by Marina Adair
Ford must have felt the same because his kisses turned even hotter, trailing down her neck to the soft curve and lower. She let her head fall back, a breathy sigh escaping her lips.
“Ford,” she whispered right as the back door of the bar opened.
Liv bolted upright as Ty walked out.
“Harris is looking for you. Ah—” Ty froze, and then a big smile spread across his face. “Hey, Liv.”
Liv patted her hair down. “Hi, Ty.”
“Bye, Ty,” Ford said, his eyes never leaving hers. They were dark, heated, and completely wild. Just like her heart rate.
“And here I thought you were hiding from Harris, who found out about Shasta and is pissed, by the way,” Ty said, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against the wall.
“Tell Harris I’ll talk with him later,” Ford said.
“That’s okay,” Liv said. Then to Ty she said, “We were just finishing up.”
Ty looked at his watch. “Wow, that was . . . fast.”
Ford shot him a death glare that would have made Liv pee her pants. Ty just shot him the finger.
Liv took in the scene, imagined what Ty must be thinking, and a strange heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach.
She told herself she hadn’t done anything wrong. So what if Ty had gone to school with Sam and knew everyone’s history? It shouldn’t matter. She had mourned Sam and was ready to move on.
But no matter how she justified it, all she could think was that her first public sign that she was moving on happened with her sprawled across the hood of a pickup truck.
In a parking lot.
“My sitter is actually expecting me soon, so I have to be going,” she said, taking a big step back.
“Let me walk you out,” Ford said quietly, and Liv took another step back.
“We’re already out.” She looked up at the sky and then started walking toward the front lot. She held up the cupcake and over her shoulder said, “Thanks.”
CHAPTER 12
It was past the lunch hour when Ford walked out of the Bear Claw Bakery, a hot pastrami sandwich in hand. Only instead of finding Bullseye in the Jeep where he’d left him, the dog was sitting on a bench in front of the shop, with a stray teddy bear next to him.
“Where did you get that one?” Ford asked.
Bullseye immediately began grooming his new friend.
“Not happening.” Ford grabbed the stolen stuffed animal right as Bullseye was about to start gumming his ear. Based on the amount of saliva dripping off the toy, he’d already given him a tongue bath. “This doesn’t belong to you, so tell me where you got it, and we are taking it back.”
Bullseye looked up at him with puppy eyes, as if saying he had no idea what Ford was talking about. When that didn’t work, he started howling. Loud and drawn out and a damn fine acting job. Everyone in the bakery looked out the window to see what the big, bad man was doing to that sweet dog.
“Fine, but if some kid goes to bed crying because he lost his Woobie, that’s all on you.” Bullseye didn’t give a rat’s ass. The second he sank his teeth into the bear’s neck, Ford could have sworn he giggled, which wouldn’t be a surprise since he was carrying the toy to the truck like a mama carrying her baby. Head high, spring in his step, tail straight up as if flipping Ford the bird.
Bullseye and Company jumped up through the open passenger door—the dog was too lazy to use the doggy door but he could open a truck door—and curled up with his new buddy.
With a stern look that was completely ignored, Ford closed the passenger door and then slid in behind the driver’s seat and unwrapped his sandwich. The warm scent of freshly baked rye bread and melted cheese filled the car, and Ford’s stomach grumbled. After three days of power bars and jerky, hot food was pretty close to heaven.
Not as close as kissing Liv, he thought, remembering the feel of her lips working his. She had great lips.
He was going for the first bite when someone tapped on the window.
Ford turned to find Harris’s mug in the window, stank face in full effect. He was in athletic shorts and a DADDIES AGAINST DAUGHTERS DATING muscle shirt, and a couple of strands of sparkly beads were around his neck.
Ford ignored him and lifted the sandwich to his lips.
“We can do this here or while you’re packing your bags.”
Ford set his sandwich down and unrolled the window. “My mom warned me never to open my window to a man offering beads.”
