Chapter 40
Brock finished filling out the paperwork for Monica’s arrest, sitting at his desk in the sheriff’s station.
“You’re good at this,” Damian drawled, kicked back in a wooden guest chair across from Brock’s desk. Ace sat next to him, drinking a large mug of coffee.
“Thanks.” Brock rolled his neck. They’d just finished a supper of soup from Amka, and his body felt relaxed, but he wanted to get back to Ophelia. After he led this little family meeting. The time for harboring secrets had ended.
Christian lounged against the doorframe with his wolf pup at his feet. “I came because you called. Can we have this talk later?”
“No.” Brock crossed his arms. “We’re a family, and we’re going to handle our problems together. Now.”
The outside door opened, and light footsteps sounded down the hallway.
Christian’s eyebrows rose, and he slid to the side.
Ophelia walked inside with a shotgun held in the elbow of her healthy arm, the barrels pointed at the ground. She was pale, and lines extended from her eyes. With her other arm in a sling, she looked wounded.
Flossy entered after her, dressed to the nines in her pretty floral summer dress, the good one. To accommodate the winter, she wore pink tights and puffy white boots that matched her coat. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
Brock stood. What in the world was happening?
Ophelia looked at the floor, and he could swear sadness filtered from her.
Flossy stood to her full five-foot height, chin up, makeup fresh on her thin face. Her curly hair had that going-to-town for the evening look. “I killed Hank.”
Ophelia gave a small sound of distress.
Ace’s jaw dropped, Damian turned to face her more fully, and Christian just tilted his head.
Brock took in the shotgun, and his gut ached. Hard. The reality hit him as he remembered little clues that Hank had been seeing somebody. Kind of. “You and Hank dated each other?”
“We were in love.” She shrugged bony shoulders. “Our romance was private and all ours. I was the first person he told when he found out about the cancer.” She paled even further, making her bright pink lipstick stand out. “We went through his illness together, and that last day, the pain became too strong for him. He only had a week or so left, and neither of us wanted him to hurt like that. I shot him and then hurried to work that morning, not knowing what else to do.”
Fuck. Brock wanted to sit back down but couldn’t move. “Flossy?—”
“I confess.” She kept her chin up. “Sometimes we met each other at the Tundra, and sometimes when the sheriff was out, well, the cells are kind of fun.”
Ace made a low sound in the back of his throat.
Flossy ignored him and continued confessing. “The shotgun will match whatever the scientists found on the body.” She smacked Christian on the arm—and he let her. “You boys. Not talking to each other because you couldn’t face the truth. Grow up, all of you. The truth is the truth, and I’ve given it to you.” She held out her thin arms. “Cuff me, Sheriff.”
Brock might actually throw up.
The outside door opened again, and both Delores Jerky and Loretta Randsom marched into his office, wearing their Sunday best with heavy coats due to the late hour.
Flossy floundered. “Delores? What are you doing here? I called you at your quilting party to take care of my greenhouse. That’s all.”
Delores looked Brock right in the eye. “I killed Hank.”
Loretta elbowed her to the side. “That’s not true. I killed Hank because he was in so much pain and I liked him.”
Obviously, the town phone and radio tree had been initiated the second Flossy called Delores. Brock sighed.
Delores elbowed Loretta right back, knocking her into Christian, who steadied her with a small smile playing on his lips. “Not true. My friends are covering for me. Everybody in town knows that Flossy keeps that shotgun by her back door to scare the squirrels, and her back door is never locked. Many of us have borrowed it through the years, and I know my prints are on it for sure.”
That was all true. Even so, Brock frowned. “Ladies, I understand what you’re doing?—”
More footsteps, and then Amka marched in. “I shot Hank.”
“Crap,” Brock muttered.
Christian gently grasped her arm and pulled her away from the doorway, protecting her as more footsteps pounded down the hallway.
Gus and Janet from the diner arrived next, followed by half the town. Snowmobiles lit up the night outside, and soon people stood in every room of the station, confessing to shooting Hank. Finally, a moment of silence reigned.
