by Becky Flade
“Carter Andrew McAlister. I can make your life a living hell as easily now as I did when we were twelve. One call to the East Coast and a suggestion to your mother that you’re not eating right . . . ” Maggie let her voice trail.
“Uncle. Uncle. Jesus, Mags, you fight dirty, ya know that?”
“I fight to win. And you taught me how. Now spill.”
“Your husband might have called me last night and asked me to check up on Ms. Elliott, seeing as how you’d decided to rent her the cabin without running her credit or doing a Google search.”
“Asshole,” she ground out in a low voice. Carter was fairly confident she meant the slur for Aidan and not him. But since he knew Maggie could throw a decent punch, he wasn’t risking it and kept his mouth shut. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Run a check on her.”
“Well, I went past the cabin this morning. I introduced myself. She wasn’t what I would call friendly, considering she greeted Dublin and I with a baseball bat. She relaxed, somewhat, until I asked friendly questions about her plans. That put her back on edge.” He paused. “I, on the other hand, was very neighborly. My mother would be proud. I offered her a job, gave her my information, and left.”
“Did you run her?”
“Yeah, I ran her.” He sighed. “No wants or warrants, federal or local. I didn’t go any deeper than that because I didn’t see any reason. Far as I can tell, she’s a woman traveling alone who wants to be left alone. And who doesn’t particularly like your old man.”
“I’m not worried about that. My husband is an acquired taste, and I prefer him that way. I do think she’s running or hiding from something, probably someone. A man. Henley is comfortable with me and Tala. Funny. Talkative. Warm. She lets things slip. Like that she’s a licensed psychiatrist, a doctor, well educated, well versed in classical music. But she’s living out of her car and hotels with no family, no home? That doesn’t make sense, Carter. Unless she’s on the run, and you said it’s not from the law. As soon as Aidan got home, her guard rose. And he hadn’t made an ass of himself yet. Of course, he didn’t waste any time, and his attitude made it worse.
“Plus you said Henley gave you and Dublin a hard time? No one gives you a hard time. You’re like a sneaky puma. Everyone thinks you’re a pussycat, and then you pounce like a lethal jungle cat. Don’t laugh—all the guys you put away in Philly would agree with me. They thought you were a pushover until they were on the ground, bleeding and cuffed. And women fall at your feet once they get a look at your baby blues. I think she’s scared. I think she needs help, and I want to help her. I feel like I’m supposed to; Aidan, too, whether he likes it or not.” Maggie put her hand on his arm. “And you, especially, can help. It’s what you do; it’s who you are.”
“No, Mags. It’s who I was. Now I’m a small-town sheriff. I drive Johnnie Carson’s pickup when he’s loaded. I break up squabbles at the Piggly Wiggly. That’s what I signed on for. That’s it.” He couldn’t help the cold prick of anxiety that slid between his shoulder blades any more than he could shake the foul taste of self-disgust gathering in the back of his throat. Justin wouldn’t recognize him. And that thought shamed him more than the pity he recognized in Maggie’s hazel eyes.
“Ugh. It’s going to cost both arms and a leg.” Henley’s frustrated statement announced her arrival. “I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”
“No. Not at all. Bad news?” Maggie asked.
“Not if you have a currency press on that ranch of yours.”
“Counterfeiting is illegal even in the Cove.” Carter faked a frown. And chuckled when Henley scowled at him. Wow, no sense of humor at all.
“You were right, Al’s a sweetheart. He’s willing to do the work as soon as I pay for the parts, and he’ll let me pay off the labor over time. But still, it’s going to take me months to cover these repairs.”
“Now what?”
Henley glanced at Carter. “You mentioned a dispatcher position at the sheriff’s office earlier. What does that entail?”
