by Zoe York
Travis rolled his eyes. “Oh, Jesus.”
“Praying won’t help you win,” Weston chuckled. “But polishing your image will. And you wanna win, don’t you?”
“You sure this isn’t about you taking over my job?”
Weston smiled enigmatically and lifted a shoulder.
“What’s the trailer for?” Travis gestured at the horse trailer attached to Weston’s truck.
“Saw in the back of Rancher’s Monthly yesterday that there’s an auction next town over. A nice gentle mare and a pony are up. You come from ranch stock, gotta have animals for your flyers.”
“But I’m a policeman.”
Weston tsked and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Voters want someone like them.”
A knot formed in Travis’s stomach. “This is a bad idea, Wes.”
“This is the perfect way to scrub up your grumpy bachelor policeman image.” Weston cuffed him on the shoulder. “You’re a man of the people now.”
Travis shook his head. “You should go work for your old man.”
Weston made a face. “Nah. I never want to set foot in DC again. But I’ll happily use what I learned as a kid to help a friend in need.”
“I don’t need anything,” he grumbled. What had he gotten himself into, agreeing to run for sheriff?
Weston glared at him. “What you need is a family. But I have to work with what I have, so horses it is. And I know of at least one kid who’d be thrilled to ride a nice gentle pony.”
“Shows what you know. Ponies can be ornery. Don’t underestimate them because they’re small.”
“Then stick Dax on the mare. I don’t care.” Weston turned to the barn. “With the crew here, we can have the barn looking good by the end of the day. You’re going to take more work.”
There went a chunk of his nest-egg. But the barn desperately needed work. At least this way it would be ready for someday, whenever that was. He took another swig of the coffee. “Let me go change. I’ll come help.”
Upstairs, he threw on an old pair of jeans, and dug out his old pair of boots from the back of his closet. An uncomfortable ache settled below his throat. Funny how the smell of leather and sweat could tie him up in knots. He’d sold off the last of the cattle the last time he’d worn these. A few months after he’d kicked Colton out of the house, and he’d realized too late he couldn’t hack ranching on his own.
But he’d had rules and Colton had crossed the line one too many times. He’d been justified in giving him an ultimatum – clean up or get out. Colton had chosen the path as much as he had. A pang of longing hit him in the stomach. What would Colton say about him running for sheriff? His breath came out in a harsh grunt. It didn’t matter. He’d slammed the door on their relationship that awful night, and he’d have to live with that. They both would.
He shoved one foot into the worn leather, then the other. As far as he was concerned, those memories could stay buried in the back of the closet. He grabbed a pair of work gloves and jammed on his straw hat before taking the steps two at a time. Weston was out by the old chicken coop repairing the fencing when Travis joined him.
At first, they worked in silence. Then Weston slid him one of those looks that said they were about to have a “conversation.” “Elaine and Dax seemed to have a nice time yesterday.”
The knot in his belly grew.
“It was great to see them smiling.”
Travis clipped his pliers around a piece of chicken wire embedded in a post and yanked extra hard. He didn’t want to talk about Elaine and Dax. Or anything else for that matter.
“I even saw you smiling.”
Travis shook his head, unable to help the way his mouth curved up. “Shut up. Don’t start.”
Weston chuckled. “Don’t need to. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell you’re thinking about it, and you’re tied up in knots.”
He tossed another piece of old chicken wire onto the growing pile. “Doesn’t matter. Not happening.”
Weston dropped his pliers and leaned on the post, arms crossed. “You haven’t been the same since the tornado.”
Travis stepped around him, moving on to the next fence post. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Nope. When was the last time you talked to someone about it?”
The knot in his belly morphed into a ball of barbed wire, and he ground his molars together, as he gave another yank to the chicken wire. “Few years. Before I was promoted to Chief.”
“So why are you still letting it define you?” Weston’s voice called out behind him. “One thing I learned up in Montana that’s stuck with me is that you can let what happened to us be a part of your story or BE your story. You get to decide.”
