Trusting Tristan (River's End Ranch Book 24)

by Caroline Lee

  “No.” She stared at him while she chewed and swallowed. “Which is why I don’t know more about you, Mr. Quarles.”

  Oh, whew. He tried his best smile. “Me? I’m an open book!” He gestured down at himself with one hand while he picked up his fork again with his other. “Boring old me! Nothing at all interesting.”

  “I think you’re very interesting.” Maybe she meant it to sound all flinty, like they did in detective movies, but the admission came out sounding…sorta wistful. And judging from the way she flushed suddenly and ducked her head, she must’ve realized it.

  “Good, because I think you’re interesting.” Play it cool, man. No reason for her to suspect there’s anything about him she might need to find out about. “How long have you been at River’s End Ranch?”

  “Not long. My supervisor—Tony Morales—knew I was chafing back home on the force, with no advancement opportunities, so he offered me this position.”

  “And you like it?”

  “I love it. I finally have my own command, a place where I can take an active part in making it safer, and that’s something I never had—” Abruptly, she cut herself off. “And how about you? How long have you been in Riston?”

  Easy, easy. Don’t give away too much. “Oh, not long. I come and go.” He’d moved here when Pulaski Construction had begun the Kids’ Korral renovations, but he still traveled out to Spirit Lake where Maury was based. “I’m kinda nomadic like that.”

  Her eyes flicked to the motorcycle outside. “Uh-huh. And where are you staying when you’re in town?”

  How much to tell her? Tristan swallowed. I don’t lie. “Um, most recently? Under the Highway 41 overpass.”

  She jerked as if slapped. “You live under a bridge?”

  Fiddling with his fork, Tristan shrugged. “Not all the time.” Only when it was warm enough. This last the winter he’d shared a hotel room with three other men on Maury’s construction crews. They’d only been in there long enough to sleep and shower, most days, but it was still cramped. “I like my freedom.” He couldn’t stand being penned in. Not after all those years in prison…

  “So…do you like camp, or what?”

  Tristan glanced up at her, and was surprised to see genuine interest in her eyes. Huh. He would’ve expected disdain, or disgust, or at the very least, a warning him of whatever laws he was breaking…but instead, he found himself telling her all about it.

  Telling her how he could pack everything he owned into two saddlebags strapped to his bike, and how he’d go to the laundromat once a week, and how he really did have enough money to rent someplace if he wanted to, but he liked being able to go where the job needed him. He liked to roam.

  He talked until they were both almost done with their meals. Yeah, Charley asked him questions, but they were all innocent—about where he’d traveled and places he’d stayed—and he could answer them without revealing that he had a criminal record. Even while he talked, though, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was genuinely interested, or if she was just fishing for information to use against him.

  Just like a cop would.

  But still, he found himself telling her all sorts of things; about how strict Pop used to be when he was a kid, and how Uncle Gus used to let him run over and hide under the back porch steps. About how he hated to feel cooped up these days, and loved the feel of the wind in his hair. About how good he was at figuring out what was wrong with cars, although he left out the part about learning those skills during the prison’s work-release program.

  In return, she told him how hard it had been to grow up in a household where her father had not only expected the best, but her brother had delivered it every time. She’d wanted to be a cop since she was a little kid—although Tristan couldn’t fathom that—and was still frustrated and bitter she hadn’t been able to advance in the force back home. He could see it was probably because she was a small woman, who also happened to be the chief’s daughter, so most likely no one had been willing to put her in any dangerous situations…but he didn’t point that out to her. And after a while, he realized she knew those reasons too.

  He liked listening to her, and liked the way she listened—really listened—to him. In fact, the longer he talked to her, the more he realized he wasn’t just trying to distract her; he genuinely cared about her opinion of him. He wanted her to like him.

  Why?

