by Cat Johnson
TWO
Cash
“Cashel.”
I stopped with the steaming mug halfway to my mouth. “Yes, Mother.”
She paused on her way through the kitchen with a basket of laundry in her hands. “I need more firewood brought in, when you get a chance.”
The first thing I did was glance around to see if I could spot one of my two brothers.
Passing the buck was a long-standing tradition in this family. If I could get Boone or Stone to do something instead of me, damn right I was going to.
Not seeing anyone, the next best thing I could do was get creative with my reply. “I’ll see it gets done today.”
I didn’t say I would do it. Just that it would get done.
Happy with my genius, I returned my mother’s smile and proceeded to take the first sip of piping hot coffee. The scorching liquid felt good sliding down my throat, warming me from the inside.
It was freaking cold out there. Just because the farm stand was closed until spring didn’t mean work stopped. Owning and operating Morgan Farm was a year-round endeavor. There were no days off on a farm. No snow days for that matter either.
After being outside at the crack of dawn, feeding and watering the animals, I needed this cup of liquid heat.
I fully intended to warm up before I even thought about going outside again, for any reason. And I figured the longer I procrastinated getting that firewood, the more chance Boone or Stone would wander through and I could get them to do it. Or at least get them to help with the work that had landed on me just because I’d had the misfortune of standing here while our mother walked by.
It would be the perfect plan, except that Stone spent more time at his girlfriend’s place than home lately. My older brother was getting harder and harder to pass tasks off to.
And my younger brother—well, he was just Boone being Boone. Young. Flighty. Eager and willing, but hard to pin down. Boone was like a hound who’d seen a squirrel. He rushed from one thing to the next, be that an odd job for the people in town or the next woman in his life.
It was pretty obvious to me that middle siblings were the smartest. Not to mention the most even-tempered, clever and, no doubt, handsome.
I wasn’t tied down to one woman, at her beck and call—and at her aunt’s too—twenty-four seven like Stone was with Harper. Nor was I running off trying to juggle a multitude of women—and hobbies and odd jobs—like Boone.
Nope. Mine was a simple life. Just the way I liked it. Working on my family’s farm. Hanging out at the local bar. Swinging by town to see what was what. Maybe popping in to visit one pretty little shop keeper on Main Street.
“Cash!”
“What?” I called back in response to my father, who’d bellowed to me from another room.
“These boxes full of Christmas decorations still have to get put upstairs.”
Shit. Now I had two things to pass off to my brothers and if I stuck around much longer, I had no doubt that number would grow.
Tasty hot coffee aside, hanging out in this location clearly wasn’t working for me. Time to go.
“I’ll see it gets done,” I promised, once again using my favorite new reply. “I’m heading out now. Be back later,” I called to whoever was still in hearing distance.
I downed my final sip of coffee, set my mug in the dishwasher and skedaddled, anxious to get out the door before my lengthening list of potential chores got any longer.
Glancing at the time displayed on the dashboard in the truck, I realized it was too early to hit the bar. So, to town it was.
Maybe Bethany would have something good coming out of the oven. I could grab an extra pastry and swing by Red’s with it . . . just to say howdy.
I liked to be neighborly. It would be a courtesy, from one Mudville small business owner to another.
I was all about good relations. Especially when they were with the red headed owner of Mudville’s premiere resale shop.
I’d hit the bakery and then head directly to Red’s. I knew I had to get there before lunch or her helper came in to work and then sometimes Red wouldn’t be there.
Not that I’d memorized her schedule or anything. Or that I went to the shop only to see Red. Of course not. I bought stuff there too. Some good shit came into the store.
At least it was good shit to a person who had an appreciation for odd gadgets and pre-worn clothes. Apparently, I happened to be one of those people. I owned more stuff than any man should and that was mostly because of my frequent stops at Red’s.
My idea to swing by Bethany’s for something sweet, then backtrack to Red’s with it, was derailed by the sight of a sheriff’s department vehicle parked in Red’s lot.
Something must be wrong.
That realization put the brakes on my plan—literally.
I slammed my foot on the brake pedal and careened off Main Street, swinging the truck down the side street too fast.
My pickup skidded to a rough stop in the gravel of the resale shop’s parking lot. I didn’t even take the time to pull the key out of the ignition after I cut the engine as I jumped out of the truck and sprinted toward the steps.
Breathless, I flung the door wide and leapt over the threshold. A warm burst of air from inside hit me at the same time as Red’s tinkling laugh.
Her girlish giggle was answered by a deep, throaty and definitely masculine chuckle.
Eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, I shoved the door closed behind me, hard enough it sounded like the little bell might come flying off. I’d been worried to death about her, and here she was laughing?
Not just laughing, but flirting with the good deputy himself, by the looks of things.
I strode across the store, past displays of random dust catchers, directly to the cash register.
There was Red, leaning her elbows on the counter next to a platter overflowing with sticky buns. The same sticky buns I’d been planning to pick up for her, before I was waylaid by panic over her well-being.
But it was the guy who had his ass perched on the edge of that counter who really grabbed my attention . . . and pissed me off. He was biting into one of the honey buns while looking at Red like he wanted to take a bite out of her.
