Remy kicked the wall. “There’s no way to prove which horse is which. Reinhardt must have altered the original lip tattoo from a six to an eight. And if the tattoo is the only way to prove the horse is who you claim it is, then…”
Now what was he supposed to do?
“Uh, dudes?” Jacob’s voice pulled Remy’s attention back to the kid. “We can prove the horse is Frenti, all right. All you have to do is use a blue light on the horse’s lip. The original tattoo will show up under the revised one. Piece of cake.”
“Get in the Jeep, both of you,” Remy snapped out, bolting to the office door.
“Why? What’s going on? Where are we going?” Jacob asked.
“To steal a horse and catch some bad guys. Consider yourself deputized.”
Coraleen’s heart pounded so hard her chest hurt like a linebacker had slammed her down and used her as a trampoline. She clutched the Jeep’s doorframe for dear life as Remy barreled down Riverbend Road. “You can’t do this, Remy.” She attempted, yet again, to reason with the man.
Remy refused to respond and instead gripped the Jeep’s steering wheel even tighter, the knuckles on his hand going white. Wind whipped through the open Jeep, smacking her face with strands of her hair. She’d thought he was joking with his statement about stealing the horse, but the only thing he’d joked about was deputizing Jacob, who was scrunched in the back seat, still thumbing around on Remy’s cell phone.
“I won’t let you steal Visada,” she repeated. “I’ll steal him, and you can catch me in the act, then you can impound him as, like, stolen property. That should give us enough time for you to get a search warrant and a forensic scientist up to Meadowview to examine Visada. Or Frenti. Or whoever my horse is.”
“You’re not stealing your horse,” Remy ground out.
“I’ll do it!” Jacob called out from the back seat.
“You’re not stealing the horse, either. Now both of you, let me think.”
Coraleen figured trying to argue with the man was useless at this point. She just had to hope he’d get over his whole stealing-a-horse thing.
But she wasn’t sure. Their options were growing limited by the minute.
After leaving Pop’s place, Remy had put in a couple of calls as he drove (at least he used his hands-free device). Getting a warrant to stop transport of Visada had proven to be a bit of a problem, given that the other three judges in the county had just left for a camping trip up at Lake Faucherie and were currently out of cell range. The closest other judges were in Sacramento. Remy had ordered Gail with Dispatch to send one of his deputies into the city for a search and seizure warrant for Visada, but it might take at least a couple of hours to get the warrant back. By then, Visada would be across state lines.
“Hold on, both of you,” Remy snapped out, yanking the wheel hard to the left. “I know a short-cut.”
The Jeep dove onto a dirt road that looked like it had been long abandoned.
Felt like it had been long abandoned, too, Coraleen thought as the Jeep lurched and her kidneys met her backbone.
But she wasn’t gonna tell the man to stop.
Instead, she attempted to not bite off her tongue as the Jeep heaved itself over a boulder, and then tried to listen as Remy got on the walkie-talkie. But all she could make out was that he was ordering Bill to meet them at Sherman’s property. There was some other stuff—Reinhardt’s name and the word “ringer” were bandied about, Coraleen’s name came up, small-town values found a mention somehow, but mostly she tried to concentrate on not barfing.
As they crashed through more underbrush, Coraleen cast her gaze over Remy. A muscle in his jaw jumped, and his eyes, so very deep and dark and brown, held intense focus as he worked the steering wheel. He glanced at her, caught her checking him out. Then the grim expression evaporated from his face and he smiled—not a soft and gentle smile, but a strong, firm, I’m in command smile.
“I love you, you know,” Remy said.
Then he hit a pothole.
“Oh god!” Coraleen gasped out, then caught her breath. “I love you, too, but I’m still not letting you steal a horse for me. You’re the sheriff.”
“Are you going to marry me?”
A branch smacked the windshield and she shrieked like a little girl. “Can you keep your eyes on the road and stop proposing? Now is not the time!”
“I need an answer, Coraleen.”
“No. My answer is no.”
Another pothole sucked the breath right out of her and made her wonder if anyone really needed their spleen.
