“Sure thing.”
Jessie cleared the kitchen and headed to her suite, the only one on the main floor. She passed the father and son in the den, the two whooping out a simultaneous cheer as they watched a Redrocks baseball game. The sight pricked at a mental wound. One that had scabbed over long ago. It felt different from the burning discomfort of her past because it wasn’t tied to possibilities of her future.
Hope—a dangerous thing—always lifted broken pieces of her spirit, promising dreams she’d long ago abandoned. If Jessie ever changed her mind about marriage, assuming she ever found a man she’d want to marry, perhaps she could right the wrongs in her life. Have kids that were raised by loving, healthy parents like the ones spending time at the inn. She imagined it would be healing, giving her own children something she’d never had herself. Not with her mom, anyway. Nor her dad.
By the time Jessie readied herself for bed and flicked off the lamp, a different image came to mind: the new sheriff. A smile snuck onto her lips. He might have gotten under her skin, but Jessie was glad he hadn’t gotten the best of her.
Chapter 5
Trent flicked off the lamp at his oak desk and stretched his arms high. His new office was nice. Practical. Not much hanging on the walls, save Trent’s signed photo with the Redrocks baseball team to make it feel like home, and a few plaques he’d collected over the years. Cobble Creek was fairly quiet so far, as Sheriff Lakes said it would be. Which made sense, considering how small the precinct was. Less than a dozen officers to speak of and just one gal, Judy, to run the show at the front desk—a job he’d come to respect over the years.
Afternoon light poured through the window as Trent made his way to the door; another thing he appreciated about the place—plenty of windows. The lighting in the hallway changed: artificial light bouncing off the beige industrial tile, muted only by the brown rugs spread throughout the center of the hall.
“Hey, Benny,” he said as he approached the small foyer. “Or am I supposed to call you Officer Gains?”
“Hello there, Sheriff. Either name is fine. Don’t matter to me.”
“Sheriff Lakes referred to you as Benny so often, it’s the first name that comes to mind.”
Benny grinned. “That suits me just fine.” He set his eyes back on the community corkboard, spinning a tack between his finger and thumb.
Trent walked on by until a bright spot of green stopped him in his tracks. Had that irritating woman made the rounds here as well? Three backward strides took him far enough to see just what he needed to see. “Benny, who brought that charity announcement in here?”
“Oh,” Benny said. “Jessie Jean Phillips did yesterday. She’s a real sweetheart, that one. Used to cause all sorts of mischief when she lived out here with her grandma.” The guy turned to him, a sheepish grin on his freckled face. “I ought to know. I was usually right there beside her.”
Trent fought an eye-roll. It figured she’d already have his right-hand man wrapped around her post-stapling finger. Just like everyone else in this town, it seemed. “So she’s been here most of her life?”
The officer nodded. “Pretty much. She moved here when she was like five or six, I think. She took off for a couple years as a teenager, sowed some wild oats, I believe. But then she wound up back here, like a lot of folks do.”
“Huh. Would you say she’s an angry person by nature?”
Benny jerked back to look at him sideways. “Did you say angry? No, I wouldn’t say that. Passionate, yes. Which I guess could lead to anger if someone pushed the wrong buttons …” The officer faded off there.
Passionate, huh? Trent set his eyes back on the flyer, realizing the event was in just two days.
“You going to go to it?” Benny asked. “You could tag along with Darcy and me. I swear she spends nearly half my paycheck every time we go to one of those things.” He laughed, the high-pitched sound a contrast to his rather deep voice. “It’s a good cause, though. You should come. Get yourself a nice quilt to keep you warm at nights. Least until you find the right woman to do that for you.”
Trent’s insides played tug-of-war. The idea of seeing Jessie again caused reactions ranging from excitement to dread. Him—go to the fundraiser? Seemed like a conflict of interest.
“Besides,” Benny added. “Might help to make a good impression, you being the new guy and all.”
“Yeah,” Trent said with a nod. The kid had a point. “I suppose it might.”
