The Sheriff's Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots (Cobble Creek Romance Book 1)

by Kimberly Krey

  “Is it your mom?” she asked in a whisper, praying the cancer hadn’t come back.

  Nate shook his head and trudged over to a stool. “No, nothing like that. She’s fine. But she won’t be when she hears I just got a speeding ticket.”

  “You’re kidding.” Which cop would’ve done that? Didn’t they all know the kind of financial bind his family was in?

  Nate looked up at her, a reluctant expression on his face.

  Jessie gulped. “Tell me it wasn’t Trent.”

  “The one you’ve been spending so much time with?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Yep, that’s who it was. He was a real creep about it too. I told him my mom’s already losing our house and that she was going to kill me if I brought home a speeding ticket, but he wrote it out anyway. It was like he was glad to do it.”

  Fury erupted in her chest. “What a jerk!” Had she forgotten how Trent Lockheart acted the first day she met him? Tearing down her flyers for their fundraiser. Demanding that she take down the rest. Jessie thought she’d discovered the real him—someone who barely resembled what she’d seen on that day. But she’d been wrong. Trent was a power-hungry bully. And he was about to get a piece of her mind. “Did you bring the ticket he gave you?”

  Nate nodded while sinking a hand into his back pocket. He pulled out a wallet, flung it open, and pried out a thin, yellow carbon sheet. “Right here. I’m not sure I’ll be able to operate the snow removal equipment this winter if I have a ticket on my record.”

  Jessie snatched it out of his hand. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” she promised. “Have you told your mom about it yet?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good. Don’t. This is one thing you’re not going to have to worry about.”

  Trent thought Nate had been speeding? She’d show him speeding.

  Jessie tore onto the street, determined to catch up to her racing adrenaline. No doubt he was home by now, but she’d welcome getting pulled over by him in that moment. She might not even stop if he tried. Perhaps she’d drive clear into a neighboring district, wait for another cop to catch up with her and insist they arrest the stingy sheriff who was trying to get the county rich off a kid whose father abandoned him, whose mom had just wrestled with cancer, and who was about to get kicked out of the only home he’d known.

  Scattered shadows flew over her windshield as she accelerated out of one sharp turn after the next. A few more would get her to the road leading to the quiet spot of land where Trent lived. Spoiled Trent with his big house and private yard and perfect parents. Jessie didn’t know how she’d ever liked him in the first place. All she felt for him in the moment was disgust!

  Jessie took the next corner, only to see something darting right into the car’s speeding path. Before she could make out what it was, she slammed her foot hard on the brake. Momentum shoved the car forward as a piercing screech tore through the car and echoed down the street.

  A trike!

  The car was zooming toward a little girl on a tricycle.

  Burning heat seared down the back of her calf as she pressed impossibly harder on the brake. Jessie clenched the wheel tighter, as if she could stop the car with that act alone. Not soon enough. She wasn’t stopping soon enough. She yanked it hard to the right, clenched her eyes as the back spun around, and pled.

  Please, God. Please.

  The car settled with a jolt.

  Fingers aching, Jessie tore off her seat belt and, sensing the girl was very close to the car, opened her door slowly, carefully.

  The chrome tricycle frame stood just inches from the driver’s side front tire. She scanned around the rest of the scene. Two tiny fists clenched the handlebars. Wide eyes and the look of fear met her next.

  “Are you okay?” Jessie asked, barely able to form the words on her lips. The strong and bitter scent of burnt rubber coated the air she breathed.

  The toddler nodded, sniffed, and then smeared a hand over her dirt-streaked face.

  Thank heavens the little girl was all right. Which was more than she could say for herself. A million tiny pokes stung her fingers and hands, as if they’d fallen to sleep.

  Breathe. Try to breathe.

  Head light and fuzzy, her vision becoming a blur, Jessie stepped back against the side of the car, bracing herself as she lowered to the ground. She was too stunned to even cry, though she felt as if she might. She glanced in the small child’s direction once more, giving her a slight nod. “Good,” she murmured. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Chapter 22

  Trent slammed the fridge shut after grabbing a cold bottle. A quick twist of the cap and he tipped it back. Drowning sorrows might not be original, but he didn’t mind. He only needed a way out of his head for a while.

  Dang kid. Nate was in no position to be so reckless. What if he’d rolled that sardine can of a car and wound up dead? What would his poor mother do then? Hadn’t the woman been through enough already? Or what if he’d spun out of control and killed one or more of his friends? He thought life was tough now? Just try dealing with that the rest of your days.

  Trent couldn’t ignore the fact that Jessie would want to strangle him once she found out about the ticket. Good. Just as well.

  He stomped onto the deck and looked over the massive wooded area below. He needed something to do. Needed a way to burn off whatever it was that had him wanting to find a way out of his own skin. Aggression? Depression? A mixture of both?

  The sight of a red-handled axe caught his attention—perfect.

  Within seconds he was down the steps, quickly moving along the patchy grass. Next to the chopping stump lay a stack of long, crooked logs. He tossed the first one down, knowing he should have grabbed some gloves once a sliver stabbed into the inner part of his thumb. While propping the log with one foot, Trent hoisted the axe back, up, and over.

