On the Fence (Chance City Series Book Two)

by Robin Deeter

  On the Fence

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Robin Deeter

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, or incidences are all a product of the writer’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales or events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  On the Fence

  By Robin Deeter

  Table of Contents

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  This book is dedicated to all of my wonderful readers (my lovelies) who have given me unconditional love and support. Without you, I’d be nothing but an odd woman with a creative door in her head writing for herself. You have allowed me to dream, to spread my wings, and continue on this incredible journey. I can’t thank you enough for coming along for the ride and I look forward to sharing many more adventures with you all!

  A special thank you to Essie Michael, who constantly inspires me with her love, loyalty, and generosity (not to mention giving me a good boot in the rear when I need it). I am also deeply grateful to my steadfast friends and beta readers, Barbara Ainley, Crystal Lynn Kirby, Rebecca Edwards, and Christy Stetson. A huge shout out to all of their awesome kids, whom I’ve adopted. You all make my life and my books so much better and I couldn’t love you more if I tried.

  A special thank you to Hunter Stetson, who gave me permission to use his name for a character in the series.

  Chapter One

  The Greyhound streaked down an alley between two buildings, in hot pursuit of its prey; a pickpocket whom Det. Cyrus Decker and Deputy Brock Guthrie had been trying to catch for two weeks. Their co-worker, Deputy Ellie Jeffries, had dressed up as an old lady that day and the crook had taken the bait.

  Cy, as he was called by most people, whistled to his dog, Slink, and the Greyhound moved even faster, easily catching up to the thief. He cut to the right and nipped at the pickpocket’s heels, tripping the man, who went down hard. Rolling over, the man was instantly covered with doggie kisses as Slink wagged his tail excitedly.

  Laughing, the man attempted to get up and run again, but he encountered another dog, this one being a huge German Shepherd-Husky mix. This dog didn’t share Slink’s idea that this was playtime. Instead, he bared his large fangs and let out a low, rumbling growl, making it clear that he was very serious about the pickpocket staying still.

  At a different whistle from Cy, Slink backed off and sat down.

  Brock, a broad shouldered, blond man, came up behind the other dog with a big grin on his face. “Good boy, Burt,” he said.

  Burt didn’t pay him any mind, intent on doing his job. He barked when the robber moved, not letting down his guard for a second. Brock stepped around Burt and hauled the guy to his feet.

  “Guess what, jackass? You’re under arrest for theft,” Brock said as Cy reached them.

  Cy gave Burt a hand signal. Burt sat down, but he kept a watchful eye on the criminal, whom Brock was handcuffing.

  The crook sneered at them. “Using dogs. Isn’t that cheating or something?”

  Cy grinned. “No, that’s called good police work.”

  Brock jerked his head in Cy’s direction. “We don’t agree on a whole lot, but he’s right. Let’s go.”

  Loud panting drew their attention to the mouth of the alley. A black Pug raced down it, his tongue protruding from his open mouth as he ran.

  “Told you he’d find us,” Cy said.

  Brock smirked at him. “Don’t be so damn cocky.”

  “I’m not. I just know my dogs, that’s all,” Cy said. “Good boy, Pudge.”

  Pudge danced around a little and then bit the crook on the ankle.

  “Ow! What did he do that for?” the guy said, sidestepping the little dog.

  Cy and Brock laughed.

  “For good measure,” Cy said. “Knock it off, Pudge.”

  Pudge sneezed an affirmative response. Cy praised the other dogs and gave all of them a little piece of the wasna. His Uncle Cotton, a Comanche man, still made the Indian staple and Cy always kept it on hand so he could reward the dogs with it.

  As they walked out to the main street, Pudge ran ahead of them, performing pirouettes on his hind legs.

  Brock grinned. “He’s really putting on a good show.”

  Cy grunted. “Yeah, but he’s not getting any more treats right now. Pudge, knock it off.”

  Pudge dropped to all fours and silently regarded them with his big, dark eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You just had a treat,” Cy said.

  Pudge growled his disagreement.

  Cy pointed at him. “No backtalk.”

  Brock had to hide his smile when Pudge turned his back to them and trotted away. Pudge was smart enough to know that when someone smiled or laughed at him that they weren’t serious about a command that had just been given. Although he didn’t like Cy very much, Brock loved Cy’s dogs and he never interfered with their training. Therefore, he listened to what Cy told him about his training methods and followed them.

  He was surprised to see a smile tugging at Cy’s mouth, too.

  Cy shrugged at his look, his dark eyes twinkling. “I’m just as susceptible to how cute they are as you. I just hide it better, that’s all.”

  Brock shook his head and marched their prisoner forward.

  *****

  Sitting at his desk a short time later, Brock worked on a report on the apprehension of the pickpocket, but he was distracted by images of a gorgeous dark-haired beauty with exotic brown eyes and soft lips. Cy’s sister, Daphne, drew his eyes every time she was around and his thoughts were on her much of the time.

