ask the question for you. Am I the father of Sierra Hartwell’s child?”

  “Are you?” Annabelle said, trying not to blink under his stare.

  “How dare you accuse me of that, too? If a rumor like this gets around—and that’s all it is—my political career, my life, would be ruined!” The mayor rose then rounded his desk, pushing his face close to hers, the invisible cloak of his office and its power crumpling like the Wicked Witch of the West into a puddle, but only for a moment. “Why would I have done such a thing? Have an affair that would risk the wife I love and three children I adore?” He stalked to the door. “This conversation is over. You will say nothing to the receptionist or anyone else on your way out.” But he hadn’t finished. “I hope this is the last of this, Miss Foster. I’m sure you don’t want a visit from the county Health Department in violation of some ordinance relating to your diner.” He jerked open the door then turned to grip her shoulder. Through his teeth, he said in a low, menacing tone, “One more thing before you go. I’ve seen you with Finn Donovan and I have no doubt he was part of this charade. Tell the sheriff if he gets involved any further, I’ll have his badge.”

  He waited for Annabelle to leave and slammed the door behind her.

  Her pulse thrumming in her ears, she rushed through the waiting area, down the stairs and out to her car, wondering if she should have let Finn handle this after all. Or dismissed Derek’s accusation without proof? Certainly Finn doubted him, and though she wanted more than anything to find Emmie’s father, she knew Derek could have lied.

  But the mayor had certainly reacted, and he’d been right about one thing: he was a powerful man in town, even in the surrounding county, and furious, or scared, enough to retaliate now. If that got around, Annabelle would have an even harder time selling the diner. She’d have to cancel her course a second time, try to keep on running the p
lace—and hope it didn’t fail after all the gossip. She’d have to stay in Barren.

  In her determination to help Emmie, she might have just made everything worse.

  * * *

  FINN STARED AT ANNABELLE. “You wandered into the mayor’s office and accused him like that?” Luckily, he hadn’t left work for the day yet, and as usual, Sarge was snoring on the floor by the front window. Finn didn’t seem to hear him though the sound could hardly be ignored.

  Annabelle tried to catch her breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to involve you.”

  “Never mind me. I’ve been threatened before,” Finn said. From the set of his mouth and the blaze of heat in his eyes, Annabelle knew he must be furious. With Harry, but also with her. “When I told you I thought he could be Emmie’s dad, I didn’t think you’d act on it yet. We don’t have proof, just Derek’s word. I needed to get to the truth first. The mayor’s not an enemy you should make.”

  “I know that now.” She rubbed her shoulder where she could still feel the imprint of his fingers. “Whatever he does next, I’ll deal with it.”

  To her surprise Finn smiled, then contained it. He perched on the corner of his desk, his jeans taut over his thighs. “I have to admit, that took guts. I’m not worried for myself, but he could make life difficult for you and Emmie. Did you think of that before you barged into his office?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Then why do that? What’s your hurry?”

  “I was there for her.” This wasn’t the time to tell him about her trip to Phoenix. “I know I shouldn’t have acted so quickly, but I’m—”

  “Hoping for what? Harry’s not about to move Emmie into his home with his wife and children and announce, even in this enlightened age, that—surprise—she’s their sister.” He added, “I expected you to mull over what Derek said while I dug deeper. Then if we were convinced he was telling the truth, to figure out the best means of approaching Harry. But now, I need you to keep away from him.”

  With their talk apparently concluded, Annabelle gathered her bag. She bent down to pat Sarge still sleeping in the sun. Except to cock one ear, he didn’t move. When she straightened, she caught Finn studying her. He said, “Let’s work on this later. Why don’t you bring Emmie to the farm tonight? I’ll get us dinner on the way home.”

  Annabelle couldn’t resist teasing him. “From the diner? The special is shepherd’s pie.”

  “Or the café,” he said with a light in his eyes. “Jack could be making coq au vin.”

  Although she’d started it, Annabelle couldn’t respond to his teasing; she knew Finn was right about Harry, and she might have ruined everything. Yet for once in her life she’d stood up for something. “It will be hard to talk with Emmie there.” And she wasn’t sure another evening with Finn was a good idea.

  “I know what will keep Emmie busy,” he said.

  * * *

  “I RIDING, FINN!” Emmie called down to him from the back of Freckles, the spotted pony.

  “Yes you are.” The saddle Olivia had donated was big for her, but Emmie couldn’t have been happier. At least now, courtesy of his few lessons with Olivia, he could give Emmie some basic pointers.

  “Go faster,” Emmie insisted.

  “Nell was right. She’s already a cowgirl,” Annabelle said, her first words since Finn had boosted Emmie into the saddle. Her fretful look reminded him of Caro keeping a close watch over Alex to the last second of her life. If Annabelle didn’t think she was a mother at this point, she was dead wrong. If only she would realize that, change her mind about leaving town and...then what? Was he really interested in a long-term relationship, even with Annabelle? He’d certainly acted like he was in front of that closet door.

