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

by Kimberly Krey

  “Um, hmm.” Trent rubbed at a charcoal smudge along the side of the grill as his insides dropped. He shifted his gaze to look out over the yard. “How much did she tell you?”

  “Enough. I know you’ve got a real good story to share; it’s something that could impact a whole lot of people. Save lives, even.”

  Trent shook his head. “Everyone has a story, Ben.”

  “Not like yours. And nothing against Officer Flint—the one set to replace you—but that guy’s more boring than a bowling ball.”

  Benny’s comment pulled a smile from Trent’s lips, but it didn’t touch the dread that pulsed through his insides. He hated the idea of Benny knowing about his past. Of anyone he knew knowing about it. Emotion snuck up on him, springing like an ill-timed geyser. Throat tightening. Eyes stinging.

  He glanced at Benny. “You know about my brother, then?” Trent was surprised to see that Benny’s eyes held tears, too.

  He nodded. “Does Jessie?”

  “Nope. And I don’t want her to, either.” Trent took his gaze off Benny, unwilling to catch the disappointment, disapproval, or whatever else he’d find on his friend’s face.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you, man.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, but Trent only shook his head.

  “That’s just the thing,” he said. “It didn’t happen to me. I made it happen by being an idiot.”

  “You were young.”

  “I was a moron!”

  “All of us are!” Benny yelled, matching the level of Trent’s voice. The kid shrugged as an echo bounced off the surrounding pines. “We all are at one time or another, Trent. Heck, I did stupider things than that. Most of us don’t have to pay the kind of price you did.”

  Trent looked away and clenched his eyes shut, sending the welled-up tears down his face. “I’d do anything to get him back.” The truth of that statement was a constant blade in his side.

  “I bet you would,” Benny said, his voice raspy. “But the truth is, you can’t. I’m sure there was a reason you started doing those classes in the first place. I don’t know why you decided to give them up, but I wish you’d reconsider. It’s got to be healing, making a difference the way you are.”

  A mix of emotions warred in Trent’s head. His heart, too. “He’d be your age right now if he were still alive.” He choked off the words there, not saying the things that flooded his mind. He could be happy. Married with a baby on the way. “He, um … you remind me of him sometimes. Your mannerisms. Brett was a pretty carefree kid. I was always more serious-minded, I guess you’d say.”

  A breeze picked up, and Trent smeared the tears away with his sleeve. “He’s been gone for almost ten years, but I miss him every day.”

  Benny patted his back and rubbed a hand over his shoulders, as if trying to press out the pain. “I never did have an older brother,” Ben said, “but I always wished I did. You’re the closest thing I’ve had to that, and I’ve got the good Lord to thank for it.”

  Benny’s words held a ring of truth. Helped him remember—since he often forgot—to enjoy the things he did have, and stop focusing on what he didn’t.

  An image of Jessie popped into his mind, the beauty of it almost cruel. If Trent were to place her in one of those categories—what he had versus what he didn’t—Jessie would definitely fit into the latter. But how could he possibly stop thinking about her?

  “Are you sure my mom’s not going to find out about this?” Nate smoothed a hand over his unruly auburn hair. Jessie could see that he’d attempted to tame it, but one loose strand still sprung from its gelled place.

  “At this point,” Jessie said, pushing open her car door, “I wouldn’t care if she did. Going to this class will give you a better chance at fighting the ticket. It shows that you understand the importance of safety and your part in it.” At least, that’s what Benny had told her.

  Nate met her at the front of the car, and the two headed toward the library entrance. Jessie squinted against the morning sun as its rays warmed her skin.

  “I really don’t want it to mess up my first year of snow removal,” he muttered.

  Jessie admired the kid for his ambition, and there was no way she could stand by and allow some power-hungry police officer to mess with his life.

  Trent Lockheart symbolized what was wrong with the world: people focusing on some tiny, insignificant leak someplace when the whole world was flooding. Running around trying to save wooden electrical poles when there were actual people who needed help.