  When she pushed away her plate and began a story about how she’d once broken up a bar fight, Tristan rested his chin on his palm, and had a startling realization…he liked her. A lot. Not just because she’d once had her arms around him either, but because she was sassy and full of vinegar, as Uncle Gus used to say. He liked her because she wanted to be tough, but always fell just a little short, judging from those blushes. He liked her because she talked about how badly she’d wanted to succeed in the Coeur D’Alene police force, but spoke proudly about all she’d accomplished at the ranch.

  He admired her, and wasn’t that something? Pop would threaten to knock him three ways to Sunday if he ever found out.

  But watching her act out restraining a big drunk biker, Tristan knew the truth; it was totally, totally worth it.

  Later, the server brought the checks—separate, as Charley had demanded. Sitting on the tray were two fortune cookies. He picked up the tray up and offered them to her. She looked at him oddly, before finally picking one.

  He waited for her to open it, then asked, “What’s it say?”

  Charley shrugged and tossed the fortune aside, looking more eager to chomp down on the cookie itself. “Something about finding a treasure inside you. You know how silly these fortunes are most of the time.”

  Tristan nodded in agreement and cracked open the remaining cookie. And froze.

  There, in tiny font on the small slip of paper in his hands, were the words that made his hands tremble:

  Stop searching! Happiness is right in front of you!

  Tristan lifted his eyes to see the woman across from him staring back. Happiness is right in front of you!

  “Well?” Charley asked as she nibbled. “What does yours say?”

  Happiness is right in front of you! “Oh, you know.” Tristan forced his voice calm as he shoved the fortune into his hip pocket. “Just something silly.”

  And after they’d paid and were standing outside the Golden Palace saying their goodbyes, Tristan knew this was the best not-a-date he’d ever been on. Granted, there’d been few dates before he’d been arrested, and even fewer since getting out, but still…Charley Easton was special. And he suspected, if he could get her to agree, she could be the happiness the fortune cookie was referring to.

  “Well,” she said, sticking her hand out, “I had fun.”

  A hand shake? What kind of dinner ended with a handshake? A not-a-date with Charley, apparently. Tristan grinned and grabbed her hand, loving the way it felt in his. “I did too. That’s the most fun I’ve had at dinner in a long, long time.”

  She flushed slightly, and he wondered if he could ask her out for another dinner. Maybe for a real date this time? But before she could figure out how to bring it up, she withdrew her hand and began to back away.

  “It was interesting meeting you, Tristan Quarles. Now, I don’t ever want to see you on the ranch again, understood?”

  Like a bucket of water thrown over a candle, Tristan’s hopes for more time spent with Charley suddenly extinguished. Her first priority was to her job and her people, and he’d be a fool to ignore that.

  “Yeah,” he tried to say, but his voice stuck in his throat, so it came out sounding faint and choked. In case she hadn’t heard him, he nodded, which seemed to satisfy her.

  She nodded once in return, then spun around and and started walking down the street. Without looking back.

  Happiness is right in front of you? Tristan snorted. Unlikely.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He sleeps under a bridge. He has a “crew.” His “boss” sent him to take photos of a legitimate bu
siness, and he refused to explain why his boss needed them.

  There might be a legitimate explanation for all of this, but as Charley made her rounds through Old West Town on Tuesday, she couldn’t come up with a single one. Nope. All she could think was it sure made Tristan Quarles sound even more suspicious. Maybe Mrs. Weston was right, and he had been “casing the joint.”

  Charley tipped her hat at a young family oohing at the display in the front window of the General Store, then forced herself to smile when the two little boys demanded a photo with her. She only wore the old-timey sheriff’s costume twice a week, but she didn’t mind it as much as some of the other employees who had to dress up. Even though she knew it was just pretend, she liked being called “Sheriff Easton” and pinning the star-shaped badge to her vest.

  Somehow, Tristan had guessed as much. She remembered their conversation from last week when she’d been escorting him to her office for questioning, and he’d seemed to understand that the badge meant something to her, even if it was only tin.