“It was Mommy-Daughter Day at Emma’s dance studio. We were crowned Best Dance Duo, which means I get to throw the next class party, so don’t fuck with me,” Harris said, running a hand down his face. “And did your mom also warn you about what happens when you do an unsanctioned search without telling your boss?”
Ford took one last look at his sandwich and wrapped it up. “I had two days off, and a buddy from Shasta called asking for backup, so I went.”
“On a type-two search. You aren’t cleared for a type-two search.”
“I went as a volunteer. On my own time.”
“Thank God you didn’t go as the SEMR community-outreach officer. That guy seems to have wandered off and left some moron in his place, because no way would my guy, who’s one wrong move from mall security, gear up when he’s been benched. By two departments.” Harris was quiet for a moment. “I mean, that would be as reckless as trying to charm the panties off a citizen who’s in the middle of an active project with the department.”
“It’s not like that.”
“You brought her a cupcake! From Shasta!”
“They also had ones with little pacifiers on it,” Ford said, resting his elbow on the window. “Want me to go back and get you one?”
Harris lifted a brow, and Ford let out a breath.
Ford was the easygoing one of his team. He had to be to do his job, and he took a lot of pride in his ability to not let things rattle him. This thing with Liv, though, had him rattled. And not in a good way. “It’s not what you think.”
“Good, because I’d hate to have to bring up the single-mom code again,” Harris said, clearly not buying Ford’s brand of BS. “Because kid-free coed outings that involve morning walks on the beach, coffee on your back porch, and locking lips are definitely off-limits.”
“Ty told you?”
“You just did,” Harris said, shaking his head. “This is Sequoia Lake—that kind of shit gets people talking and women thinking. And women like Liv are new to all of this. She didn’t date a lot before Sam, and she hasn’t dated once since. A kiss to her might mean something different than a kiss to you.”
If his friend was going for the guilt angle, it was working. Ford had injected himself into a subject’s life, then began steering it in a direction that was in his best interest and not hers, knowing he was leaving in a few weeks.
What kind of mess had he gotten into?
“She’s in the driver’s seat—trust me.” And it didn’t take a genius to figure out that, after last night, she was considering dropping it into a lower gear. He’d seen the look on her face, knew they’d gone too far.
“I bet that drives you nuts.”
Ford rolled his head to the side until he met his friend’s gaze. “Why do you think I took the search in Shasta?”
“I thought it was to piss me off,” Harris joked, then went serious. Dead serious. “Remember, you have the ability to pull the emergency brake—”
“Which you think I should do because you’re worried about her getting hurt.”
“Sam and I played baseball growing up,” Harris said. “So, yeah, when Liv came to town I made a point to get to know her, and since then she’s become a good friend. So I will always worry about her.” Harris rested his hands on the roof of the truck and leaned in. “Right now, I’m more worried about you.”
“Me?” Ford laughed. “I have three more weeks in Mayberry, then I’ll take my cert test, be back on the travel squad, and everything will be back to normal.”
“Righ
t in time for avalanche season,” Harris said. “I guess you have it all worked out, then. Which explains why you tried to get a permit for a kids’ zip line approved.”
Ford straightened. “What do you mean, tried? Wait. Are you rejecting it?”
“You proposed a zip line and ropes course in Poppy Alley. For kids. To impress a girl.” Harris snorted. “Of course I’m rejecting it.”
“This isn’t about impressing Liv. This is about finishing strong here, and my department does these kinds of kids’ courses every year. A lot of departments do,” Ford pointed out.
“We’re small town, city boy.” Harris laughed, and Ford wanted to punch him. “We don’t have the kind of crew to work that kind of event right now.”
“I only need six guys.”
“You do realize you’re asking for half of the local division?” Harris asked.
Ford hadn’t considered that. He was used to Reno, where, between the outlying counties, he had access to more than a hundred deputies at any given time. And the ranking to pull guys as needed.
But he wasn’t in Reno, and unless he got recertified, he’d be one of the guys getting pulled around. “I can call in some favors, bring some guys in from my department up north.”