“Cash. Hi,” Red greeted me, as sweetly as ever.
Then again, retail was her livelihood. She had to be sweet to everybody. It was good business.
“Red.” My gaze moved from her to land on the man in the deputy’s uniform. “Carson.”
“Cash.” He met my stare head on, then moved on to grinning at Red again. “But really. You didn’t have to bribe me with pastries just to get me over here.”
Did that fucker’s eyes just drop to look down Red’s T-shirt before he yanked his gaze back up?
Son of a bitch. I felt my jaw clench.
“Eh, I thought it couldn’t hurt.” She shrugged, still smiling too brightly at him.
What was going on here? This didn’t look like an official visit. And if it wasn’t official business, why were Red and Carson all cozied up?
I tipped my chin to the plate of pastries. “Trying something new? Is it customer appreciation hour or something?” I asked, trying to get to the bottom of the situation without it being obvious that’s what I was doing.
Frowning, she followed my gaze and glanced down at the plate, before her eyes widened. “Oh, you mean the honey buns. No, I just thought I should get something for Carson since he drove all the way over here after I called him.”
Red and I had both graduated high school with Carson a decade ago. I’d liked the guy back then when we’d both played football for Mudville High.
Hell, I’d liked him right up until just now, when I’d found him moving in on Red.
Now, I wanted to tackle the former quarterback and deliver some pain like I used to during practice.
“And I told her, it’s my job to check things out when someone calls the department with a report,” Carson continued.
So, this was official business in spi
te of all appearances to the contrary.
Why didn’t that make me feel better? I felt my brows creep up at his casual attitude, and how damn close he was sitting and leaning in toward where Red stood.
“I have to agree with him, Red. It is his job. And bribery of an officer of the law is a crime,” I said.
She leveled a confused stare on me. “Bethany’s honey buns are the best, but I’m not sure they’d count as bribery.”
Carson leaned in closer to her. “Don’t worry, Freckles. I won’t turn you in.” He grinned and winked at her before popping the last bite into his mouth and licking his fingers.
Freckles. I’d forgotten Carson used to tease Red and call her that back in school.
Except now, unlike then, the nickname didn’t sound like schoolboy teasing anymore. It—accompanied by his sly smirk and wink—seemed decidedly flirty. Almost wolfish, like Carson was on the prowl and Red was the nearest lamb he wanted to sink his flashing white teeth into.
Mother fucker. I wasn’t imagining it. He was hitting on Red.
Eyes narrowed, I swung my gaze from him to her and didn’t like what I saw. Red’s cheeks had gotten all flushed at his teasing.
Time to change the subject.
“So, why’d you have to call the sheriff’s department? What happened? Everything all right?” I asked.
I could only hope she had actually called the department phone and Carson had been on duty at the time to answer the call. Otherwise, that meant she’d called his cell directly. I couldn’t even wrap my head around the idea of Red and Carson calling or texting each other.
That would be too frigging cozy.
Hell, even I didn’t text Red. And I could if I wanted to. I had her number. I just preferred dropping by. Though, by the looks of this little scene I’d stumbled upon, so did Carson.
“It’s nothing. Really.” Red waved off my question.
I frowned. “It had to have been something or you wouldn’t have called him.” I tipped my head toward Carson.
“It’s just . . . it’s silly really, but something went missing overnight. And some other things just felt odd. Out of place. It’s probably nothing.”
I wasn’t as willing to dismiss it as easily as Red had. I spotted the camera in the corner. “Don’t you have security footage you can look at?”
Her face turned a deep red. “No. Those, uh, don’t actually work.”
“What?” My eyes widened.
Carson chuckled. “I’ve already been through all this with her, Cash. Don’t bother.”
I didn’t listen to him and forged ahead. “Why don’t they work?”
She planted a hand on each hip. “Because I’m a little busy around here and never got around to actually hooking them up.”
“Jesus, Red.” I looked to the ceiling for patience. “You do have a working alarm at least, right?”
“Um . . .” Her lack of an answer had me letting out a blue streak of language not appropriate for a lady to hear. But I figured Red deserved to hear it, given her lack of concern for her own safety.
I pulled off my jacket. “I’m taking care of this right now.”
Her eyes widened. “What? What do you mean?”
“I’m at least getting the cameras hooked up. Then we’re going to discuss the alarm situation.”
“And on that note, I’ll be leaving.” Carson pushed off the counter and stood to his full height. And, dammit, how I hated he was a good two inches taller than my own six feet. He continued, “I’ll give you a call once I type everything up and have an official copy of the report for you, to make sure you’re here before I stop by and drop it off.”
Oh, great. Another visit. I rolled my eyes at his excuse to stop in and see her again.
“I don’t want you to have to come all the way over here with it. I can come pick it up—”
“Here’s an idea,” Carson began. “How about we meet halfway. The Muddy River Inn sound good? When I have the report ready, I’ll give you a call and we can meet at Lainey’s. It’s been too long since I’ve had her hot wings. And I bet they’d taste even better if I share them with you.”