  He led Freckles in a last loop around the yard then back to the barn.

  By the doors the pony’s ears pricked up and she tried to turn a walk into a trot. Finn pulled her up short, and the bay whickered a greeting from down the aisle. Freckles let out a whinny in return.

  Emmie laughed. “Pony wants me to ride all the time!”

  Finn’s arm ached from the hold he’d kept on the lead rope so Freckles couldn’t run off with Emmie. “Maybe not all the time...”

  “Tomorry,” she said, her word for tomorrow.

  “We’ll see what Annabelle thinks.”

  Emmie clapped her hands. “She says yes!”

  “Now wait a minute.” Annabelle was following them through the dim barn, keeping a safe distance from the pony’s rear end.

  As he showed Emmie how to unsaddle Freckles, wipe down the pony’s hide and brush until it gleamed, he could feel his insides begin to unwind. All afternoon he’d pondered what to do about Harry Barnes.

  He’d also asked himself why he had invited Annabelle to dinner. Where had his first inclination to keep her and Emmie away gone? His feelings had gradually changed. Now he enjoyed hearing the bell-like tinkle of Emmie’s laughter, seeing her light up as Alex used to do, her joy in simply being...alive. Did that also mean he wanted Annabelle to be a permanent part of his life?

  “Okay, short stuff. Let’s get some dinner.”

  “Pony wants to eat.”

  “Yes, she does, and so does her friend.”

  “While you finish here, I’ll go up to the house,” Annabelle said.

  Finn nodded. “We’ll be right there.”

  He walked Emmie down the aisle to the feed room where they prepared meals for Freckles and Brown then delivered them to the stall. With the two horses munching away, Emmie finally agreed they could go to the house for their own dinner. By the time she’d finished her fried chicken, smashed potatoes and coleslaw, Emmie was practically asleep in her plate. Finn carried her into the living room—a habit he could get used to—then covered her with an afghan on the sofa. When he straightened, Annabelle was there holding two cups of coffee.

  “Thanks,” Finn said. “Let’s take this outside.”

  That sounded as if he was challenging someone to a fight. He hoped tonight wasn’t going to end up that way, but the thought, plus his uncertainty about Annabelle, hovered in his head like the splash of stars above in the night sky.

  * * *

  BUNDLED IN HER JACKET, Annabelle sat on the top porch step beside Finn. In the cool December night, their shoulders touched, and the quick rush of need that flowed through her threatened to overwhelm her. From the barn she could hear the horses shuffling around, occasionally “talking” to each other. She didn’t want to think about Emmie’s future tonight, or her own stay in Phoenix. “I wonder if Olivia would consider giving Emmie lessons.”

  “She has her hands full trying to teach me.” Finn sent her a sideways smile. “I have to admit, getting on a horse isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done. Not that I’ve decided to buy myself that black Stetson.”

  She thought of her meeting with the mayor. No matter how that turned out, did she really get how hard it would be to part with both Emmie and Finn? To leave here? Because of them, her worst memories of Barren didn’t seem quite as bad as they once had. Neither did the closet.

  He reached for her hand. Finn must have sensed what she was thinking. “We’ll get through this without hurting Emmie.”

  We? Could there be a happy ending for them? Somehow? Those sweet moments at the paddock, watching Emmie ride with Finn’s gentle guidance, had made her vision blur. What if that could be part of every day? But Annabelle wasn’t sure. And once Finn learned about her course in Phoenix... “I can’t see any way out,” she murmured, “that won’t hurt her.”

  She shivered and Finn tried to draw her closer, but Annabelle resisted. He rose from the step. “I’ll get you something warmer to wear. Be right back.”

  Instead, she stood up too. “No, finish your coffee. This has been quite a day. I could use a minute to myself. Tell me where and I’ll find it.”

  He hesita
ted. “Well, okay. I’ll check on the horses in the meantime.”

  Finn had sent her upstairs to find a sweater, trusting her to invade his privacy. With a cursory glance at his bed’s navy blue comforter, the simple but masculine furniture, Annabelle went straight to the bureau against the far wall—then stopped. Finn hadn’t told her which drawer to look in.

  Annabelle opened the top one then caught her breath.

  Even that quick glance told her these were Finn’s most personal items. And they broke her heart.

  “Not that drawer,” she heard him say. He must have suddenly remembered where she might look. Finn crossed the room and reached around her to shut the drawer, but the images she’d seen were engraved on her mind. Valentine’s Day cards. The invitation to Finn and Caro’s wedding. Alex’s birth announcement. The blue hospital bracelet he’d worn and his baby shoes. A sonogram picture... Finn’s voice was low and husky. “That closet in your house, this drawer...we both had secrets.”

  “You helped me face my fears,” she said. “That helped a lot. Will you show me what’s in here, Finn? Talk about them?”

  “I can’t,” but then he opened the drawer and picked through the items until he came to the sonogram. “Caro was pregnant when she died,” he said in a hoarse tone. “The last thing she said...she couldn’t wait for me to see what Santa was bringing.”