“Monday through Friday every other week; Tuesday through Saturday on the alternate weeks. Fridays and Saturdays are evening shifts; the rest are day shifts. It’s an eight-hour day, and you get an hour unpaid for lunch. It pays fifteen dollars per hour.” He stuck his hands in his back pockets. “The Cove doesn’t have a traditional 911 hotline. If someone has an emergency they call the sheriff’s department, and the dispatcher forwards the call. There aren’t a lot of calls. The dispatcher is also responsible for filing and other secretarial work. Otherwise, you’d be bored sitting there waiting for the phone to ring.”
“I’ll take it.”
That was unexpected. He’d had the distinct impression that morning that she’d be more interested in shoveling shit than working in his office. She really loved that car. Or was just in that much of a hurry to get out of here. Definitely mysterious. Pity for her that he adored a good riddle.
“Stop by whenever to fill out the employment forms, and you can start Monday morning at ten.”
Henley nodded, hesitated, and held out her hand. Carter smiled and gripped her fingers in his. A tingle started in his fingertips and shot up his arm. She pulled her hand free. His grin fell as he sucked air in through his teeth. The tingling ceased as she rubbed her forearm.
“What was that?” he asked.
“What was what?” Henley’s expression was blank. The hand that had been rubbing her arm now hung at her side. But Carter knew she lied. She had felt it too.
“What’s going on?” Maggie demanded.
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “We’ll see you Monday.”
Henley nodded.
“I’ll leave word with all the deputies, so if I’m not in the office when you come in to fill out the forms, anyone can help you. And if you need a ride, call the office. Someone can pick you up and drop you off for your shifts.”
“Is that standard?”
“They always did it for Teague’s wife. Paula refused to get her driver’s license for over fifty years. When they moved to Florida, the department of motor vehicles there declared Teague’s eyesight too far gone. Paula got her license and racked up three speeding tickets in the first thirty days.”
Maggie laughed. “Makes you wonder if she wouldn’t drive herself, or if Teague knew better than to let her behind the wheel.”
“Thank you.” Henley’s polite smile didn’t reach her eyes. He didn’t attempt another handshake.
Carter didn’t miss the curiosity evident in Maggie’s expression when they hugged goodbye. He hoped she understood the dismissal in his. He couldn’t explain to her what he didn’t understand himself. Crap on a cracker. Mags is going to be a real pain in the ass on this.
He could see Henley become more vibrant and animated as the women walked away and the chasm between them widened. Maggie could be right—it could be Henley’s problem was with men. Could be she didn’t like him. That thing, whatever it was, when they shook hands, was weird. This was a woman with secrets. He’d do well to stay away from her.
But he’d just hired her to work in his office.
Chapter Four
“When a call comes through, you have to check the duty roster, which will be on this clipboard here.” The deputy—Henley thought he said his name was Doug—tapped a clipboard where it dangled from a hook on the wall behind her new desk and set it swaying side to side. “There’s another copy on the sheriff’s blotter. And he has one on his person too. Well, not like in his pocket. I figure it’s in his Jeep when he’s on patrol or tacked to his fridge when he isn’t.”
“Well, Deputy Roman, that does make sense.”
“Please, please, call me Doug.” He beamed. Henley figured he was maybe twenty-two. Maybe. She grinned. And he did the impossible. Deputy Doug blushed. “Anyway, as I was saying, you check the duty roster. There are always two officers on duty: one here and one on patrol, unless we’re already on a call. When we are, we check in with you, and you keep tra
ck of it in the log.” He pointed to the spiral notebook on which someone had used a black magic marker to print LOG. “Between the duty roster and the log, you determine who is closest and contact that officer—on the radio, if necessary—and give the officer the information you collected. And when you sign off, you record their expected location and all details of the call on this form here.”
Doug smiled. “Are you still with me?”
“Yes. I think it sounds more complicated than it is. Regardless, you’re good at explaining and patient, too. Thank you.” Henley grinned. “I bet after a couple days I’ll have the hang of it.”