  Four sets of steep stairs led to the library entrance. By the time they’d reached the second set, Nate slowed and turned to her. “Do you really think it’s right to fight a ticket when you’re guilty?”

  Jessie stopped walking as the question sunk in. “Yes,” she said, not meaning it as much as she had earlier. “It’s not like you go around speeding all the time. He should have just warned you.” It might be a broken record answer, but apparently Nate needed to hear it more than once.

  Nate pushed a palm against his stomach. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

  “Hey, it’s not like we’re stepping into a courtroom—it’s a driver safety class. Benny said it’s a requirement now for kids to even get their license. Nothing to worry about.”

  He nodded, draped a hand on the railing, and took another slow and trudging step.

  “Okay, if you’re going to walk like that, we won’t get there until tomorrow. Let’s go. I’ll race you.” She sprinted up the stairs, giggling as she heard him approaching and then passing her altogether.

  He held the door for her at the top of the steps, a pleased grin on his face.

  Is this what it’s like to be a parent? She really cared about Nate and wanted to shield him from further harm. He’d experienced enough in his young life already. And seeing a smile on his face because of her—that was golden.

  The air conditioning in the library paid no mind to the comforts of room temperature. Arctic was more like it.

  They were directed to a lower level with no windows and air that could turn water to ice. It was hard to believe summer existed on the other side of the walls. Nate led the way into an auditorium of sorts. Rows of cushioned bucket seats faced a small stage and a large white screen.

  Several teens filled the seats—a scatter of crew cuts, rooster tails, and a permed mullet marked the side where the males had flocked on the left. The seats on the right showed carefully coiffed curls, long braids, and fancy barrettes. The set up reminded her of the Let’s Talk About Our Bodies class Grandma Jess took her to in junior high. She could hardly believe the kids would be climbing behind steering wheels soon.

  Several parents were there too, some sitting beside their teen, others standing along the outskirts of the room, mumbling to one another.

  Nate lifted his brows while shooting Jessie a look. She gave him an affirming nod and motioned toward the center of the back row. The lights went low just as she settled into her seat, looping the strap of her purse around her crossed knees.

  A young man started things off. Probably just barely into his twenties, Jessie guessed. He oozed passion on the subject of safety. Voice raised and arms out to his sides, he declared that every life was precious.

  A series of video clips followed: a kid behind bars who’d made the choice to drink and drive; a couple of teens talking about an accident they’d been in; and a young woman who had distracted her friend behind the wheel, insisting she check out a photo posted on social media, and the devastating series of events that followed.

  “If I had just put my phone away,” the girl said through tears, “or at least not insisted Tara look at it while she was driving, she and Mark might still be alive today.”

  Everything from driving under the influence to distracted or even drowsy driving was featured in the video. And then there was the issue of simply speeding, not respecting the posted limits. Jessie imagined seeing herself up there. If only I’d slowed down and gone the speed limit; that lit
tle girl on the tricycle would still be alive.

  A block of ice—colder than the ridiculous AC in the building—sank low in her center, assuring her of just how real that moment had been. Jessie had almost caused a tragic, irreversible accident. And what if the same thing could be said for Nate? What if he’d run a father and his child off the road? What if he’d run Trent off the road—sent him spiraling in the cruiser to his death?

  Each moment spent in the class added to Jessie’s discomfort. Forget fighting the ticket. One ticket couldn’t stop Nate from operating the equipment he needed for his business. She’d pay the sum and end it there. That would be lesson enough for Nate. After all, he didn’t want her to be out money over something he’d done. But the truth was, Jessie was guilty of a severe offense of her own, even if she hadn’t been caught.

  The exuberant guy conducting the class stepped toward the front again as the lights flicked on. “I hope this has given you something to think about,” he said. “Now before we close, I’d like you to welcome a special guest, Officer—pardon me—Sheriff Lockheart, here to share the reason he does what he does. Please give him a warm welcome.”