  In fact, Tristan Quarles seemed to understand a lot about her, and that was disturbing as all get-out. The man was at worst a creeper, at best a criminal, and she’d better not catch him skulking around her ranch ever again. On the other hand, she’d had a really nice dinner with him.

  And it didn’t have anything to do with the food, although Lin’s food was delicious as always. No, that dinner had been really memorable and interesting and fun because of Tristan. Even if he hadn’t shared enough information for her to figure out what he’d been doing on the ranch—oh, and you’d better believe she’d tried to steer the conversation in that direction!—he’d told her plenty of stories and fun facts which had kept her entertained and enthralled. And to her surprise, she’d done the same in return.

  In fact, had that dinner been a date, it would’ve been the best date of her life, despite the fact that it hadn’t ended with a kiss. And, the whole ‘definitely wasn’t a date’ thing. At all. She was just there to get information… which she’d failed at.

  Dad would probably just say it was par for the course.

  Charley hid her sigh as she handed the little boys matching “Deputy Sheriff Badge” stickers. She waved goodbye to the small family and continued along the boardwalk in front of the old-timey-looking buildings.

  Maybe it was because she was thinking about Tristan, or maybe it was the flash of movement that caught her eye…but she stopped short when she saw the man standing behind the Kids’ Korral, staring up at the building in the exact same spot she’d seen Tristan just last week.

  Her booted feet were already taking her in that direction before her brain caught up and tamped down on the stupid hope that had surged up her throat. “Stupid” because she’d told him to never again show his face here, so she knew it wasn’t him. Couldn’t be him.

  For one thing, this man was half a foot shorter—not too much taller than her—twice as broad at the shoulders, and chomping a large cigar. When he heard her footsteps, he pushed back the brim of a ridiculously wide cowboy hat, revealing a red beard and red eyebrows.

  Nope, definitely not Tristan.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  The man smiled hugely, and Charley forced herself to maintain a stoic expression to match the flintiness of her voice. Sure, he looked a lot more like a tourist than Tristan had, but it couldn’t be coincidence that this man was standing here in the same spot.

  “Howdy, little lady!” The man’s enthusiastic greeting eased her tension somewhat. “Wasn’t expected to see a pretty little thing like you tromping around in sheriff’s boots!”

  Charley bristled slightly. No, no one ever did, which is why she wasn’t wearing a real sheriff’s badge, and never would.

  But then he redeemed himself by slapping his belly and grinning hugely. “Of course, that don’t mean a thing. I reckon I’m one of those old dogs who can’t learn new tricks, even something simple as remembering to keep his mouth shut and not say stupid, sexist things.”

  She felt her lips twitch in response to his self-deprecating humor. “If that was an apology, I’ll accept.”

  “Good, good! Maury Pulaski at your service, ma’am. Sheriff ma’am, I mean.” He nodded and winked as he stuck out his hand.

  Charley shook it, prepared for his bone-crushing grip, but impressed just the same. “Is there any particular reason you’re” —skulking— “poking around back here, Mr. Pulaski?”

  “Sure, sure.” He turned to the rear wall of the new childcare facility, the same place Tristan had been staring at last week. “That window jamb look plumb to you?”

  She looked where he was pointing, but didn’t understand what he was asking. It didn’t matter though, because he answered himself.

  “‘Cause it sure as blazes don't to me. See that there?”

  And then he launched into an animated explanation which involved jabbing a meaty finger at various places, and trying to explain angles and geometry using the side of his palm. Charley was lost, but it wasn’t until he started talking about the subcontractors and the inspections that something clicked.

  “Wait a minute. Did you say Pulaski?”

  He took her interruption in stride and smacked his belly again. “’Course, ma’am. Owner and chief worry-wart of Pulaski Construction, Incorporated. You’ve heard of us?”

  Of course. Pulaski Construction was the company Wade had hired to do the renovations. Maury must be here checking up on things. But then, why was Tristan…?