“You’re not thinking practically, Remy,” she tried to reason. “Think of what happened with your dad. He fell for someone who was all wrong for him and he made terrible decisions—like you’re about to do if you steal my horse. We’re wrong for each other.”
“My father fell in lust with a drug-abusing user who manipulated him into protecting her when he should have put her under arrest. You are a woman who went to prison for a crime she didn’t commit because she loved her grandfather so much she couldn’t bear to see him suffer the same fate. Bit of a difference in character between you and the woman who screwed over my father.”
Coraleen cast a quick glance back at Jacob, who was no longer texting or surfing or whatever it was he’d been doing but was clutching his seat belt with one hand and the door frame with the other. His face was green, but he gave Coraleen a wobbly grin. “Say yes. The dude’s crazy about you.”
She turned back to Remy. “I won’t come between you and your career. I get it—some people won’t care at all that you’re involved with a former con, but you could lose the election because of me. And what would you do if you could no longer be sheriff?”
“‘He who has a why to live can bear almost any how,’” he said in response.
“Do not quote Nietzsche at me in this moment!”
Remy pulled to a stop.
As the Jeep settled, Coraleen glanced around, realizing they’d arrived at Sherman’s place.
The Ford dually stood off to the side of Sherman’s drive, the horse trailer still attached to the back. Attached to the side of the trailer with a lead rope on his halter stood Visada.
Coraleen exited the Jeep on shaky legs and walked up to the gelding, Remy right behind her.
Visada nickered and lowered his muzzle to nudge her hands. Tears filled her eyes. She turned to Remy. “I can’t do this right now. But please, let me steal my horse.”
A siren sounded in the distance. Red and blue lights flickered, grew brighter as the siren grew louder.
She glanced at Remy. “Wait—you didn’t call Bill to catch you in the act of stealing Visada, right?”
“Hey, Coraleen,” Jacob interrupted, coming up beside her and patting Visada, who nudged him with his head. “If you’re leaving town, can I have your horse?”
“She’s not leaving town,” Remy said firmly.
“And Remy,” Jacob added, “When you get arrested, can I have Hot Tub?”
“Jacob!” Coraleen shouted. “He’s not getting arrested! And you so do not get his kitten!”
“I was just messing with you,” the kid said, grinning widely. “I made sure neither of you would get arrested.”
Remy frowned. “What did you do, son?”
The kid shrugged. “You don’t know much about the power of social media, do you?”
Coraleen blinked, but before she could demand Jacob clarify his cryptic statement, Bill’s cruiser pulled into Sherman’s drive.
Tension threaded itself through her stomach and she bit her lip, then tasted copper in her mouth. Blood.
She turned to Remy and gripped both his biceps, tight, shaking him as she got right in his face. “You will not steal that horse,” she ordered.
“I’m telling you, dudes, neither of you wanna-be criminals will have act on your felonious urges,” Jacob interrupted. “Look.” He pointed down Countyline Road.
Coraleen glanced over and blinked. What was that? Behind the cr
uiser was a line of cars, each pulling onto Sherman’s property. She nudged Remy. “What’s going on?”
He looked over at the oncoming line of vehicles and frowned. “No clue. But that looks like Delilah in the lead, with Mrs. Peterson in her passenger’s seat. What are they doing here?”
Coraleen squinted as more cars arrived. “There’s Chessie Gibson. Theo Courant’s with her. And who’s that behind them? The car full of teenage girls?”
Next to her, Jacob hopped up and down. “It’s Madison! Hey, Maddie, over here!” he shouted. Then, under his breath, muttered, “Damn, she’s hot.”
Bill got out of the cruiser and waved at Remy, indicating he wanted to speak privately with the man. Remy put his hand on Coraleen’s back, then pulled her into him. Kissed her, hard.
She sank into his embrace, kissing him back, letting the tension in her body drain for a moment…letting the tiny flare of hope that she never could seem to squelch flicker to life.
Then he untied Visada’s lead rope and headed over to Bill’s cruiser. There, Sherman met them.
