MOST ELIGIBLE SHERIFF

by Cathy McDavid

  “What are you staring at?”

  If dogs could roll their eyes, Sarge would.

  “It was one kiss.” One phenomenal kiss. “He said it wouldn’t happen again.”

  She’d hardly reached her bedroom when her cell phone rang. Cliff! He hadn’t waited for her.

  Ruby returned to the coffee table and dug the phone out of her purse with shaking fingers.

  Not Cliff. Rather, a number she didn’t recognize. Her heart went from fluttering to racing.

  She wasn’t answering. Not after the last time. Clutching the phone in her suddenly damp palm, she let the call go to voice mail and waited for the ding notifying her of a message. The phone screamed silence.

  Knowing it was useless, she checked for a message anyway. A droning female voice informed her there were none.

  “It was just a misdial, right?”

  Sarge didn’t answer her. He was too busy sniffing at the door.

  “What is it? Another squirrel?”

  A low but lethal growl emanated from the dog’s throat.

  Ruby didn’t think dogs growled at squirrels. “Sarge?”

  He stood on his one hind leg and propped his front paws on the door, then started barking in earnest. Ruby jerked and nearly dropped her phone. She was no longer nervous but downright scared.

  Starting for the window, she stopped in midstep. Was that prudent? Not with the lights on. If someone was out there watching her, they would see her through the window. Unless she turned off the light.

  Cliff’s warning reverberated in her head. Light was her best defense.

  She should call him. And tell him what exactly? That Sarge was barking at the door. Knowing Cliff, he’d come rushing back, only to find nothing out of the ordinary.

  Seconds later, the dog quieted. Sitting, then falling onto his side, he scratched his neck with his one hind leg. When he was done, he stood and shook from head to tail, completely unconcerned.

  Cliff was definitely going to get his wish. Ruby was calling him before she went to bed.

  She waited a while longer. When nothing more transpired, she went to the kitchen and turned on the light there. The bedroom was next. She wasn’t satisfied until the trailer was lit up like the Vegas strip. Climbing into bed, she invited Sarge to sleep with her. Stuffing pillows behind her back, she pressed the speed dial for Cliff’s number.

  “Hey.”

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “I guess.”

  “You sound upset.”

  Was he that attuned to her already? “Sarge started barking after you left, but then he stopped.”

  “And now?”

  “He’s sleeping.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Just what she’d expected him to say. “Cliff, you can’t come running every time Sarge barks.”

  “I won’t disturb you.”

  Since there was no stopping him, she simply said, “Good night. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  She lay awake for the next ten minutes, listening for the rumble of Cliff’s vehicle. True to his word, he didn’t knock on her door and left soon after. Clearly, he’d found nothing. Sarge was just responding to a harmless noise as dogs are apt to do.

  The reassurances didn’t help. Sleep evaded Ruby for hours. Crowley’s arraignment couldn’t come soon enough.

  What would she do? How would she protect herself, once she’d returned home and Cliff was in Sweetheart?

  * * *

  THE SOUND OF BLEATING SHEEP reached Cliff’s ears long before the small rodeo arena came into view. Sarge sprang instantly to life. Ears pricked, eyes alert, his hobble smoothed into a fast trot. This was hardly his first interaction with livestock, and the loss of a limb wouldn’t hinder his enjoyment.

  Fifty feet short of the arena, Cliff stopped to observe Ruby.

  Hatless, long hanks of hair falling loose from her ponytail, and every inch of her covered in grime, she chased a herd of six adult ewes in circles. In this game of tag, the ewes were clearly ahead. While Ruby stopped to rest, visibly struggling to catch her breath, the formerly fleet-footed sheep stood bunched together, glaring at her and bleating insults.

  Sarge whined in eager anticipation.

  “Sitz, boy. Bleib.”

  The dog sat, but every muscle strummed with excitement. His police training was all but set aside as the herding instinct encoded in his DNA took over.

  “No worries,” Cliff assured the dog. “You’ll have your chance. She won’t get those sheep rounded up without you.”

  From what he could tell, Ruby was attempting to wrangle a sheep, or multiple sheep, into the bucking chute.

  In the sport of mutton busting, a child, usually around the age of three to six, was placed on top of the sheep and instructed to hold tight. The sheep was then released to run the length of the arena, and the child’s ride was timed. Sort of like bull or bronc riding, only on a smaller scale and considerably less dangerous.

  Winners were determined by the longest ride and awarded a ribbon. Skill and technique didn’t count. Generally, all the participants received some sort of prize for having the courage to compete. They’d earn it, too. Mutton busting was a tough sport, and every rider eventually landed face first in the dirt. The kids, however, loved it. For the most part.

  Trying and failing again to drive even one sheep into the bucking chute, Ruby braced her hands on her knees and burst out laughing.

  Cliff chuckled along with her. She might be in over her head when it came to herding sheep, but she was having fun and not taking herself seriously. He liked that about her.

  He liked a lot of things about her. Too many for his own good.

