Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Okay. Yeah. Ah… speaking of Nick, Tessa showed up here last night.”
“Really? Is she okay? I saw her about six weeks ago when Nick signed away his parental rights. Since you’re listed as her next of kin, she told me I could disclose it to you.”
I hadn’t known she’d listed me as next of kin, but she’d told me about the parental rights. Thank god. Nick Kimball had never been father material.
I thought of how Tess had been so exhausted she’d burst into tears before I’d taken her inside and put her to bed. “She’s not okay. It’s been rough on her back in LA, financially and emotionally. Her business dried up, and all her so-called friends have suddenly evaporated. I told her to stay here with me for a while. I have room, and she needs someone in her corner.”
“She’s lucky to have you. It’s probably good for her to disappear until this crap dies down. As long as some of these bribery cases are still making their way through the courts, it’s going to remain active in the tabloids.”
At least Nick’s plea deal had saved us all that long, drawn-out process. He’d begun serving his long sentence as soon as Patrick had made the arrangements.
“I’ll have to find her a doctor or midwife, but I have a friend whose sister is a nurse. I’m sure she can help.”
“Good. Listen, I have to go. Things might not be busy in a small-town sheriff’s department, but they’re bonkers here. I’m due in court in about twenty minutes. Call Mom. She got downright sniffly the other night because you weren’t there for her special spaghetti and meatballs.”
I ended the call laughing. Our mother made spaghetti from a jar with frozen meatballs and tried to pass it off as an old family recipe passed down through generations from some Italian ancestor who didn’t actually exist. As soon as we were old enough to figure it out, we started calling it “Mom’s special spaghetti and meatballs,” and it cracked us up every time.
Leave it to Patrick to lift my spirits. My improved mood lasted all of ten minutes until Penny announced the arrival of “that adorable boy from that show.”
“Send him in,” I grumbled.
Somehow in the twelve or so hours since I’d seen him last, Finn Heller had become exponentially more attractive. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me with an attempt to downplay his looks in my memory. But here he was in the flesh, about as sexy and compelling as a human being could possibly be.
What was it about him that made my breath come faster and shallower? He was too young, too… perky, too… everything.
“Hi, Sheriff,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’d like to apologize for last night and thank you for your intervention.”
He said this like he’d been rehearsing it on the way over. Still, I glanced down at his hand like it was going to bite.
“Just doing my job,” I said. As soon as my hand clasped his, my lower belly tightened. His grip was warm and firm, but his hands were soft and tender. I didn’t want to be attracted to him, but he was making it (and me) hard.
“Great. That’s what I’m here to see. I appreciate you agreeing to let me shadow you this week. I hope it’s no bother.”
I bit back a complaint that of course it was a bother. I had a county to keep in order, new deputies to train, and a large film project causing all kinds of traffic, zoning, and crowd control problems.
“No bother at all,” I said instead. “Have a seat.” I led him into my office and gestured to the plastic guest chair in front of my desk before taking a seat in my own chair. “What exactly can I help you with?”
I figured the best course of action was to determine what he wanted to learn or observe and then dive right in. Maybe once he had the information he needed, we could finish early.
Finn blinked at me, sooty eyelashes dusting his cheeks just above the sprinkling of freckles that made him look so young. “I, um…”
“I was under the impression this was an action film,” I said. “With shooting and explosions. Car chases and stuff.”
He scraped a tooth over his bottom lip. “Well, yes.”
“Which, as you probably know, isn’t normal fare for a small-town sheriff’s office in the Rocky Mountains,” I added.
His forehead crinkled. “But you’re not from here. You were a special operations detective in Los Angeles until recently. Weren’t you?”
I nodded. “I was. But it was a rare day when I chased a suspect to the inevitable mountainside cave explosion,” I said drily.
Pink suffused his face. “You know about the cave explosion scene.”
I nodded again. “My first official day as sheriff was spent talking the county council down from allowing your people to literally blow up the side of Rockley Mountain. Yes, I’m familiar with the plans.”