Coraleen waited by the horse trailer, still uncertain what was unfolding in front of her. One by one, cars kept entering the property and people continued to get out, all wearing smiles as they formed a line, blocking off the drive. Odd that they weren’t coming up to her, or to Remy, but instead were milling about, standing at the gateway, moving away only when another car entered.
It dawned on her then. The people of Meadowview were making a human wall to stop Sherman from driving away with Visada.
Warmth suffused her chest. She turned to Jacob. “Did you do this?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Nope, you did. You and Remy. All I did was put out a few postings on social media. Explained how you’d gone to jail to protect your grandpop—don’t think I wasn’t eavesdropping—and how Reinhardt had a stolen horse. How he was gonna send the horse off to the glue factory tonight.”
“Is that all?” she said, a choked laugh coming from somewhere deep inside her.
“Uh, I also might have mentioned Remy was about to sacrifice his entire career for the woman he loved and that Meadowview had better come help him keep his job and his woman.”
She looked back at Countyline Road. The line of vehicles was still coming. Car after car after car. “That’s half of Meadowview,” she whispered. Another car pulled up and Juliet clambered out. She ignored the crowd and instead raced to Coraleen, barreled into her, and pulled her into a solid hug.
“You have no idea what’s happening,” Juliet squealed. “This is so exciting!”
Visada nickered, pulling Coraleen’s rather dazed attention away. She looked up to see Remy, Bill, and Sherman walking over to her. Bill looked serious—so did Sherman. But Remy just grinned. He handed her Visada’s lead rope, then wrapped a hand around her and leaned in close, holding up his phone for her to see.
“Look,” he said.
At first she didn’t understand what she was seeing—a photo of The Meadowview Times newspaper, dated seven years earlier, with a series of numbers and letters scribbled in blue ink on the corner.
“What is this?” she asked.
“I knew something was going on with Reinhardt even before we found out about the ringer. Bill managed to get an expedited search warrant before the judges left on their fishing trip. One of our deputies is at Reinhardt’s place right now. He texted this to Bill. It wasn’t what we were looking for, but check it out. Anything seem familiar?”
She scanned the newspaper article, but it was just something about cutting back defensible space around a house for fire safety. Nothing important there (except she now knew to cut her shrubbery back if she ever owned a home). But the letters and numbers…
“Oh, god!” she exclaimed, then looked up at Remy, astonishment causing her jaw to just about fall flat to the ground. “Those are the combinations to Lydell’s accounts! But how—how did Reinhardt get the numbers?”
Remy shrugged. “He wouldn’t say. But Bill and I figure he was the one in the office that morning when your grandpop grabbed a cup of coffee. He probably saw the figures and was able to jot them down. Then, when your pop didn’t come back right away, he used Macer’s computer to transfer the money into his own off-shore account. The man not only stole money, he set up his friend.”
“The rat! No wonder he tried to chase me out of town. But why? I mean, substituting Frenti for Visada was one thing, but embezzlement?”
“Reinhardt liked to gamble, and he liked to gamble big. Horse racing has a high level of risk. Bill said Reinhardt’s finances fluctuated like the tide—in and out, in and out. He stole from your grandfather for the same reason he substituted the horses: he was addicted to gambling.”
“And Visada?”
“You were right. Records at Reinhardt’s show he won fifty-to-one by substituting Frenti for Visada. Made a quarter million dollars on that one bet. And Bill used the blue light on Visada’s lip—that’s a six under the blurry eight, alright.”
“Oh, god,” she breathed.
“Reinhardt will pay for his crimes,” Remy added. “And you’ll get a full pardon.”
She snorted. “I could care less about that, but thank you. I can’t believe the man stole five years from my life.” She looked up at him. “From us.”
Bill cleared his throat, catching Remy’s attention. “Uh, sir, you might need to address the crowd…” He handed Remy a megaphone.
Remy cocked his head at Coraleen. “Stay here,” he ordered her. “I have something to do.”
Right. Like she was going anywhere. Like she wanted to go anywhere. But in the back of her mind, that flicker of hope wavered. She told it to shush. She still was who she was, and Remy still was who he was.
