Chapter 7
Kade
The eviction notice would need serving, but the townspeople would probably rally around the Smither family. I was about to call Grammy when there was a knock at my door. Carlton strolled in and slumped into the chair with a smug smirk.
I put the paperwork down and waited.
His finger zig-zagged on my desk before he waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Is there a point to this, or are you trying to hit on me via mime?” I asked.
“There’s someone here to see you.”
“For fuck’s sake, Carlton, just spit it out,” I snapped.
“A young lady with a firm handshake and the softest skin I’ve ever touched. I think she uses scented hand lotion—I can still smell it on my hand.” He lifted his palm and inhaled it like one of Grammy’s pies.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was the danger of boredom: people turned into morons.
“It’s the new teacher.”
My head snapped up so fast, Carlton grinned.
I stood. “Why the fuck were you touching her hand?”
He held his hands up. “Hey, she offered me a handshake. Did you want me to be rude?”
“Yes,” I growled. “Don’t touch Ms Morgan again.”
She was mine. Mine and mine alone.
All weekend, I’d run through possibilities after Grammy spilled the beans about her life—poor child, as Grammy put it.
I’d even scaled her apartment block and found her bathroom latch ajar.
I may have tampered with it so she couldn’t lock it.
After my morning at the diner, I’d sat waiting for that yellow rust bucket to reappear.
I followed her to work. Part of me needed to see that she was safe, and the other part just needed to see her.
She saw me.
And I saw her.
I saw through the clothes and glasses she hid behind.
I saw what she’d left behind to start a new life.
“Did she say why she’s here?” I asked.
Carlton frowned as he sat up. “She wants to lodge a complaint but said it was a ‘delicate matter’ and wanted to speak to someone in charge.”
I smiled and cracked my neck, twisting to work out the tension.
“Where is she?”
“The waiting room.”
“Send her through—and close my door on the way out.” I sat back down and turned my chair to the window.
Even better: she’d come to me to complain about me.
I chuckled.
A few moments later, there was a light knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened, but I didn’t turn. I waited until it clicked shut again and she spoke.
“Hello,” she said, sweet as pie.
I swivelled around in my chair, just in time to see the look fall from her face.
Her mouth parted slightly, eyes going wide as they locked onto mine. She clutched her bag tighter to her chest, knuckles whitening.
She was dressed like a teacher straight out of a storybook—dark navy dress that fell well past her knees, a white collar neat against her throat, and a soft grey cardigan that clung to her shoulders like it belonged there.
Her shoes were flat, practical, and made the quietest little sound when she shifted her weight.
Sensible. Careful.
She looked exactly how I remembered her… just a little more mine.
“You’re the sheriff?” she asked, voice catching.
“Yes,” I said calmly, nodding to the chair in front of my desk. “Please, take a seat. How can I help you?”
She didn’t sit. Her gaze flicked to the chair, then to the door—and she made a run for it.
I was faster.
By the time she reached it, my hand was flat against the wood, blocking her exit.
She froze, breath catching, and for a moment we stood there—just inches apart. I could smell the hint of something warm and floral clinging to her skin. I could almost taste her breath. If I moved just a little closer—
But no.
My little mama needed to be wooed.
She ducked beneath my arm with a sharp movement and darted around to the far side of the desk.
I turned, slow and easy, and locked the door.
“I—I want you to leave me alone,” she stammered.
“No.”
I turned to face her fully.
“For all I know, you could be carrying Baby Mercer in there.”
Her back went rigid, and her arms shifted—her bag dropping from her chest to rest protectively over her stomach.
“Baby Morgan,” she said tightly, chin tilting up like she wasn’t terrified—like she hadn’t just revealed too much.
“So you admit to keeping my baby from me,” I drawled, stepping just a little closer.
“What? No. I don’t even know if I’m pregnant.”
That was something I needed to work on.
“You know we’re going to keep bumping into each other.”
My voice stayed calm. Even. Certain.
“You’ll meet my family. My niece will be in your class next year. Grammy loves you—she’s already told me everything.”
That made her shift. Flustered again.
Grammy had that effect on people.
“So…” I stepped in just a little, just enough.
“How do you see this playing out, Juliette?”
When she didn’t answer, I decided to test her.
“Are you going to run away again?” I taunted.
She might. Like Nadine had. But not if she was heavily pregnant.
No. She wouldn’t run then.
The thought slithered through me, quiet and merciless.
“I won’t be running from the likes of you,” she snapped.
“Now open that damn door, or I’ll scream this fucking building down.”
So much fire.
That profanity slipping from her prim little mouth dragged my thoughts straight back to that night.
My dick noticed—quick to respond, my trousers suddenly became tighter.
“So dramatic,” I murmured, strolling to the door. “You’re free to leave.”
For now.
I watched her march out, curls bouncing with each furious step, her bag swinging low in one hand. That fine little ass of hers moved like it knew I was watching.
She climbed into her car.
Slammed the door.
And when she screamed?
I smiled.