“Sheriff?” yelled a timid voice from the area of the basement door.
Brock hung his head. “Yes, Amos?”
“I shot Hank.”
Ace burst out laughing. Damian snorted. Christian glanced outside as if he couldn’t handle being around so many people, yet he still covered Amka with his body. Nobody could breathe on the bartender without going around him.
“Everybody out,” Brock ordered. “You, too, Flossy.”
The elderly woman looked a little disappointed that he hadn’t slapped the cuffs on her. “But I confessed, Sheriff.”
“So did the rest of the town,” Brock said. He had no doubt plenty of fingerprints marred that shotgun, including his. He’d borrowed it a few times. “I’m going to turn this over to the state prosecutor, and Olly has to turn it over to the federal one, but I’d bet my cabin they won’t press charges and try to take this disaster to trial. Reasonable doubt is an understatement here.”
A few muffled cheers echoed throughout the station.
Brock glowered. “I feel like I should give everyone a lecture about justice and all of that, but I’m too damn tired.”
“Brock,” Flossy admonished. “Watch your language. You’re the sheriff, for goodness’ sake.”
Brock’s mouth dropped open. The woman had confessed to murder and now lectured him?
Christian chuckled.
Brock stilled. When had his brother last laughed?
Damian finally stood. “Drinks and food are on EVE at Sam’s Tavern. For the entire town.” He gestured everyone out amid much louder cheers. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “Family dinner tomorrow night at your cabin. See you there.”
Then the office emptied, save Brock and Ophelia.
“Come here,” he murmured, taking his seat.
She crossed around the desk and faltered. Even with the sling, she looked beautiful with her dark hair in a ponytail, and her blue sweater that matched her eyes. The jeans were dark, and the boots not warm enough for the winter. He’d have to rectify that.
He helped her and set her on his lap, cradling her. “How’s the arm?”
“It hurts.” She snuggled into him as if she belonged there, which she did. “I didn’t know what to do. With Flossy.”
He rested his chin on the top of her head, his entire body settling with her in his arms. “You did your job, and I did mine. The town did the rest.” He couldn’t let her go. “Hank’s death is no longer between us.”
“I know,” she murmured, her breath heating his neck. “But my other cases might cause us issues, including the Tundra Haven fire and the EVE disappearing victim. Your brother is holding something back.”
“I don’t care about the Tundra fire, but I understand what you’re saying about EVE,” Brock agreed. “I have no doubt Damian didn’t gouge that guy’s eyes out, so whatever it is, it’s inconsequential to you and me…and family.”
She softened against him at the word family .
He might as well lay it all on the line. “My family is everything, and I want you to be a part of that. It’s messy and complicated, but you’ll have a solid wall of pure stubborn steel at your back at all times.” She already had that but needed to accept it. “I choose you, Ophelia. No matter what.”
She placed a soft kiss beneath his jaw, sending warmth throughout his entire body. “It’s crazy, and we both know it’s crazy, but I choose you, too.”
He leaned her back to see her eyes. “Yeah?”
Her grin looked sweet with more than a hint of sass. “Yeah. You and me, Brock Osprey. I love you.”
He had no doubt those were difficult words for her to say. For her to trust anybody to that degree, especially considering the short time they’d spent together. But it had been jam-packed, and they knew each other. Truly knew each other.
Leaning down, he kissed her, going deep. Tasting strawberries and woman.
His.
Finally, he released her mouth. Their adventure had just started, and he knew there’d be a wild year coming at them, but they were together and would remain so. He’d finally found his home, and it lay with a smart city girl who’d stolen his heart. “I love you, Olly. Always will.”
If you liked Brock’s story, just wait until you read Christian’s romance in Thaw of Spring! Preorder now.
Also, you might like the Laurel Snow thrillers. Here’s quick excerpt from YOU CAN RUN…
The dog barked louder inside the cabin.