The bastard! There had to be some sort of law about a deputy conducting official sheriff’s business at a bar. If there was, I planned on finding it.
“Um, all right. Yeah. Sure. Thank you. And please, take these with you.” She lifted the platter of honey buns toward him, without even offering me one, I noticed.
Carson shook his head. “Nope. Better keep those here. The sheriff is on a strict diet. His wife’s orders. He’ll get real cranky if he even sees these.”
“All right.” She put down the platter and walked around the counter to follow Carson to the door, as if the man couldn’t find his own way the couple of yards there. “Thank you so much for coming over.”
“Any time. I mean that. I’ll be calling you soon about those hot wings.”
Red nodded. “Okay.”
Carson shot Red one more lascivious glance and then the bastard had the nerve to wink at her again. What the fuck was that about? This was certainly not professional behavior.
As my blood pressure rose, he lifted his gaze to me. “Later, Cash.”
“Yup,” I shot back.
Much, much later, hopefully.
As angry as I was hungry, I grabbed one of Carson’s leftover honey buns and tore off a bite.
I was still chewing when Red finally closed the door behind him and turned back toward me.
“I’m eating one of these,” I said with my mouth full.
“That’s fine. You’re welcome to them,” she said.
Humph. A leftover pastry wasn’t a date for drinks and wings at the bar like Carson had gotten, but at least it was something.
“So, what went missing?” I asked after swallowing the sticky, sweet confection and wishing I had a cup of coffee to go with it.
“It was just a cape.” She shrugged. “Bethany’s probably right. I probably misplaced it. It’ll turn up, and when it does, I can feel stupid and apologize to Carson for bothering him.”
I didn’t know why she was acting like this missing item didn’t matter. It obviously did. Enough she’d called the sheriff about it. And I really didn’t want her calling Carson to apologize. Or worse, to try and make it up to him somehow with more than just hot wings.
Putting the uneaten half of the honey bun on a napkin, I shook my head. “Don’t you worry about bothering Carson. He and John Callahan got nothing else to do over there at the sheriff’s department. At least not anymore now that folks stopped breaking into Agnes’s house to steal those damn diaries out of the attic.”
Red snorted out a laugh. “That’s true. Stealing them wouldn’t do any good now anyway. Not since Harper scanned every page of them. All eighty-five years’ worth of Rose’s journals are digital and safely stored in the cloud, according to her.”
“Harper did all that?”
Jeez. Apparently, my brother wasn’t keeping his girl busy enough if she had time to do that kind of shit.
Red nodded. “Yup. She’s a little obsessive like that.”
I had to agree and hopped down off the counter where I’d taken over Carson’s spot. I’d figured if Carson could sit on Red’s counter, I sure as fuck could too.
“Let’s see that camera set up.”
“You’re looking at it.” Her cheeks reddened again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I took the cameras out of the box, stuck them up in a couple of places, but never did anything else with them.”
Jesus Christ. This woman was exasperating. I sighed. “Are they digital or wired?”
“WiFi. I can monitor them on the computer in the back . . . if they were hooked up.”
“Battery or electric?” I needed to figure out if I’d be playing electrician here or just tech support.
“Battery.”
“All right. Any chance you have the boxes, or at least the instruction manual?” I asked.
“T
hat I do have. Both.”
Miracles never ceased. “Good. Show me.”
She trotted toward the back room and I followed at a more leisurely pace.
I might have been engrossed in watching how her hips swayed in those jeans. But I got a hold of myself just in time and remembered to lift my foot for the small step up into the back room rather than trip. Win!
The back room was a minefield of stuff. There was barely enough room for me to plant one foot in front of another.
I had to wonder how Red would even know if something was missing. Bethany was probably right. Chances were that cape was here, just hidden by the avalanche of other stuff.
“Business good?” I asked, glancing around at the over-abundance of merchandise.
“I hear that judgement in your voice, Cashel Morgan. And I’ll have you know I would have had most of this tagged and out on the racks for sale already if I didn’t spend the morning filing reports with the sheriff’s department. And I do have customers to deal with too, you know.”
“I know. Did I say anything?” I asked defensively.
My brothers might wrongly accuse me of being an idiot at times, but I knew one thing, and that was not to cross Red Meyer.
“You didn’t have to say anything to look judgmental.” She scowled.
“Nope. Not me. The more stuff the better, I always say.”
“Oh, is that what you always say?” She planted one hand on her hip, attitude dripping from her tone.
“Yup.” I nodded. “The more to sell to lucky shoppers, right?”
She eyed me as if deciding whether to believe me or not.
I chose to not give her the chance to fall on the wrong side in her decision making and continued, “So, those instructions for the cameras?”
“Oh, yeah.”
I smiled as she was easily deflected from our little tiff and moved on to pawing through the mess on the desk. Her search extended to what was under the desk as I leaned against the wall and enjoyed watching her.
Finally, she emerged with a box. “Got ’em.”
She handed it to me just as the high school girl who worked for her on occasion walked through the door. “Hey. I’m here. Where should I start?”