  It was a relief to see her happy. He’d worried about her the past few days. While they’d talked every hour, they hadn’t seen each other since the night of the square dance. It was now Monday afternoon. Cliff had decided that, in light of their kiss, a little distance might be in their best interests.

  What he hadn’t counted on was how much he’d missed her. The sight of her now was like emerging from a dark cave into full sunlight. Their time apart had done nothing to temper his desire for her.

  In his place, Cliff had recruited Sam to escort Ruby home from work on Saturday and Iva Lynn to drop by on Sunday, Ruby’s day off. Cliff continued driving past the trailer on rounds, verifying that all was well. He’d glimpsed her and Sarge only once. She’d waved, and Cliff had cursed under his breath.

  According to Iva Lynn, his dog wasn’t happy about being dropped off at the station and had moped all morning. Apparently, he was settling in nicely with Ruby.

  And she, Cliff thought as he continued watching her, was settling in nicely to life as a wrangler. Sarge would be lonely when she left.

  Cliff, too.

  Ruby finally managed to corner one ewe, only to have it break loose at the last second. This could go on all afternoon.

  Cliff approached the arena and opened the gate. “Away, Sarge,” he commanded.

  Yipping, the dog sprinted across the arena toward the sheep, his gait slightly unnatural but incredibly fast. In a matter of seconds, he had the six ewes standing shoulder to shoulder and perfectly still.

  “Hold,” Cliff called out as he walked toward Ruby, confident in his dog’s abilities to keep the flock in place.

  She stared in amazement, first at Sarge, then Cliff. “Did that just happen?”

  He grinned. “When I brought Sarge home after his release, he needed physical therapy and daily exercise. Like some people, I suppose, he was depressed over his injury and the loss of his job. The vet told me to keep him busy. Herding sheep at old man Seymour’s place is what we did. I still take him there once a month for a workout.”

  “You could’ve told me.”

 
; “I could have. But watching you try to herd sheep was fairly entertaining.”

  She grinned then, too. The worry Cliff had been holding on to dissipated. She wasn’t mad at him.

  “What now?”

  “Watch this.” He went over to the pair of chutes and swung the doors wide. He stood by the first one. Here was the part where Sarge really shined.

  Whistling shrilly, Cliff issued another command. Sarge was off in a flash. It took the dog less than two minutes to divide the sheep and herd the first group into a chute. Cliff closed the door behind them. The second group was contained just as quickly. Tongue lolling and wearing his I’m-a-good-dog face, Sarge hop-trotted back to Cliff.

  “That’ll do, boy.” He stroked Sarge’s head.

  “He’s amazing!” Ruby came over and hugged the dog’s neck. To Cliff she said, “Please tell me I can use him during the gymkhana.”

  “He’s all yours.”

  She straightened, her features falling. “I don’t know why I said that. I won’t be here.”

  Yet another reminder of her impending departure. The powers that be must be sending Cliff a message.

  “You can use Sarge until you leave. For practices.”

  “Thanks.”

  Their gazes locked. Was she recalling their kiss? He certainly was. Constantly.

  “Speaking of which, can I also borrow your nieces? I need victims. I mean, volunteers.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”

  “Do you know anyone with a small protective vest we can borrow? We already have riding helmets.”

  “Let me make a call. The problem is getting it here in time.”

  “I’d offer to drive and pick it up, but I’m thinking you won’t allow that, Sheriff Dempsey.”

  “You are correct.”

  “What if you came with me?”

  “What if we send Luis instead?”

  “Okay,” she muttered grumpily.

  “Are you getting bored?”

  “Not with the work. But I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.”

  Between Cliff and Sam, they’d kept her on a short leash. Other than the square dance and the trail ride her first day, she hadn’t been anywhere except the ranch and the trailer. Even walks with Sarge were discouraged.

  “Have you had any other disturbances?” Cliff asked.

  “Not since the last one.”

  “Detective James called. The arraignment is on schedule.”

  “That’s what I hear.” She sighed expansively.

  “Are you planning on attending?”

  Confined in the chutes, the sheep had quieted down. Sarge patrolled back and forth in front of the chutes, primed for action should one of them attempt escape.

  Ruby wiped her forearm across her brow, smearing the dirt smudge rather than wiping it off. Cliff considered telling her. He didn’t. She looked too cute.

  “Probably not,” she finally said. “The prosecutor advises against it.”

  “You want to be there,” he guessed.

  “I want to see him brought to justice.” She shook her head. “Not that my being there matters. Crowley won’t plead guilty.”

  “It could be weeks before the trial starts.”

  “Or months. His attorneys will use every trick in the book to postpone.”

  “Maybe you should stay here.” He was being selfish.

  “If I do, I’ll lose my job.”

  She had to return to Vegas. He doubted the wages she earned as a wrangler were enough to pay the mortgage on her fancy condo.

  “Crowley could still be a threat to you after the arraignment.”

  “I have the order of protection. And Detective James thinks Crowley’s attorneys will make sure he stays out of trouble. Besides,” Ruby added, “Scarlett’s coming home soon.”