Travis clenched the pliers like a lifeline. Grief sucked, the way it snuck up on you when you least expected it, slicing through your defenses to stab you at your very core, then disappearing like a thief in the night, leaving you shaken and helpless. “Those guys would all be married with children by now,” he gritted out through the ache in his throat.
“Would they? Are you?”
“That’s different.”
“Bullshit.” Weston’s voice grew sharp. “You denying yourself what they were denied is sick as fuck. Especially when I’ve watched you leave ten-dollar tips under your coffee cup every day for the last two years.”
Travis whirled, throwing the pliers to the ground. “She’s a single mom. She needed it,” he roared. “You’ve seen how she lives.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Weston shouted back. “You may be too thickheaded to realize it, but you’re in love with her. You have been for ages. And I, for one, was glad to see you looking HAPPY yesterday.”
Travis’s breath came in huge gulps. He was not in love with Elaine. Weston was full of shit.
Shaking his head, Weston dug into his pocket and tossed him a set of keys. “Go take the trailer to the auction. The address is on the seat. Crew will have the stables ready by the time you get back.”
Travis trudged down to the truck and pulled out onto the drive. How could you be in love with someone you barely knew? Or barely kissed? Let alone… The image of Elaine’s creamy skin glowing in the dark assaulted him. He turned onto the road, head filled with a picture of her naked and waiting for him.
“Motherfucker,” he gritted when his mistake became obvious. He’d turned too late and was on a trajectory for the ditch. Pushing thoughts of her aside, he jerked the steering wheel and jammed the truck into reverse. “Goddammit,” he yelled, realizing he’d just made it worse and that the trailer was in danger of jackknifing. Now he was stuck blocking the road. He turned the wheel, not quite so tight this time, and jimmied the truck ahead as he registered the whine of a motorcycle in the distance.
Great.
Now he was holding up traffic. They’d just have to wait until he got himself straightened out. Hopefully it was a stranger and not someone he knew. He’d never hear the end of it if word got out he’d gotten himself parked sideways across the road while pulling a trailer. Total rookie move. The whine of the engine grew louder.
CRASH!
Chapter 10
The truck jerked as the sickening sound of twisting metal filled Travis’s head. Adrenaline charging through him like a runaway horse, he unbuckled and hopped out the door, heart pounding in his ears. His stomach reeled at the sight of a red bike embedded underneath the trailer, front fender broken and bent.
Where in the hell was the rider?
Scanning the road, he spotted a black leather-clad rider lying in a heap in the ditch. For a heart-stopping moment, his body seized as he recognized a patch on the shoulder. Oh, God. Not another casualty. Prairie couldn’t take another hit. “Cassidy?” he shouted, legs springing to action. He reached her in three steps. She groaned and moved.
His vision hazed. “What. The. Ever. Loving. FUCK?” he roared, heating at her carelessness. She was a good rider. She knew better than to come careening around a blind turn at
breakneck speed. From everything he’d heard, she was a stellar helicopter pilot. Responsible. Smart. And the guys at the station said she was a great firefighter too. God, what if she’d hit the truck and not the trailer? What if Dax had been with him? His stomach lurched sickeningly as half a dozen catastrophic scenarios flew through his head.
She raised a hand but winced as she gave him a sheepish smile. “Hi, Travis. Nice morning?”
“Are you fucking out of your mind?” How could she be so casual about this? Hadn’t they all been through enough? A wave of nausea ripped through him at the thought of telling Dottie something had happened to Cassidy. The woman had already been put through the wringer, losing the diner.
“Nice to see you, too.”
He dropped to his knees and started squeezing her legs at her ankles, checking for broken bones.
She pushed him away. “I’m fine, Travis. I can move my fingers and toes. No spinal injury.”
“What about the rest of you?”
“I’ll be sore. Ow.” She winced and squeezed her right knee.
“You’ll need to get that checked out.”