Convict. Sheriff.
But she stayed where she was. She owed him that, at least.
In two seconds, he’d jumped up on top of the Ford dually and called for the crowd’s attention. It took a while for the still-growing group to settle down, but soon the crowd was focused on him.
He smiled down at Coraleen, then raised the megaphone to his mouth and addressed the crowd. “Five years ago, Coraleen Pettigrew confessed to embezzling Lydell Wallaby’s campaign fund. But the truth is, she confessed not because she was guilty, but to protect her grandfather. In fact, both were innocent.”
A shout came from the crowd. “Of course they were!”
Remy grinned. “Earlier today, Coraleen found out her horse was about to be put down by the very man who’d committed the crime for which she’d served time. He knew the horse connected him to criminal activities, and he wanted to get rid of evidence.”
The crowd murmured, and Remy let the megaphone drop for a moment. He glanced down at Coraleen, winked, then raised the megaphone back up to his mouth. “Thanks to Jacob Bullard, some of you may be under the assumption I was willing to risk my career to save a horse tonight. Although I no longer have to steal a horse for Coraleen—”
A few giggles and whistles rippled through the crowd.
“—I’ll always do what it takes to keep everyone in Deloro County and Meadowview—and that includes the animals—safe and healthy.”
He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the crowd, letting his word sink in. “Next week is the election. You can choose me, or you can choose Lydell Barnaby for sheriff. And if any of you have a problem electing a man who wants to marry a former convict, then vote for the other guy. Because this guy’s gonna stand by his woman.”
Amid cheers and a few whistles, he hopped back down off the dually and stood, waiting.
Waiting for Coraleen.
The crowd called her name, a rhythmic chant. And then something else…a phrase. Oh, god, could she believe what they were saying? She cast her gaze over the crowd, taking in the smiles, the thumb’s up gestures. Her breath caught in her throat.
Juliet leaned over her shoulder. “You understand them, right?”
She gave a quick nod. Swallowed. Worked her jaw. “They’re saying,
welcome home, Coraleen. Welcome home.”
And with Meadowview opening itself up to her, she knew what she had to do.
She turned to Remy and stepped forward until she stood close. So close. Their hips were touching, and his hands were warm on her skin, and he was stroking her back along her bra strap line, the same exact way he had years before, on her grandpop’s porch. On that day, she’d pushed him away.
Today, though, she pulled him close. Kissed him gently. And then, in his ear, whispered, “Yes.”
Funny how quickly a marriage license could get expedited when one was marrying the sheriff, Coraleen thought as she sat perched on Visada, holding his reins in quivering hands. Thank god for that. Because she had not wanted to wait much longer to make the man hers.
And god, was she ever grateful he was still sheriff. The elections had come and gone, with Lydell Wallaby losing by a vast margin. For those who hadn’t witnessed Remy’s declaration at Sherman Wannamaker’s place, they’d heard about it through the grapevine. Rather than chasing off votes, Remy’s heartfelt statement had earned him even more support than he’d ever thought possible. Seemed Deloro County preferred his form of law and order…and maybe the community had a soft spot for knights in shining armor riding to the rescue, too.
“You sure about this?” Jacob asked. Standing at Visada’s head, his hand on a lead rope attached to the horse’s bridle, Jacob looked up at her, his brow furrowed into a question.
“What, marrying Remy? Damn right I am,” she stated.
“You’re not supposed to swear. No, I mean…”
“Riding Visada to the altar? He’s doing fine. And I totally trust that you won’t trip and spook him and I won’t end up in Elderberry Creek in my wedding dress.”
It was so nice that Sherman had offered his property for the wedding. The expansive meadow at the edge of the creek now held a temporary dance pad, over three hundred seats, and an altar at the end.
“No, I mean…I mean, you’re sure you want me to walk you down the aisle? Well, lead Visada, but you know what I mean.”
She glanced down at Jacob and felt her heart melt.
Always the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 2) (The Meadowview Series Book 6) (Meadowview Heat) Page 19