  Crack!

  It was just as satisfying as he’d hoped. So he did it again. Crack!

  As he continued, Trent grabbed the cut logs and tossed them toward the pile of wood ready for burning.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been chopping when the voice came. At first he thought it was only in his head. But then it got louder.

  “Don’t ignore me,” she said from behind.

  Trent stopped just before hoisting the axe up, the handle hot against his palm. He glanced back to see who it was, not that he needed to. Trent would know that voice in his sleep.

  Sure enough, it was the city’s hero—ready to guard against the slightest injustice.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” he mumbled, already facing the readied log once more.

  “You don’t want to hear what? That you’re a miserable person who can’t give a kid a break? How could you do that? How could you give Nate a ticket when you know their situation?”

  Don’t look at her, Trent. Whatever you do, don’t look at her. Already his mind was playing tricks on him with the glimpse he’d caught. He could just picture the furious expression she wore while cussing him out and the reddened color of her cheeks. He cracked the axe down once more, tossing another piece into the pile.

  “Why couldn’t you just give him a warning?” she yelled. “Ever heard of one of those before, huh? It’s what people do when they want to give someone a second chance to follow the rules.”

  “He should have followed them the first time.” He brought the axe down again.

  “I can’t believe this. Why did you even donate to their cause if you didn’t really care?”

  Trent tossed another piece onto the pile and reached for a new one. He knew it wasn’t right to provoke a woman, but he could hardly keep his mouth shut long enough to avoid it. Before lifting the axe another time, he let it plop to the ground and spun to face her. “You’re way off base,” he snapped, “so why don’t you just find another case to argue? I don’t have time for it.”

  His mind was like ashes in a windstorm as he spun around to get back to his task.
Any thought he had before was gone. Replaced by a fevered longing for something he would never have. Someone he should never have.

  “Well, you writing this ticket was just a huge waste of time,” she said. “Because I’m going to make sure that Nate never pays it.”

  He let out a cold chuckle. “And let them put a warrant out for his arrest?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Then just what do you plan on doing?” he asked.

  When she remained silent, Trent glanced over his shoulder.

  A smile spread over Jessie’s face. “Pay it for him, of course, before Sheila even knows about it.”

  It was enough to fracture Trent’s last speck of control. Without a conscious thought, he was standing in front of her, a finger in her face. “Don’t you dare pay that for him.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning on one hip. “But you don’t get to boss me around.”

  Trent narrowed his eyes, a tight, aching fire spreading from his shoulders to his neck. And then to his head, where it throbbed in an angry drummer’s beat. “I’ll go tell his mother about it, and tell her the kid shouldn’t be driving at all,” he threatened. “She’ll probably take the car from him altogether.”

  “You’re just being cruel.”

  His shoulders dropped in defeat. Maybe he was. Why argue the point? Who cared if she hated him? Who cared if the whole danged town did? He’d do his job, come home, and be left alone. Nothing wrong with that.

  With one last regretful look, Trent turned his back to her and returned to the chopping stump. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Well, I’m going to help Nate fight this. And since I know a heck of a lot more people around here than you do, we’re going to win.”

  Beavers know how to build one heck of a dam, a barrier that obstructs the river’s flow. Yet eventually, the river will rise, the pressure will build, and the water will seep through the weakest spot. Soon the compromised spot gives way completely, and out goes the flood.

  Jessie’s dam had been holding strong for a whole lot of years. But nothing quite so serious had happened as the accident she’d nearly caused just hours ago. She’d been inches from taking a child’s life.

  With her eyes set on the moonlit wall along her room, Jessie twiddled strands of carpet between her fingers and thumb. She wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d been sitting on the floor. All she knew was that her mental dam was about to collapse.

  Before continuing on to Trent’s, Jessie had wiped her tears quickly enough. The profound nature of the event had only started to sink in when she had to push it all back and focus on the task at hand—chewing Trent out.

  The irony hadn’t escaped her. The fact was, had Trent pulled her over for speeding, it could have prevented Jessie from almost killing the child crossing the street. But the irony didn’t matter much, because she almost had hit a small child.

  So close. It had been so close. Images of what could have been flashed through her mind:

  The car failing to stop in time.

  A frantic mother rushing into the street.

  Then screaming in horror while gripping the small, bloodied body.

  Stop, Jessie chided herself. What had almost been was awful and so frightening it was hard to grasp. But what followed—the confrontation with Trent—all of that had happened. There was no almost about it. And as much as she hated to admit it, Jessie was pretty sure things between her and Trent were over.

  With that final admittance, her faulty dam broke, and the tears flowed at last.

  They weren’t just tears for what lay before her. There was so much to mourn, especially the things she didn’t let herself dwell on. Like the fact that she never had a good relationship with her mom. The fact that she loved her mom anyway, craved her love even still. And then there were the images that always haunted her: Mom’s bruised and bloodied face; the knowledge that Mom liked the men who hurt her more than she loved Jessie.

  She cried over the failed attempts to find her dad. A rebellious rampage that left her certain that all men were the same. And the so-simple choice to remain single the rest of her life. So-simple, that is, until recently.