  The gasp sounding from the seat at her side was nothing compared to the one pulling at her own throat. “Are you kidding?” she squeaked.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Nate said, nudging her arm.

  Jessie felt herself nod. She was pretty sure she lifted an inch or two off her chair as well, until he walked in, that is. “No, no,” she hissed. “Stay here. We have to stay here now or he’ll see us.” Jessie sank lower in the collapsible chair, heart like the wagging tail of a puppy as Trent walked onto the stage in full uniform. Wow—so gorgeous!

  Seeing him made her realize just how much she missed him. His was a face she knew, one she’d already come to love. That attractive, if not rather serious-looking smile, confident posture, and movie-star good looks. Did the teenage girls in the room know just how handsome he was? Or did he look like a guy that was way too old to be cute? A woman on the end of the aisle fanned her face with a pamphlet. Another shifted in her seat while combing the back of her hair with her fingers.

  They’d do a whole lot more if they knew how warm his lips were when they trailed up her neck. Trent Lockheart was the full package. The thought stung, but it was how Jessie really felt about Trent, wasn’t it? Sure, he might be rigid when it came to the law, but he had enough wonderful qualities to make up for all that. And there were worse things, weren’t there?

  “Thanks for allowing me to be here today, Chad,” Trent said to the host. He spun around to look back at the screen, aimed a small remote at a portable stand close by, and a photograph popped up on the screen. Two teenage boys. Both oddly familiar.

  Jessie studied the faces before her, realizing—with a cold, almost electric shock—that it was Trent on the left. And on the right, someone who looked a whole lot like him.

  “This is me and my brother, Brett.”

  Brother? Her body predicted what he might say before her mind could. Chills erupted over her arms and legs as she keyed into his next words.

  “Being an older brother is a pretty cool thing. Do any of you have a younger sibling? Raise your hand if you do.” He nodded while surveying the raised hands in the rows. “They can be a pain sometimes, younger brothers or sisters. But there’s something great about them, too—they look up to you, don’t they? I mean, you get to do everything they want to do before they’re old enough to do it. Go to school, ride a bike, read a book. Drive …

  “In fact, driving is one of the main things we look forward to as a youth. So when you finally get that license handed over to you—with your picture on it and everything—you’re now officially cooler than anyone who doesn’t possess one. Hands down.”

  The crowd laughed. Even Nate gave out a small chuckle. But Jessie remained quiet, hung on the somber hook of realization and dread.

  “It’s tempting to show off for those lowly siblings and friends, right? Show them how fast you can go. How quickly you can stop. And just how loud you can pump up the tunes.”

  That one earned the biggest reaction yet. Kids hollering things like you’ve got that right. And ooh yeah!

  “There’s something hypnotic about being behind the wheel,” Trent said. “At home, Mom and Dad tell us what to do. At school, teachers hover over your shoulder. But once you’ve got that license, you’re free. Free to go where you want to go. Drive how you want to drive. That’s not to say there aren’t consequences for things like speeding or running stop signs, but you’re the one calling the shots, aren’t you? And it’s an awesome feeling.”

  The photo on the screen changed. A grassy hillside—a long, winding road carved through the center. “This is where I exercised that freedom,” he said. “I was raised in southern Oregon. Blue skies, plenty of sun, and a wide range of weather.

  “When I first got my license, this is where I decided to spread my wings. The windy road created that video-game effect, you know? I was Mario Andretti, shifting gears and hugging curves around every bend. Until I got pulled over, that is.

  “I was scared … crap-less, I guess we could say. My hands were shaking like crazy as I handed over my license and registration. The paper stuck to my sweaty fingers as the officer took it from me. I remember this burning feeling rising in my chest as the guy lifted his shades to view the documents. Thought I was going to have a heart attack when he walked back to his car with them, stayed there for a while, and then strode back to my window real slow.”