  Maybe he was reading her mind, because the bombastic man continued, “I sent one of my best men over here last week to take pictures, but I figured I couldn’t very well start a grievance report until I saw for myself that those boys’ idea of a ‘quality job’ ain’t the same as mine.”

  One of my best men. “Are you referring to…to Tristan Quarles, sir?” She held her breath, dreading the answer.

  “Yes, ma’am! He’s young, sure, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

  Charley released her breath. Tristan worked for Pulaski Construction. When he was taking photos for “his boss,” he’d meant the man who’d been in charge of the renovation. Why hadn’t Tristan just said that? Maybe because he’d wanted to keep his boss’s business private? But it had made him sound like…like some sort of criminal.

  She’d grossly misjudged him.

  “Glad to know that you’ve met him, ma’am.” Maury winked at her. “He’s a good one to meet, if you know what I mean. Even better with cars than he is with construction. Actually, he didn’t know all that much about construction before I hired him.”

  Tristan had figured out what was wrong with her car in no time, hadn’t he? Charley nodded dazedly. “Then why’d you hire him?”

  Luckily, Maury wasn’t offended by her candid question. “He needed the job, and I needed a man who other men could respect and follow, didn’t I?” He smiled grandly. “ ’Course, he’s not exactly on the books.”

  Charley’s brows rose. “He’s not?” Suspicion crept back into her mind.

  “Nah, most of those boys aren’t. You know anything about construction? Hourly wage, no benefits. I can afford to pay ‘em more that way.”

  She heard the unspoken implication; Maury could afford to pay his workers more if he wasn’t paying the government for them too. “What about taxes?” It was illegal to work without paying taxes, wasn’t it? She wondered if she should report this…

  “That’s on them, ain’t it?” Maury winked. “They report what they make, and pay their own taxes on it. Not my job to nursemaid ‘em.”

  “Tristan does that?”

  He shrugged. “I stay out of their business.”

  If Tristan was being paid under the table, there was no guarantee he was even paying taxes, and if he wasn’t, then there wouldn’t be anything useful on file, like a home address or employer. She pinched the bridge of her nose again. So even if she did have access to some of the databases she used to have back on the force, she wouldn’t have found
out anything about him anyway, would she?

  Maury chuckled. “But don’t you worry about him, ma’am. Tristan’s a good man. Reminded me a bit of myself, when I was that age. If I’d been taller. And skinnier.” He winked again.

  She forced a chuckle along with him, but her heart wasn’t in it. She’d been wrong; Tristan Quarles wasn’t a criminal. He was a respected right-hand-man to a successful construction magnate.

  Her instincts must be really shot. But there was something about Tristan…something iffy. She really thought it was his vibe—he just made her suspicious. But maybe…

  She sighed. Maybe she was totally wrong. If he wasn’t a criminal, maybe he just made the little hairs on her arms stand up and her chest tighten because…

  Well, because she liked him?

  Apparently she’d reached the point in her life where she confused her reactions to an attractive dinner companion with her reactions to suspected criminals. She must need a vacation.

  The alarm on her phone beeped. Must be ten forty-five. No time for a vacation now! She checked her watch just to be sure. Yep, ten-forty five. Every Tuesday and Thursday she did once-every-other-hour patrols of the Main House and Bunk House, to keep an eye on things, and to “air out the uniform” as her old sergeant used to say. Only, here on the ranch, her costume uniform did more to attract tourists to the shops in Old West Town than it did to deter non-existent crime.

  So she nodded politely to Maury, and tipped her big white hat, just like the sheriffs in the movies did. “Best of luck getting this all worked out, Mr. Pulaski. Before you leave, would you mind stopping in and having a word with Debbie Watkins, the director of the childcare facility?” She gestured towards the building with the apparently crooked back windows. “I’m sure she’d appreciate being kept apprised in case workers are likely to show up again.” Or suspicious-looking men started taking photos again.