  Her beauty, intelligence, and kindness called to him. She’d made her feelings for him very clear when she’d kissed him in September. It was almost November and the memory of that kiss hadn’t dimmed in Brock’s mind one little bit. She’d accused him of being racist, and he knew that she was right, but his hatred for the Comanche had been deeply ingrained in him by the murder of his beloved grandfather by some Comanche braves. As a child, he’d witnessed the attack and he’d never gotten over it.

  That hatred was one of the reasons he barely tolerated Cy. He also didn’t care for Cy much because their boss, Sheriff Rob Anderson, thought that the department needed someone like Cy on their staff, as though Brock and the other deputies weren’t doing a good enough job. Brock also didn’t like the way Cy seemed to think that he was clear to issue orders to the deputies.

  All of this served to fuel the animosity between the two men. However, since they’d made a truce in September, it hadn’t
been as strong. They were slowly learning how to work together even though they still butted heads on a daily basis. Brock had developed a grudging respect for Cy and Cy gave Brock credit for his solid investigative and excellent photography skills.

  Brock sighed and forced his mind back to his report, propping his feet up on his desk and getting down to business. Ellie Jeffries came in the door as he finished up. He smiled at the petite blond.

  “Well, I see that you’re back to your normal self,” he commented.

  Ellie nodded. “And glad of it. I don’t know how actors stay in those getups all night. I was glad to get that wig off, too. It might be cold out, but I was hotter than blazes in it.”

  Brock grinned. “But you did make a very pretty old lady.”

  Ellie laughed and hung up her woolen coat. “Thanks. I’m just glad you caught the guy. I didn’t want to have to keep dressing up like that.”

  Brock put his report in a file folder and got up. “I’m glad we got him, too. He’s not cooperating much, though. Walt Gaines is supposed to stop by to talk to him.”

  Ellie groaned. “Oh, no. Not Walt.”

  Brock chuckled. “What’s the matter? Don’t wanna see the man who’s in love with you?”

  Ellie wanted to punch Brock. “No, I don’t. How many times do I have to tell him that I’m not interested?”

  Crossing to a filing cabinet, Brock said, “I’m guessing a whole heap more. What’s so wrong with Walt? He seems like a nice enough fella.”

  “Too nice,” Ellie said. “I can’t make him mad. I’ve tried.”

  Brock put the file away and gave her an odd look. “So you prefer bad-tempered men?”

  Ellie flopped down in her chair. “Of course not.”

  Brock sat down on a corner of her desk. “You’re pining over me, aren’t you?”

  Ellie laughed at his teasing. “Yes, Brock. You found me out. No, there’s only one woman pining over you, and she’s related to your arch enemy.”

  Frowning, Brock moved away from her desk and put on his coat.

  “What’s the matter, Brock? Don’t like the truth?” Ellie asked. “You know you’re a horse’s ass for not callin’ on her. Happiness is right at your fingertips, but you won’t take a risk, will you?”

  Brock jammed on his hat and said, “I’m going out on patrol.”

  He went out the door, but didn’t get very far before an idea occurred to him. Going back inside, he strode over to Ellie’s desk.

  “Yeah?” She eyed him quizzically.

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll call on Daphne if you let Walt take you out. If I have to take a risk, so do you,” Brock said.

  Ellie thought about it. She liked Daphne and she thought that her and Brock would be good together if Brock could get over his aversion to Indians. Going out with Walt was a small price to pay if it meant that she could help two people take a chance on love.

  She stuck her hand out. “Done. Shake on it.”

  Brock’s eyebrows shot up. He’d expected her to refuse. However, there was no way to back out of the deal that he’d proposed, so he shook her hand. “Done.”

  Showing much more confidence than he felt, he went out the door again, cursing his pride and big mouth.

  *****

  “Well, there comes one of our fine deputies,” Sandy Hopper, owner of the Chowhound Saloon quipped.

  Brock smiled. “Hi, Sandy. How’s business?”

  She poured him a beer and sat it on the bar. “Booming, which you already know.”

  Sitting on a stool, Brock said, “Yeah. I do. How’s Betty doing? She feel any better?”

  Sandy’s brown eyes filled with concern over the mention of one of her saloon girls. “Not really. Damn flu doesn’t want to let go.”

  Brock frowned as he took a sip of beer. “I guess it’s stronger this year. You be careful so you don’t get it.”

  Sandy nodded. “I got a strong constitution. Don’t worry about me. So when are you gonna get smart and let me take you in the back?”

  Brock laughed. “Sandy, I don’t think I could handle a woman like you.”

  “A woman like me? What’s that mean?” she asked.

  Leaning forward, Brock said, “As I hear it, you like to saddle your men and put the spurs to them.”

  Sandy gave a delighted laugh. “You heard right, honey!”

  Grinning, Brock said, “See? I knew it wasn’t just a rumor. I’ll bet you keep Jim busy.”