“Oh yeah, once you do it a few times, it gets to be routine. And if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.” He sat on the edge of the desk—would the boy move along or would she have to give him a gentle shove? “On your lunch break, or any time you need to, um, you know, stretch your legs”—he gave her a significant look—“whoever is here with you will cover the phone.”
“And if I’m alone?”
“You forward the calls to me until you’re available again.” Carter’s voice startled her. She didn’t jump, but try as she might she couldn’t stop her spine from straightening. He made her uncomfortable. “And when your shift is over, I’m dispatcher. All calls get forwarded to me until you’re on shift again.”
“That must be inconvenient.”
The too-handsome man shrugged as he moved from the doorway and crossed the room. He settled behind the desk she already knew to be his from the tour Doug had given her. The office was basically a large room filled with desks, chairs, and filing cabinets. There was a kitchen, bathroom, a small room filled with boxes and a cot for overnight shifts, an interview room, and a room for processing “perps.” Henley had chewed her tongue to keep from laughing at Doug’s solemn use of the term. The rest of the first floor contained three clean, empty cells that were far more spacious than the tiny room the officers shared when they worked the graveyard shift.
Carter hung his hat and windbreaker on the coatrack. He slung his shoulder holster on the back of the chair, rolled back the seat, and sat. “Teague was sheriff, and his wife was dispatcher; I guess they didn’t mind having the calls routed home. It’s a system everyone here is comfortable with, so we kept it that way. Trappers’ Cove isn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity.”
“You’ll have a lot of down time.” Doug nodded. “Mrs. Teague liked to knit.”
“I hope that’s not a job requirement. I’ve never so much as touched a ball of yarn.” Deputy Doug laughed, way harder than necessary, and glanced over at his boss. Carter gave the younger man an arched look. The deputy stood, straightened his uniform, and cleared his throat.
“Well, now that the sheriff is in from patrol, it’s my turn.” He retrieved his hat and firearm, nodding to them both. “I’ll see you later, Miss Elliott. It was a pleasure.”
“Thank you for showing me around this morning. And please, call me Henley.”
Doug blushed and hurried out the door. The silence was awkward and heavy in a room that suddenly felt small. She shuffled the papers around on the desk and then decided to check the contents of the drawers. They were a mess. She doubted Paula Teague had kept her desk this cluttered; it was probably the result of the sheriff and his team taking turns acting as dispatch. Her first act in her new job would be to make her desk a functional working space. She would check the supplies while restocking whatever stationery she may need. Doug had explained that ordering all supplies, including bullets, pens, toilet paper, and coffee grounds, fell under her purview.
The drawer containing the forms her position required was the only organized element to her new workspace. Hopefully there was an inventory list in the drawer that would give her an idea of what “fully stocked” meant for this office. Otherwise, the planned supply check would prove a worthless use of her time.
“Be careful with Doug. He’s a sweet guy.”
“Seriously?” Henley’s gaze snapped up to where Carter shuffled through a ream of papers on his desk. She couldn’t decide which pissed her off more: the fact he felt she needed to be warned off his deputy or that he wasn’t bothering to make eye contact with her while he did it.
“I’m not trying to insult you, Miss Elliott. Clearly he’s attracted to you and clumsy with it. I’m asking you to take care with him. What you see as being kind, he may see as reciprocated interest. And when it comes time to let him down, which I’m sure you’ll do with grace and tact, he still may feel the sting of rejection sharper than you’d intended. You’ll both be embarrassed, at least. It’s a situation that could create a tense working environment for all of us. But mostly I’m worried about Doug.”
“And if I am attracted to him?”
He looked up from the papers he held. His eyes were incredibly blue, the shade of the sky she’d admired on her hike into town days earlier, and his direct stare captivated her. She couldn’t look away.
“That’s your business, and I’ll ask both of you to keep that business out of this office. But you’re no more attracted to him than I’m going to get drafted to play quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles next season.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t like you.”