  And they led to what now seemed like the greatest loss of all—the loss of a future that might have been lovelier than she dared to dream.

  A girl like her, with her past, with an awful mother and a disappearing father and all the weight that came with it—for a moment, she had believed she could be just like everyone else. Like the cute families eating sundaes at the diner or the moms walking strollers down the street to work off their baby weight. Like the women in the grocery store buying broccoli while their husbands snuck a box of Lucky Charms into the cart.

  By choosing to stay single, she was marking herself as different, but it was a mark she chose—not one forced upon her by her parents’ decisions. She could live with it as long as she chose it. But now, this … this was cruel. To dangle all those beautifully normal moments in front of her and then rip them away was—heartbreaking.

  Still, Jessie let herself dwell on a few final images in her mind: Trent in the kitchen, hosting an improvised cooking show. That lift of one dark brow each time he teased her. The dimple that sank into his left cheek when he smiled. She went further still, recalling the fervent way he’d whispered her name. His gentle touch as he cradled her face. And the passion he ignited in her when he pulled her close and kissed her.

  While dabbing her face with a tissue and blowing her nose in the night, Jessie vowed this would be the last time she cried for him. Tomorrow she’d remind herself of the real Trent. The first time she met him and the last time they spoke. She’d choose to believe that was the man behind the mask. And Jessie wanted nothing to do with him.

  Chapter 23

  Trent flicked off the patio grill before shutting off the gas as well. Using a set of grilling tongs, he piled the cooked bratwursts onto a clean plate.

  “Sure smells good,” Benny said, coming alongside him. “Darcy, you want one or two?”

  “Better make it two,” she called from the picnic bench.

  Trent grinned. “Atta girl. Add some kraut and you’ll be in business.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Benny grumbled. “Pretty soon she’ll be stocking the fridge with condiments that man just isn’t meant to eat.”

  Darcy laughed. “You think ketchup is the only condiment man is supposed to eat.”

  “True.” Trent looked over at Darcy. “The only reason I even own ketchup is because of this guy.”

  “Laugh all you want,” Benny said. “I’m a man of simple taste.”

  In the quiet moment that followed, Trent nudged Benny in the arm and motioned to his wife.

  “Oh,” Benny said. “Simple taste in food. When it comes to women, only the finest will do.”

  “Aw, so sweet,” Darcy cooed. “Even if Trent did make you say it.”

  The banter continued as the chips and potato salad made it from one end of the table to the other and then back again for a second round once the bratwursts were gone.

  Trent smiled; they were a funny couple. They complemented one another well. Made each other laugh. It was hard to believe he almost had a relationship like that with Jessie. Where would they be now if he hadn’t messed it up fifteen days ago? Not that he was counting.

  Trent crumpled his napkin and tossed it onto his empty plate, recalling the time that had passed since. Benny had spoken quite a bit about Jessie, like it was his job to fill Trent in. Nothing he really needed to know—he and Darcy had spotted her having lunch with Sheila at the diner. Jessie had called him personally about a perceived injustice over the way Officer Flint handled a situation with Tilly Nelson, whose neighbor’s dog raised havoc in the woman’s chicken coop. You should’ve heard her going off. Jessie Jean’s a real firecracker, I’ll tell you that.

  More recently, Jessie had hosted a fundraiser for a lady who worked at the salon. Trent held on to every detail like it was his life’s breath: She’d do
ne a poker-type theme since the woman was originally from Vegas. They auctioned off the usual stuff and, thanks to some big rodeo couple from Utah, made $1000 on just one quilt alone, knocking Trent’s $800 bid off the gossip column. Least Trent had gotten a date with his. Even if he had blown his chance with her.

  It was ridiculous, but Trent was almost sad when he didn’t spot flyers for the event stapled to the posts along Main. The absence of them made her seem further away than ever.

  “That was delicious,” Darcy said as she stood. She wobbled toward the sliding glass door, one hand on her growing belly, the other pressed against her back. “I’m going to get working on the shortcake. Benny, help clean up out here, will ya?”

  Once she was inside the house, Trent gave Benny a look. “I told you not to have her worry about dessert.”

  Benny’s eyes widened. “Have you met her? If Darcy wants to make strawberry shortcake, she’s going to make strawberry shortcake.”

  Trent grinned. “Yeah, she is pretty stubborn, I guess.”

  “Friend, you don’t even know the half of it.”

  The two broke into laughter. Benny stacked the empty plates while Trent tossed napkins and Solo cups into the garbage sack he’d tied to the railing. Comfortable quiet took over, allowing Trent’s mind to wander back to its favorite (albeit torturous) subject: Jessie. He was in the middle of scraping the grill with a wire brush when Benny came up alongside him.

  “What you thinking about there, partner?”

  Heat rushed to Trent’s face. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

  Benny tucked his hands into his pockets and tapped the deck railing with the toe of his shoe. “Hey, I know this is probably none of my business, but Judy said she got a phone call asking if one of us officers would be willing to talk at a few of them drivers courses. Said you backed out of the ones you had lined up.”