“I’ll be fine. I probably hit a rock when I tumbled. Nothing a few aspirin and some ice won’t cure.”
He glared at her. “You should go to the doctor.”
“And get grounded? No thanks. I’m fine.” She tried shrugging him away as he brought his hands up to her neck. “C’mon, Travis. Help me up.”
“Not until I know I’m not injuring you further,” he growled. “You shouldn’t’ve sat up.”
“Right. I should have waited for the ambulance to come tell me I’m okay? Not.”
He clenched his jaw. She needed his patience, not his temper. “I should haul your ass to jail for how fast you were going. At the very least, cite you for reckless driving. Take off your helmet, and try not to move your neck.”
“I wasn’t going that fast. Honest.”
Sure. And he was the king of Spain. He held up a finger. “Follow my finger.” He moved it left, right, up, and down watching her eyes. It didn’t look like she had a concussion. His heartbeat slowed from a breakneck pace.
“You’re overreacting. I’ve been through worse. You probably have, too.” She leaned back on her hands. “Look, I appreciate the drill, but I’m fine. We Soldiers are tough, right?” She flashed him a smile.
“You’re incredibly lucky, you know that?”
Her smile broadened. “Of course I am. The gods are with me.”
Did she honestly think playing the military card would work? She was worse off than he’d thought. He’d recognized the signs, understood her need for speed. But everyone had to walk their own path through the minefield of memories. So he’d laid off. But no more. Not when her behavior was endangering others, too. “Until they aren’t. Then what? Do I get the pleasure of knocking on your parents’ door telling them you’ve flamed out? Or worse, on the door of some hapless victim of your stupidity and selfishness? You’re not invincible. Even if you’ve survived combat.”
A flush crept up her face. “I’m a safe rider, Travis. You know that.”
“Like hell you are,” he bit out. “I’ve been watching you for weeks. I know exactly what you’re doing, and none of it’s safe. It’s dangerous, and it’s gonna get you or somebody else killed.”
“How dare you say that?” she fumed. “My safety record is impeccable.”
“Not on the ground, and you know it. I see how you zip around on your bike, and how you put yourself in risky situations for the rush of it. I get it. The problem is, out here, you’re a danger to yourself and others.”
Her mouth thinned to a flat line. “I’m fine,” she spit out. “I just need to walk it off. And if it will make you happy, I’ll slow down.”
His teeth hurt from holding his jaw. God, he wanted to shake her. “I don’t think you understand me. You won’t slow down. I know that look in your eye. I’ve seen it before. Speed won’t help you find that high you’re looking for. Or get back what you’ve lost.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You can lie to yourself, Cassie, but you’re not fooling me. Call it survivor guilt or the need to feel alive like you did downrange, but you’re taking larger and larger risks with your life and with the lives of others.”
“Help me up,” she snapped angrily. “I want to see my bike.”
Travis extended his hand, and she winced as he pulled her up. “You’re deflecting, Cassie,” he said harshly. “Classic tactic.”
She took a step and gasped.
Her mask slipped, and he glimpsed the raw pain underneath the facade. Was that what Weston saw in him when he needled him to the point of blowing his stack? He softened toward the woman he’d always considered a sister. “Need help?”
“I’m fine.” She shook out her leg, then hobbled over to her bike.
The front tire of the bike was lodged completely under the trailer, the front fender cracked. He had to give her props for her stubbornness. She wouldn’t give. But she’d met her match in him. If he could help it, he wouldn’t let her flame out. It would destroy Dottie. “Last time, Cass,” he bit out. “You need help?”
She studied her boots, her face flickering with emotion. “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s stuck.”
Travis joined her, studying the wreck. She’d ruined her fancy bike. There would be no repairing it. “Damn, Cass. How fast you reckon it was going when it hit the trailer?” Judging from the skid marks and how firmly it was lodged underneath the trailer, he’d venture about seventy. Cassidy was lucky to be in one piece.