A male voice rumbled an order and the dog subsided.
The door opened to reveal a man.
Laurel almost took a step back. Six foot four, black hair, brown eyes, solid shoulders. Large boned hands, wide chest, rugged jaw. Dark, shaggy hair that curled beneath his ears, looking both uncared for and surprisingly appealing. The brown eyes had flecks of gold around the irises, and they held a world of experience. Some good and a lot bad. He had to be in his early thirties, but if she believed in her mother’s teachings, he’d be an old soul. “Captain Rivers?”
He didn’t open the door but instead scrutinized her from head to toe. “Who’s asking?” His voice was both unwelcoming and at such a low timbre it was soothing. Interesting.
“I’m Laurel Snow, and I need your help.” Every instinct she had whispered not to flash her badge.
He immediately opened the door. “You’re not dressed for the weather.” His expression remained difficult to read. “You look like a Fed.”
Nobody had ever said that to her. “I do?”
“Black suit, wrong shoes for the local terrain, carefully clipped and beige-colored fingernails.” He cocked his head to the side. “Except the hair. You don’t have the hair of a Fed.”
She also didn’t have an answer for that, which was unusual for her. “What do I have the hair of?” When was the last time she’d ended a sentence with a preposition? Possibly in grade school.
“Not a Fed,” he said. “It’s too long and probably cost you a fortune to get that color.”
This was the oddest conversation she’d had in ten years. Maybe twenty. “I don’t pay for color. Or a cut, usually.” She hadn’t had time for such indulgences in far too long. Maybe she should get a haircut from a professional hairdresser instead of from her elderly neighbor who had arthritis and cloudy vision.
“You’re telling me that’s your natural hair color?” He leaned in closer, bringing the scent of pine with him.
She frowned. “I’m not telling you anything. It’s just hair.” For Pete’s sake. “It’s brown.”
“We both know that’s not brown. It’s auburn, and that combination of brown and red is unreal. Mostly.” He looked down at the dog sitting patiently at his side. “Right, Aeneas?”
Laurel tilted her head to study the canine. His markings were unique: a white hourglass shape across his face, surrounded by black fur. The white fur continued down his chest and covered each paw. “Aeneas? As in Homer’s Iliad ?”
“More like Virgil’s Aeneid ,” Huck returned.
A chilly wind blasted her, and she rubbed her arms. “He’s beautiful.”
Huck opened the door wider and gestured her inside. “Where the hell is your coat?”
“In Washington DC.” She stepped inside a sparsely furnished cabin that appeared messy but fairly clean.
“Why?” He stood much taller than she, even in his sock-covered feet. His left sock had a hole in the toe. Two duffel bags, a folded tent, and muddy boots had been dropped by the other side of the door.
“This was an unexpected detour.” She looked at the gear. “Are you going somewhere?”
Captain Rivers shut the door. “What can I do for you, Laurel Snow?” He crossed his arms while his dog remained patiently at his side, both of them looking like predators in a calm mood.
She faced him directly. Appealing to his need to protect would be her most strategic move. “I am with the FBI and need a guide up Snowblood Mountain. It has been years since I headed that way, and I could use help.”
“Why?”
She paused. “What do you mean, why? They’ve found at least three dead bodies, and there are no doubt more. I’d like to observe the scene before the weather wipes out the evidence. Will you at least let me borrow an ATV?” What kind of Fish and Wildlife captain didn’t want to investigate the scene of a murder himself?
“What are you talking about?” His jaw hardened.
She needed an ankle weapon and made a mental note to requisition one as soon as possible. “This morning bodies were found.” She looked at the gear by the door and then at the dog. “Oh, I understand. You were training out in the wilderness.” That also explained why he and the dog looked so rough. “That’s why you don’t know anything about the dead bodies, right, Captain Rivers?”
“Huck. My dad was Captain Rivers.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, ruffling the heavy waves even more. “You’re right. I’ve been unplugged for three days up in the mountains training with Aeneas. No service. Just got back thirty minutes ago and was going to grab something to eat. What’s this about dead bodies?”