Jessie knew that if she didn’t take time to shower in that moment, the opportunity would pass. Guests would arrive, and she’d be stuck looking like Cinderella before the fairy godmother showed.
“Char?” She scurried out of the office, scrutinizing the displays as she made her way toward the veranda. Hand-stitched quilts hung on standing easels along one side of the stairs. Along the other stood a pair of beautiful antique hutches, refinished by Frankie, the gal who owned Frank & Signs.
The distressed, cream-colored hutch was up for auction, which was probably the only thing keeping Jessie from snagging the piece herself. The butter-yellow hutch belonged to the inn and held baskets of donated items such as lotions and soaps from Suite 716, homemade breads and jellies from generous locals, and handcrafted leather and beaded jewelry from Fit to be Tied Jewelry Line, a product Jessie carried in the gift shop as well. The tourists that came through loved the pieces that offered the perfect mix between country and chic.
She eyed the piece on her wrist with a smile—a leather cuff with oversized snaps at the wrist and a large opal on the back. It was just one of the fond memories she recalled of guests that left their mark on the place when coming through town. Bonnie Ruggles, the owner of the jewelry line, accompanied her husband as he came through town to compete in various rodeos. Jessie was thrilled to sell her work through consignment, and touched at the woman’s generosity where donations were concerned.
Before stepping away, she double-checked the silent auction sheets lined along each item, ensuring that there were plenty of pens and pencils nearby.
Jessie nodded, feeling confident it was time for a little attention to detail on herself. After checking in with Charlotte, that is.
She rushed through the French doors, taking in the sight. Industrial-looking bulbs were strung overhead, ready to illuminate the spacious veranda as twilight faded to black. Char added the most wonderful touch to everything she got her hands on. And there she was, at it again, rearranging platters of fresh fruit along the buffet table. “Anthony will be here soon with the pulled pork, rolls, and salad. Gene will be here with the pastries. Everything else is right where it needs to be.” She spun around, took one look at Jessie, and gasped. “You still haven’t showered?”
“I’ve been—”
“Go, go, go. Hurry, before they start coming.”
“Thanks, Char.” Jessie raced back inside and into her suite. She twisted the shower knob, tore off her clothes, and hopped under the pouring stream. She hoped tonight would be a good turnout, despite the fact that Cobble Creek’s power-hungry sheriff tore down half of the flyers. Just as anger started to grip hold of her again, Grandma’s words came to mind: Don’t let the enemy turn you into something you’re not. Enemy might sound like a harsh word, but anyone who made it hard to raise money for a dear friend was definitely not a friend to her. No matter how attractive he was.
Jessie resisted the urge to linger in the warm spray, knowing she needed to look presentable. She was the host, after all, and several attendees dressed up for her events. In fact, the gals at the salon were helping Sheila go all out, and Jessie had promised she’d get dolled up, too, so Sheila wouldn’t feel out of place. Of course, there was more to her desire to primp than that. Namely the annoying sheriff who’d tried to spoil her entire affair. Jessie wanted to host the most successful fundraiser to date, and she wanted to look dang good doing it. Besides, the guy may try to show up as some good-faith gesture. And if he did, she wanted to make him sorry in more ways than one.
She dried herself off with frantic hands while racing to her closet. No, not the blue maxi dress. Definitely not the cream wrap. Hangers slid and clanked as she rummaged through her clothes until the shimmer of a blush-colored gown caught her eye. Jessie yanked it from her closet with a gasp; she’d forgotten that she bought this one.
In spring sometime, not this year but last, Jessie had gone to the shopping outlets with Char. She didn’t make a habit of it, mainly because the woman could go for hours. But all those hours of tagging alongside Char that day were about to pay off.
Jessie ran a hand along the beaded, rhinestone-embellished bodice, admiring the fine stitching. It was a high-low, fit-and-flare dress. The high defined the front hem, which fell a few inches above her knees. The low was for the back hem, which swept down the back of her calves. The fit-and-flare part referred to the fitted bodice and the flaring flow from the waist down. She’d picked the gown knowing it would look perfect with her favorite pair of dressy cowgirl boots.