  Winking, Sandy asked, “Whatever makes you think that?”

  “Call it a hunch,” Brock said. “What’s for lunch?”

  “Pot roast.”

  “Sounds good,” Brock said. “Let me ask you a question.”

  Sandy nodded. “Ok. Shoot.”

  Brock looked around the place as he thought about how to frame the question. While the Chowhound was actually a very attractive establishment, it wasn’t showy. Oak wainscoting ran halfway up the walls, and gold-and-cream wallpaper filled the space between it and the ceiling, which consisted of large, polished oak beams.

  A large fireplace stood on the outside wall while a small stage was situated on the opposite side of the room. Sandy kept the barroom clean along with the bar area itself. Although she wore trousers and blouses in lieu of dresses and skirts, Sandy was a fastidious person, who wasn’t above chastising patrons for being too messy.

  The private rooms where her girls entertained men were also clean. The girls who rented the rooms were required to keep them that way. Everyone knew about the operation, including Chance City’s law enforcement staff, but they viewed it as the lesser of two evils, the worst evil being a bunch of overly amorous drunk men wandering the streets looking for company.

  Sandy and her companion, Jim, ran a fairly orderly saloon and took good care of their girls, including making them see the doctor on a regular basis and giving them decent food to eat. Without Sandy and Jim, many of the girls who worked for them wouldn’t have a roof over their heads or any money. Rob’s eye wasn’t blind concerning the Chowhound, but a lot of important council members and other officials frequented it and attempting to put it out of business wouldn’t get him or his staff anywhere except fired.

  “I ain’t gettin’ any younger, Brock. What’s your question?” Sandy asked.

  “Am I crazy for wanting to see Daphne even though Cy and I hate each other?”

  Sandy was well aware of the contentious relationship between the two men. Of course, there wasn’t much that she didn’t know about around the city. She and Benny McFarlend, owner of Big Benny’s Saloon, had an unofficial partnership and they shared information about patrons. All of the law enforcement staff in Chance City frequented both establishments, so the bar owners often knew what the sheriff’s department was working on.

  Rather than working against Rob and his employees, the friendships that existed between them benefited them because both bar owners often parted with information that helped apprehend criminals. This enabled the sheriff’s department to keep crime to a much lower rate that it might have otherwise.

  Sandy said, “Well, I don’t think you’re crazy, but you’re gonna have to decide whether courting her is worth putting up with Cy’s crap or not, though. The other thing you’d better think about is whether or not you could ever live with Cy. Oh, and then there’s the fact that you hate the Comanche. Daphne’s part Comanche. And lastly, the rest of Cy’s family hates you, except Cotton, but there aren’t too many people Cotton hates. All of this boils down to how badly you wanna see her.”

  Brock took another swig of beer. “I can’t get her out of my head, so I guess pretty bad.”

  Sandy nodded sagely. “The next thing you have to think about it that any man who’s interested in Daphne has to understand that she’s not gonna move out of her family’s home. Are you going to be able to live under the same roof as Cy? I know one man who wouldn’t care where he lived as long as he could be with her.”

  Brock’s thoughtful expression turned into a scowl. “You mean Ben
ny. I know that he’s sweet on her.”

  “You hit the nail on the head. He flirts with her, but he’s been a gentleman and hasn’t gotten serious about pursuing her because he knows that she’s been waiting for you to make a move,” Sandy said. “He’s not gonna wait forever, though. So you’d better think hard on this, but hurry up and make up your mind. I’ll be back with your lunch.”

  Brock nodded as Sandy walked away, his mind already working on the situation.

  Chapter Two

  Ellie was nothing if not efficient. When faced with a problem, she met it head-on instead of going out around it. Sometimes this involved using deception and her feminine wiles and other times it meant throwing her position as a deputy around. Brock wasn’t the only one who was having second thoughts about the deal that they’d made. Her reluctance annoyed her, though, and she told herself that she was being silly.

  The defense attorney was kind, intelligent, and even-tempered. He was fairly nice to look at, too, but in a shabby, aw-shucks sort of way. She’d heard that he became a completely different person in court, but she’d never seen him in that capacity. Ellie couldn’t really say why she was averse to having Walt call on her, but something about him bothered her.

  So when he walked in with his big, battered briefcase and a smile on his face, she frowned a little. If he noticed, Walt didn’t show it.

  “Hello, Miss Ellie,” he said in his quiet Irish accent.

  “Hi, Walt. Your client is ready for you,” she said. “It’s pretty cut-and-dried, though.”

  “Say no more,” Walt said, his hazel eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “I never like to have a preconceived notion about a client.”

  Ellie nodded. “All right. I’ll bring him into the visiting room.”

  Walt watched her walking away, taking in her fine, petite form in the trousers she wore. Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind to the matter at hand and went into the visiting room. Ellie entered with his client just as he was sitting down.

  “Here he is. Good luck,” she said. “He won’t talk.”