She looked so vulnerable, staring down at the pavement, and it pulled at a spot deep inside him. Hell, maybe Weston was right. Maybe he did need to talk to someone. How could he help her if he couldn’t help himself? He had to try. And he’d consider Weston’s advice. “Look. Here’s the deal. You can keep speeding, and I’ll write you up as soon as I get to town, or you can come out with me to the Hansen ranch tomorrow and spend some time with Hope and me working to gentle a new crew of mustangs.”
“What will that solve?”
Her voice sounded defeated. Hopeless.
He glared at her, unsure of how to get through to her. “The point is,” he punctuated, “you’ve destroyed a vehicle and damaged a trailer. What next? You? Someone else? Consider this your friendly intervention. I don’t think your Guard unit or commander would look kindly on an arrest record.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t.”
So that was her pressure point. Anything to stay in. “Try me. I give no shits about your military record.”
Cassie flinched and fisted a hand. “You’re an ass, Travis.”
“I’ve been where you are. I know what you’re going through. You can run, but your memories run faster.”
“You don’t know shit about me, Travis,” she yelled.
He stepped into her space. Her little temper tantrum had gone on long enough. Did she think she was the only one who’d gone through this? Had nightmares? Flashbacks? Fuck that. “Bullshit. You fly around in your little helicopter playing the hero, extracting assets. Shooting your weapons at faces you can’t see because all you have to do is look for a flare, a confirmation and a direction of enemy fire and you can unload your ordnance. Talk to me after you’ve looked a man in the eyes then slit his throat,” he yelled, pacing away from her. He scraped a hand over his face before looking back at her. “You don’t have a fucking clue about me either, Cassie.” He stalked back, pointing a finger at her. “And I may be off-duty, but I can still haul you up on charges.”
“Please, Travis. No.”
Begging wouldn’t work with him. Not now. He was done with her shit. “You have a choice. You can show up tomorrow at the Hansen ranch and help me out, or you can sit your ass in jail for a day and explain this all to your C.O.”
She glared at him. “Fine,” she ground out. She yanked at her bike again. She’d never get it out by herself. He checked his watch. I
f he hurried, he could still get to the auction.
But by the time he’d helped Cassidy get her bike stored in her parents’ garage and made it down the road to the auction, the horses were long gone. Travis ground his teeth in frustration as he made his way back to the truck, horseless. This day had gone to shit before he’d even gotten out of bed. He jammed the truck into gear and pulled back onto the road, making sure he didn’t fuck up the turn this time. He didn’t have time to care for horses anyway, so why was he suddenly so pissed off about missing this opportunity? He turned on the radio in a feeble attempt to silence those thoughts, clenching the steering wheel at the sight of a billboard he’d failed to notice on the drive over. An enormous image of Steve Lawson smiled down at him with the words LAWSON, the REAL Law and Order Sheriff.
Chapter 11
Elaine double checked the coffee carafes, casting about for something to do. It was early yet. They wouldn’t have a rush for at least another hour. The first wave of ranchers would show up after their morning chores.
Travis hadn’t stopped by the day before. Was it because of her? Maybe he regretted kissing her. She’d never regret it for a second, even though it couldn’t happen again. Wouldn’t happen again. She winced at the dull ache throbbing in her chest. Men like Travis never went for women like her. Maybe he’d decided not to offer her the job and didn’t know how to tell her. She sighed heavily. It was probably for the best.
“We’re all set.”
She spun at the sound of Travis’s gravelly voice, a thousand butterflies taking flight in her stomach. Her nerve endings sizzled at the sight of him. He was out of uniform, dressed like he’d been the day he’d taken her and Dax out to the Hansens. She liked him like this, with his plaid cotton shirt stretched tight from the hard muscles underneath. In uniform, there was so much padding and gear, he was a giant wall. Dressed like a rancher, he was deliciously human. Touchable. She itched to run a hand across his chest.
She must have looked confused, because he spoke again. “I filed. For sheriff.”