“I’m not sure I like you either. But you were amused by Doug—flattered, sure, but mostly amused. You think he is a sweet kid. Nothing more, nothing less.” Carter returned to his reading. “You can barely have a conversation with me, don’t enjoy being in the same room with me, for that matter, and have yet to invite me to use your first name. And I think I’d have a better shot than Doug does.”
“You arrogant prick.” Henley gripped the edge of her desk with such force her fingertips were white. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to stand. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if she did. She’d never been violent in her life. But a piece of her wanted to rail at this man who was nearly a stranger. Instinct demanded she pound her fists into his chest and scream; the idea of it flashed into her mind, and something inside her clicked. She felt warm and whole, and that terrified her. She wanted to run from Trappers’ Cove as fast as her feet would carry her. She must have stood, because the room appeared to tilt, and she felt Carter at her side.
“Sit down, Henley. Sit down. Jesus, you’re pale.” He hadn’t touched her; at least he hadn’t touched her. The memory of what she’d felt vibrating through her when their hands had clasped had reverberated within her for days. Her equilibrium had only begun to return to normal. Carter disappeared from her side, striding into the kitchen that acted as a break room. Henley lowered her forehead to the desk’s surface, breathing deeply, exhaling slowly through her nose. She heard a clunk on the wood and lifted her head a few inches. He had brought her a glass of water. She sat all the way up and took a long sip.
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
“Carter. Call me Carter.” He stood about a foot from her chair, studying her. “What happened? You looked ready to clobber me. But the expression on your face changed to one I can only describe as terrified. Your complexion went waxy before you stood and swooned. I thought you might faint.”
“You just explained what happened.”
“Yeah. That’s what happened. I already know why you were pissed. But you want to tell me what scared you so badly you almost fell out face first on the floor?”
“I’d rather not.” Henley sighed. Her first day. She’d made a fool of herself on her first day.
“Okay. You want to explain what happened when we shook hands? I wasn’t sure what to do for you, if catching you would make whatever worse or not. Honest to God, Henley, the notion of having to let you drop to the floor and leave you there because I might hurt you more if I touched you bothers me. I’d appreciate an explanation.”
“I don’t have a good one.”
“Whatever you’ve got is fine.”
“We’ll see about that.” No one had understood or believed her. He
wouldn’t either. She’d be labeled crazy. And fired. People would stare and whisper. Eventually, she’d begin to believe she was insane. It had happened before.
• • •
He’d lied. He did like her—more than a little. He’d anticipated Monday morning. It was more than curiosity over what had transpired on the street at their last meeting. So it had goaded him to witness Henley conversing easily with Doug while the young deputy blushed. However, it took only a moment to grasp the truth in that situation. The air in the room had fairly crackled when he called her on it. Carter had been enjoying the verbal sparring.
But whatever that episode was, it scared him. He’d checked his hands when he’d gone to get water and was surprised but pleased to find he wasn’t shaking. He’d thought he was. It felt all of him was. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen terror. Justin’s eyes, for instance . . . Carter swallowed hard, willing the image away. The guilt that filled him would linger, but it was better than the grief the ghost carried. The room stank of fear and guilt.
“Henley? I can wait all day, but I’d rather not.”
“I see you’ve helped yourself to my first name.” She took a healthy sip of water, and he nearly praised her but held his tongue.
“Should I apologize, Miss Elliott?”
“No.” She plunked the glass down with a dull thud and gathered her hair back into a ponytail, which she secured with a band she had wrapped around her wrist. “Sorry. I’m mad at myself for being a fool and on my first day at that. Please do call me Henley, Carter.”
She smiled, and he wanted to back away with his hands held out in warning. He’d told himself to keep his distance, and here he yearned to get closer. He was broken. He had no place getting close to anyone, least of all a woman he suspected may be more screwed up than he was. He remembered television reruns his parents watched when he was a child where a weird robot character would chant “Danger! Danger!” Yet he grabbed the chair beside her desk, turned and straddled it in one smooth motion, and smiled in what he hoped she would interpret as an encouraging manner.