Laurel condensed the report for him, and he was shoving his feet in the muddy boots and grabbing the heavy-looking flannel coat off the packs before she’d finished.
“Let me know where you’re staying in town, and I’ll call you after I’ve reviewed the scene.” He moved toward the front door.
“No.” She crossed her arms.
He paused. “Excuse me?” Apparently the captain wasn’t accustomed to people disregarding his orders.
“I’m here to do a job, and it’s important for me to view the scene.” Although she would freeze. Hopefully his UTV contained a heater. “Either we go together, or I find a UTV myself and drive up there. I believe it would be much more efficient if we worked this in tandem.” In fact, she could use his knowledge of the area. Though she’d grown up in Genesis Valley, she had left at age eleven, so it wasn’t as if she truly knew her way around.
“I don’t have time to babysit you on the mountain,” he said, his voice a low growl that most people probably heeded.
Laurel had dealt with a few of the darkest criminal minds there were. One cranky mountain man couldn’t deter her. “I don’t require a babysitter. I do, however, require an authorized Fish and Wildlife officer to escort me out into the wilderness and provide background information. Are you, or are you not, that officer?”
Instead of answering, he strode to a hall closet and quickly unlocked a safe set into the wall above the top shelf. Without turning, he withdrew a badge on a chain and a black gun that looked like a Smith & Wesson M&P 2.0. She made another mental note about him. Washington’s Fish and Wildlife officers were fully commissioned police officers. He strapped a tactical holster to his left thigh and around his waist, tucking the gun safely against his leg. “Lady? I don’t need you with me.”
“It’s agent, as opposed to lady, and I don’t care what you need.” She kept her temper at bay because it would serve no purpose to become angry.
His low sigh was long suffering. “Fine. You can come with me, because I’ll just be called out to rescue your ass if you go alone.”
Her temper started to stir, apparently not caring that it would accomplish nothing to smack him on the nose. “As much as I appreciate your belief that not only do I need a knight in slightly muddy armor, but that you could also possibly be that rescuer, I promise I require only your knowledge and not any of your no doubt impressive mountain-man skills.” Her voice was just calm enough to sound slightly haughty, and she was fine with that fact. So much for using his protective nature to get her way.
His grin was quick and a surprise, making him look much more approachable. Almost human. Then it disappeared completely. “You’re cute when you get your panties in a bunch.”
He did not just say “panties” to her. Was he trying to tick her off enough that she’d leave in a huff? Since he waited for a response, that had obviously been his plan of attack. So she smiled. “I’m not wearing any, Captain.” Then she met his gaze, and it was his turn to be thrown off stride.
His eyes slowly darkened from light topaz to the deep stout color of a good beer. “Fair enough.” With that very minor concession, he turned back to the closet and tossed her a dark blue parka. “Why aren’t you dressed for the weather?”
“I was in LA,” she said, slipping her arms into the thick material and zipping it up. The coat engulfed her, reaching to her knees.
He grabbed gloves and a knit hat for her, before looking down at her feet. “I don’t have snow boots your size.” Shaking his head, he reached into the rear of the closet on the floor and dragged out well-worn, women’s leather hiking boots. “These aren’t for snow, but they’re better than what you’re wearing.” He pushed them her way.
“Thanks.” She slipped out of her flats and inserted her feet in the scratched boots, even though she was just wearing thin socks. The boots were slightly too small, so she didn’t ask to borrow heavier socks. They wouldn’t fit. She might not be a PR person, but even she knew how to extend an olive branch so the remainder of the evening would go more smoothly. She did need his assistance, after all. “I appreciate your assistance.”
He pulled leather gloves on his hands. “I’m not a helpful guy, so please remember that in the future and don’t end up abandoned on my doorstep ever again. For now, I’m going to check out the crime scene, and you might as well come along. But walk where I tell you to walk and don’t cause me any more problems than you already have.”
Well. All right then.