“Are you going to cover the overtime as well?” Harris asked. “With Wagon Days, our budget is already thin.”
Right.
“What about department-approved volunteers?” Ford asked. “The way I laid out the course, I’d only need two extra officers to help with the zip line. The rest can be local guys who want to get involved with the event.”
“So two guys are standing between you and—”
“Liv losing that promotion. That’s all.”
Harris thunked his head against the side of the truck. “Glad this isn’t about a woman.”
It wasn’t about a woman. It was about a particular woman with melt-your-soul eyes and a rusty laugh who made Ford want to play hero. And he hadn’t felt that urge in a while.
That was the problem with playing, he reminded himself. At some point real life levels the playing field, and all you’re left with is a badge.
“I can cover two guys, but that’s it. The rest will have to be volunteers. I’ll take another look at the volunteer applications, and maybe we can get a few recruits to help with the simpler stuff to free up some deputies.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“And I will collect. But in the meantime, think long and hard about what you’re doing,” Harris said, and then with a smack to the roof of the car, he headed back to his Jeep, his beads glittering in the sunlight.
Appetite gone, Ford stuck his lunch back in the bag and started up the engine. Only instead of looking over to find his partner asleep on the passenger seat, he was met with nubby fur, two plastic eyes, and an opened passenger door.
“Bullseye,” Ford called out, wondering what toddler his AWOL partner was mugging now.
Shutting off the engine, Ford hopped out and scanned the parking lot, the nearby stores, even going into Pins and Needles, because for all Ford knew, Bullseye was taking a crafting class on stuffed dolls.
Coming up clean and not wanting to be late to another briefing, he pulled out his phone and opened his Fido Finder, an app made by a search-and-rescue volunteer out of Montana to help locate scenting dogs—dogs like Bullseye who had a habit of following scents when not on the job.
Within seconds, a red dot appeared on the digital map, and Ford looked down the street toward the park. On the edge of the field, a boy stood petting Bullseye, who was practically sitting on top of the kid—like a professional search dog with his find.
Ford walked over to find a boy, clearly with the camp, wearing a red cape and shoes that blinked every time he hopped. And the kid was hopping as high as he could. With his arm in the air, a stuffed toy in hand, doing his best to keep it out of Bullseye’s reach.
“If you sit on the grass, I’ll give it to you,” the boy said, but Bullseye just gave him a wet lick to the face. The boy laughed.
“Try using one-word commands,” Ford said, then looked at the culprit. “Sit.”
Bullseye sat still as a statue. So did the boy. His eyes big as saucers, his lips pressed firmly together, and clutching his toy to his chest in a defensive gesture that would have taken Ford out at the knees. Except the boy’s identity had already leveled him.
Ford had caught a few glimpses of Paxton over the years, but the last time he’d been this close to the boy, Ford had been cradling him to his chest on a helicopter headed for Mercy General. Near hypothermia, spotted in his dad’s blood, and tears staining his pale cheeks, the kid never made a sound. Not one during the entire twelve hours they were trapped in that cave.
He’d even cried in silence.
“Hey there,” Ford said, crouching down to his level. “You’re Paxton, right? This is Bullseye.” Ford gave Bullseye a rewarding pat to the head, then proceeded cautiously. “I’m Ford, a friend of your mom’s.”
Ford waited for some sign on how to continue. Tears, fear, a spark of recognition. The first two made his palms sweat, but the last made him want to pack up and leave town. The kid gave him nothing to work with, leaving Ford with two choices: convince him to go back to camp or call his mom.
The first would be a challenge because Ford already knew how Paxton felt about camp—so thrilled he’d rather sit in a field alone. He didn’t know Liv’s schedule, so the second might pull her out of work.
And possibly blow Ford’s biggest secret.
“Why don’t we go find the other kids?” Ford asked, holding out his hand.
Paxton looked at it and then stuck his own thumb in his mouth.