  “Have you talked to her lately?”

  “Yesterday. She’s miserable about leaving Demitri.” Ruby grimaced. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to rub salt in the wound.”

  “I’m over her. I would think you’d figured that out after Saturday night.”

  Ruby blushed, the bright pink of her cheeks visible through the many layers of dirt. “We should probably talk about...that.”

  “Not if you don’t what to.”

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “We needed space.”

  “I realize the situation with us isn’t ideal.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, a nervous gesture he’d learned to recognize. “It’s a long drive between here and Vegas.”

  “Distance isn’t the only problem.” He wished it was.

  “I know.” She sighed. “Crowley.”

  She was right but not for the reason she thought.

  “You’re under my protection, Ruby.”

  “You think I’m confusing feeling safe with feeling attraction?”

  “No.” Was she? “We need to keep our relationship aboveboard.” And above reproach. “I need to.”

  “Is this the ‘it’s me and not you’ speech?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have led you on.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  How did she know? “If things were different...”

  She turned away. “Now I’m getting the ‘if things were different’ speech.”

  This dilemma was his fault. His doing. He brought it on by kissing her. She had good reason to be angry at him. If he leveled with her, she might understand and be less angry.

  Cliff made a snap decision. “Let me take you to dinner at the Paydirt.”

  She snatched her hands from her pockets. “I thought we agreed dating wasn’t an option.”

  “We did. But what I have to say will be easier over a beer and good food.”

  “It’s that terrible?”

  He didn’t answer her, except to say, “I’ll swing by the trailer about six.”

  Chapter Nine

  Cliff couldn’t remember the last time he’d been nervous picking up a woman for dinner. It had nothing to do with the company and everything to do with the upcoming conversation. He hadn’t spoken about Talia and his blunder with anyone except his father, and that had been a grueling ordeal.

  Tonight would be worse. Cliff had been confident his father’s opinion of him wouldn’t change significantly. Not so with Ruby.

  She was dressed more casually than the night of the square dance—shorts, a flower-print blouse and flats. Cliff had gone home first and swapped his uniform for regular clothes, wanting to send a clear message to anyone watching that he wasn’t on duty.

  Mondays were far slower at the Paydirt Saloon than weekends, and the sparse crowd reflected it. Cliff and Ruby were able to find a corner booth, away from prying ears, at least, if not prying eyes.

  “What’s good?” she asked, studying the menu.

  “Pretty much everything.”

  Like the general store and trading post, Cliff had spent a lot of time in this establishment. He wasn’t sure which of his great-great-whatever uncles had originally founded the saloon. The last one had left the saloon to Cliff’s aunt and the store to her brother, Cliff’s uncle.

  An interesting choice. Most people might have done the opposite.

  That last great uncle had been smart. Cliff’s social-butterfly aunt excelled running the saloon and being mayor while his uncle was a natural businessman and an excellent head of the town council.

  A waitress met them at their table the moment they were seated. “Can I bring something to wet your whistle?”

  “Iced tea, please.”

  “I’ll have a draft ale.” After the server left, Cliff asked, “Not drinking?”

  Ruby shook her head. “I don’t much. Funny, I kno
w. I started out as a cocktail waitress before becoming assistant manager.”

  No smile. She was nervous, too.

  When the waitress returned with their drinks, Ruby ordered the fried-chicken special. It sounded good so Cliff had the same.

  “I’ve been eating a ton since coming here.” She patted her flat belly. “I just hope I’m working it off.”

  He could personally attest to it she was. Ruby’s figure turned many a man’s head, his included. Which was the reason he’d brought her to a public establishment rather than his house. Less temptation.

  “You look like you’re struggling with where to start.” She rested her folded hands in front of her. “I’m a good listener. It comes with the job.”

  “I bet you’ve heard a lot of stories from customers.”

  “All kinds.”

  Cliff collected his thoughts over a sip of ale. “If we’d met under any other circumstances, I’d be romantically pursuing you.”

  “Such as closer to Vegas?”

  “Not a crime victim seeking refuge in my town.”

  “I see.”

  “While you’re here, it’s my duty to protect you. I can’t compromise that by becoming personally involved.”

  She stirred sugar into her iced tea. “You were personally involved with someone before?”

  Ruby was astute. That probably came with the job, too.

  “Her name was Talia Hanks. She was a witness in a case. For over a year, RPD Drug Investigations had been working on bringing down Vladimir Krupin.”

  “The Russian crime lord?”

  “We were closing in on his right-hand man, Niro Unkovsky. Talia worked for him. A secretary in his so-called transport business. We arrested her on an unrelated charge—writing bad checks—and presented her with a deal. Information in exchange for having the charges dropped.”

  “She was your snitch.”

  “Our sources reported she was low on the totem pole. A lackey. Not a criminal or an associate of a criminal. Just a nice person who made a couple bad decisions, one of them working for the wrong man. She seemed sincere, wanting to get out of the illegal drug-trafficking trade and change her life for the better.”