After a quick towel-dry, Jessie brushed through her hair, twisted it back, and secured it into an updo. A fast brush of powder, a light stroke of rouge, and a few blinks through a wand of mascara. On an average day she’d stop there. But in a dress like this, she needed to go further.
She dug out the eye shadow and used warm shades of beige and gold to accent her eyes. May as well line them, too—for that dramatic, smoky effect. For her lips, she opted for a pale pink to match the dress, lining them first, then filling them in with a matching gloss that made them look luscious enough for a magazine ad.
Next it was time for her favorite pair of cowgirl boots—a pair some referred to as the wedding boots. Whimsical embellishments were etched right into the light brown boots, the cream-colored design contrasting the worn leather perfectly. They were gorgeous!
Once the boots were on her feet, Jessie took a quick turn in front of the full-length mirror, where the words wait until the Sheriff sees me ran through her mind. Jessie stopped in her tracks. One hand on the doorknob, she bowed her head, uttering a fervent prayer her grandma always said. “Lord, help me forget me and reflect you.” Here she’d spent all this extra time getting dolled up, but this night was not about her in the least, and she couldn’t lose sight of that.
With her mind refocused, Jessie pulled the door open and took a deep breath. Time to make Sheila some money.
Chapter 6
“I feel like a card,” Trent grumbled as he tugged at his tie. “Are you sure people really dress up for these events?”
Benny took his eyes off the road long enough to flash him a sideways glance. “I’m dressed up, aren’t I? If the wife were here, she’d be dressed to the nines as well.”
Trent nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry to hear she’s not feeling well. That’s too bad, considering how much you said she liked going to these things.”
The officer eyed the rearview. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Sure,” Trent said.
“Darcy’s pregnant. She’s experiencing some of that morning sickness women get, except hers is worse in the evenings. Supposed to be getting better since she’s as far along as she is. Baby’s due in November.” Benny’s grin, combined with the splash of freckles on his face, reminded Trent of his younger brother.
“November, huh?” He gave him a smack on the shoulder. “Well, that’s something to celebrate.”
“Yep. So why’d you want to meet me at the station?” Benny asked. “I could have picked you up at your place.”
“I told you I bought that place down on Jensen Street,” Trent said, “but what I didn’t mention is that it’s under renovation. I’ve got the Stager brothers working on it.”
“They’ll do a great job.”
“Yeah. So I’ve been staying in one of those cabins just outside of town. It’s called something Hollow. I can never remember the name.”
“Oh yeah. It’s, uh … Duckdale Hollow.”
Trent nodded. “Yep, that’s the one.”
“That’s quite a drive,” Benny said. “Should see about staying at the bed and breakfast. It’s a real nice place. Serves warm breakfast each morning. Few snacks at night. Darcy says she’d live there if she could.”
“A warm breakfast, huh? Sounds a lot better than the protein bars I’ve been stuffing down.” He gave it more thought as they weaved up the windy road toward the Country Quilt Inn—a mass of tall, glowing windows on a round hill with a wraparound porch. It looked warm and inviting, that was for sure. A whole lot better than those abandoned-looking cabins.
He reminded himself—for the millionth time—just who would be at the fundraiser. Before his mind could even register the idea, his body reacted. Heart pounding. Stomach churning.
Benny pulled into the parking area out front—a large stretch of land. Part was paved, and the other part was covered in pea gravel, more of an improvised lot. An impressive amount of cars filled the entire space. Probably two dozen or more. Some from out of town, by the looks of the license plates.
Oh, man. They were really here. Soon he’d walk in and see her—that bittersweet lemon tart who’d been dominating his thoughts since the run-in on Main. Trent had skipped his second cup of coffee that morning, but his blood buzzed just under his skin as if he’d downed a triple espresso. The anxious nerves built like steam in a boiling kettle. The pressure mounting to the point that his head ached. “I’ve got a confession,” he blurted.