  Trent crossed the stage, his gaze casually passing over her. But then he stopped, did a double take in her direction.

  Jessie’s heart seeped acid as she slowed her breathing. Her hand gripped the armrest. Seeing him was one thing. Having him see her—look at her from across the room—was another thing entirely.

  Trent cleared his throat. “Who can guess what happened next?” he asked the audience.

  “Ticket,” a few kids hollered.

  “You went to jail,” one yelled.

  “Good guesses, but no. The officer folded up my insurance and registration slips, handed them back to me with my license, and told me not to do it again.”

  Mumbling broke out over the crowd before Trent spoke up again. “Some officers might let you off when they pull you over,” he said with a casual nod. “But I’m not one of them.”

  The comment earned him a round of scattered laughter.

  “Some say I’m mean. Some say I’m power-hungry. But do you want to know the real truth?” He aimed the remote at the nearby stand once more and glanced back. A newspaper article filled the screen. A picture showed a pile of rubble that barely resembled a car and the headline that read ‘Teen Killed in Rollover Accident.”

  Jessie scanned through the print frantically, a knot of dread rolling through her insides like a boulder. And there it was—Lockheart. Other key words followed: brothers, one dead on the scene, 15 years old. Brett Lockheart.

  “This happened two weeks after I got that warning. It’s hard to say for sure whether or not I’d have been speeding and turned that car if the officer had given me a ticket on that day. My guess is that I wouldn’t have, but we’ll never know.”

  The images on the screen changed. An obituary. Flowers in small pots and tall vases clustered on a grassy graveside.

  Trent looked in her direction again. “This is why I take the law seriously.” He gave Nate a pointed look. “This is why I want the first offense to sting.”

  The auditorium fell silent. Jessie held in a breath, feeling as if a simple exhale could release the tears threatening to spill.

  Trent coughed low in his throat. “Nothing stings more than hurting someone you love.”

  A rash of sniffles broke out over the crowd, Jessie’s in the mix. “Let’s go,” she murmured under her breath. She’d heard more than she could handle.

  With her head ducked low, eyes set on the flat, industrial carpet, she scurried toward the double doors and yanked one open
.

  Trent started talking again, lightening things up with a joke she hadn’t caught. She’d only heard a collective chuckle as the door swung closed, Nate barely sneaking out before it did.

  Neither spoke as they headed back to the house. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they would no longer fight the ticket. At least, she hoped there was.

  “I’ll pay off the ticket,” she said. “And you can do a few extra chores around the inn to pay me back.” She flashed him a glance. “Sound good?”

  Nate nodded, a pained smile tugging at one side of his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

  It remained quiet until they were almost at the bed and breakfast. “That was sad—about Sheriff Lockheart. Wasn’t it?”

  Jessie nodded, still trying to digest everything she’d learned. “Yes, it was devastating.” She sniffed, understanding spreading over her mind in slow, building layers. Why he’d been vague about having siblings. Why he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. And why he’d called himself a villain over the whole tragedy, but she knew better. It was a mistake—the something stupid he’d been referring to when he’d snapped that night beside the fire pit.

  She shut off the car once they were back at the inn, but stayed in her seat for a moment, paralyzed by the emotions taking hold of her. People were supposed to mourn with those who mourn—and that’s exactly where her heart was. She wanted to throw her arms around Trent and tell him how sorry she was for his loss. For the way it happened. And assure him that he was far from a villain.

  “Are you going to talk to him?” Nate asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You like him, don’t you? I mean, you did until all this happened.”

  Jessie unlatched her seat belt and turned to face him. “Trent and I had … something come up before that. An argument, I guess. When we said goodbye, it wasn’t on great terms.”

  “Yeah, but I feel like this made it worse. And now you’re having to pay more money when you’ve already done so much for us …” The concern Jessie saw in Nate’s green eyes made her heart hurt. He was used to taking on more than he should, but Jessie wouldn’t let him take blame that didn’t belong to him.