Ford scanned the park, looking for a camp counselor who could explain how a kid was standing next to a busy street unsupervised. He spotted a cluster of capes and brightly colored tights on the jungle gym, a good football field away.
“Are you allowed to be over here?” he asked, and was met with silence. Time for a new strategy. Ford leaned in and whispered to his stuffed animal. “He’s good, Superdog. You told me he was an accomplished superhero and that he wouldn’t break, but I have to get Deputy Bullseye here back to headquarters, and I can’t leave until I know the location of the camp.”
Paxton didn’t speak, but his eyes took on an excited twinkle.
Relieved he was getting somewhere, Ford quickly looked both ways, then as if imparting a direct order from Superman himself, said, “I need to get a message to someone in the camp. She has blue eyes, blonde curls, and goes by the name Ballerina Girl. Do you know her?”
Superdog remained tight-lipped on the subject, and Paxton kept sucking that thumb, but his head moved in a tiny nod.
“You do?” Ford made a big show out of wiping the sweat off his brow. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. They said you were good, but that’s impressive.” Ford pulled out his department-issued notepad and pen and scribbled a note. Folding it in half and half again, he scanned the park a third time. “Can you help Bullseye get this to her?”
Paxton looked at the note and then at the group of kids who were hanging from the bars and playing tag. He swallowed hard and then with a shaky nod, pulled his thumb out of his mouth and reached for the note.
“Thanks, Superboy.” Ford handed him the secret message. “Now, she won’t take it unless Bullseye gives her the secret handshake. Verification is important in our line of work.” And because Ford knew that when it came to boys, the only thing cooler than superheroes and fast cars was a dog with a few tricks under his collar, he said, “Now, watch carefully. I’m about to show you the secret handshake. Ready?”
Paxton nodded, but his eyes were peanut butter on jelly, never looking away as Ford demonstrated.
Putting Bullseye on his leash, Ford stuck out his fist, made firm eye contact, and said, “Give me rocks.”
Bullseye threw his head back and barked, then tapped his paw to Ford’s fist. And then, because that was only the beginning, Fo
rd made a sound of fireworks exploding, and Bullseye wiggled his paw as he pulled back.
“Like sparks of an explosion,” Ford said, and Paxton’s face lit with excitement.
Giving Bullseye a good rubdown, Ford handed Paxton the leash and then stepped back. “Now it’s your turn.”
Paxton tucked the note under Superdog’s cape, Superdog under his arm, and then made a fist with his free hand. He looked at Ford, who gave him a go-nod, and he stuck it out for Bullseye. When the dog did nothing, Ford said, “Try it again, and this time say, ‘Rocks.’”
Paxton’s tongue peeked out in concentration, and he tried it again. With no command, Bullseye eyed the fist and let out a big yawn.
Paxton dropped the leash and toed the ground.
“Don’t give up,” Ford said, coming up behind him. “Bullseye wants to be your friend and trust you, but most of all he wants to give you what you need, but you have to tell him what to do.” Ford stuck his fist out again, and Bullseye looked at him like, Really, bro. “He doesn’t know if I want him to shake my hand or do the super handshake. That’s why it’s important to be clear about what you need. Now, make a fist.” Paxton did, and Ford guided his hand forward. “Then you say, ‘Rocks.’”
Bullseye let out a bark and then performed the trick, explosion and all.
“That was great,” Ford said, and Paxton soaked up the praise. He didn’t look at the ground or the sky—he looked directly at Ford and beamed so brightly Ford could feel the warmth seeping into his chest. “We used the right word, so he didn’t misunderstand what we need from him. Now this time you take the leash and try.”
Paxton looked back and forth between the leash and Bullseye, as though this were a trick to get him to talk, and if he didn’t, their fun day would be ruined. Then he dropped the leash and stepped back.
Ford put a hand on the boy’s slim shoulders. “You got this, buddy. And if you get nervous, just remember Bullseye’s got your back.”
Ford wanted to say he did too, but he was leaving, and the kid didn’t need another person disappearing in his life.