Benny backed the car into a slot in the overflow, right alongside a bright green Volkswagen bug. “What’s that, Sheriff?”
“I ticked off Jessie the other day. I was, uh, taking her flyers off the poles on Main Street, and before I could even get to the ones on the other side of the street, she started stapling them back up.”
“Whoo-hoo!” Benny hollered with that hyena laugh of his. “I bet she was madder than a firecracker when she saw that they were taken down.”
“She was,” Trent admitted. “And she was even madder when I asked her to remove the ones she’d reposted, along with the flyers across the street.”
Benny’s smile was as big as his freckled face. “I can’t believe you got her to remove them. She’s the type who’d rather get dragged off in cuffs than—”
“She didn’t remove them.”
“Say that again?”
“I said she was mad that I even asked. I didn’t say she did it.” Trent shook his head, the uncomfortable burn of failure roaring in his chest. He resented her for making him cower to her over the law. “She refused, so I did it myself. But how come you guys never enforced that one, anyhow?”
Benny shrugged. “It was a lost cause. Everyone does it, and we never had anyone complain. I finally caved and let Darcy hang flyers when Bingo went missing a while back. He was found the very next day.”
Trent shoved open his door and climbed out of the truck. Maybe moving to such a small county was a bad idea. He wasn’t sure if he could adapt the loosey-goosey mentality they all carried when it came to ordinances.
“Do they pick on that sort of thing where you’re from?” Benny asked as he joined him outside.
The night breeze made an attempt to calm him, but Trent was too fired up now. “As a matter of fact, they do. I guess where I’m from they actually care about the safety of the workers who have to climb those poles. So yeah, to answer your question, we do care about that kind of thing.”
He shook his head, walking faster, hoping to escape the resentment building within him. Why was it that the good guy was so often made out to be the bad guy?
“I’ll start reinforcing it if you’d like,” Benny said as he worked to catch up with him. “All of us will. I mean, you’re the sheriff, so you call the shots.”
Trent spun around to face him. “Who found your dog?”
“Huh?”
“Your dog? When Darcy posted the flyers, who responded?”
Benny tipped his head back. “Oh, it was Tom’s wife, Brittany.”
“Tom’s wife, Brittany,” Trent
mumbled with the shake of his head. “So let’s say we’re enforcing that law, starting now. And tomorrow you see someone stapling flyers to the posts. You’re ready to confront her, but as you get closer, you discover it’s the very person who responded to your flyer. And now her cat, Frisky, has gone missing, and you look like not only an insensitive jerk but an absolute hypocrite, too.”
Benny’s face scrunched up. “Frisky?”
Trent blew out an exasperated breath.
“Naw, naw. I’m just messing with you,” Benny said. “I get your point. It’s going to be tricky to change things now, but we can do it. Starting tomorrow. In fact, we’ll put up notices all over town about it. Send it out in the city newsletter.”
Trent felt his anger subsiding at the suggestion. He only wondered how many notices they’d need to send out in the city newsletter over the next few months.
“You know what else we could do?”
Trent glanced up. “What’s that?”
“Post the notices on the poles.” Before Trent could even think to reply, the guy let out a laugh and slapped his arm. “Gotcha!”
A sigh passed through Trent’s lips. He couldn’t muster a grin if his life depended on it. The conversation with Benny made it clear just how out of place he’d be in his new county. A county that would probably end up hating him before his first month was through.
Benny kicked at the mow strip as Trent pondered. Again he was reminded of his younger brother. Hands in pockets, kicking the curb while they waited for the bus back in grade school.
“You know,” Trent said, fighting off the stinging of his eyes, “I’m probably just being sensitive right now, moving to a new precinct and all. Why don’t you go on in? I’ll join you in a bit.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Trent mumbled. “Thanks.”
Benny tipped his felt cowboy hat—the one matching his vest—and gave him a nod. “Take all the time you need. But don’t blame me if the cinnamon rolls are gone before you mosey on in.”
The Sheriff's Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots (Cobble Creek Romance Book 1) Page 3
