Chapter 4
Xavier
“But I complimented your nails!” I scoffed, looking Dolly up and down. “And I said I like your vibe!”
“After you told me my coffee tastes like a burnt sock and that my hair was a fire hazard,” she shot back.
“Okay, okay,” I nodded, holding up my hands in mock defeat. “I’m sorry about the hair comment. It’s just a lot of hairspray.”
“Well, it ain’t gonna hold its shape with a prayer, now is it?”
“Alright, Dolly,” the sheriff said, his shadow falling over me as he stepped up beside us.
I didn’t realize how tall he was until just now.
And… damn he was muscular. Not gym-rat muscular, but like…
working man muscular. His forearms were thick and vascular with dark hair coating the tops.
He looked like he needed a shave, but his jaw was sharp, giving him a rugged handsome vibe that made my knees weak.
My eyes traveled down his body, taking every last bit of him in.
Maybe Sagebrush wasn’t a total loss after all. Fuck.
“Now, now,” the sheriff said, his voice low and steady with that Texas drawl that made everything sound like honey. “Let’s all take a breath here.”
I forced my eyes back up to his face, which was a mistake because holy shit, he had these gorgeous green eyes that looked like they could see right through me. And not in the fun, flirty way I was used to. More like he knew exactly what I was thinking and that I should probably stop.
“I wasn’t causing a scene,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “I was simply providing constructive feedback on the beverage service.”
“You told me my coffee tasted like burnt sadness,” Dolly interjected, pointing one of those red nails at me. “That ain’t constructive, that’s just rude.”
“It’s honest,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
The sheriff’s jaw tightened slightly, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
God, even his throat was attractive. What the hell was wrong with me?
I’d been in town for less than twenty-four hours and I was already thirsting over the local law enforcement. That definitely wasn’t my style.
“Sir,” he said, and I loved that he called me sir even though he clearly wanted to call me something a bit more colorful. “I’m gonna need you to apologize to Miss Dolly here and maybe dial back the commentary on her establishment.”
“It’s Xavier,” I said automatically. “And I already apologized about the hair thing.”
“Xavier,” he repeated, and the way he said my name made something flutter in my chest. “I’m Sheriff Marcus Webb. And while I appreciate that you’re used to a certain standard of coffee in New York City, we do things a bit different here in Sagebrush.”
“Different is one word for it,” I muttered.
Dolly’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” I plastered on my best customer-service smile. “I’m sorry, Dolly. Your coffee is... fine. It’s perfectly adequate coffee for a small-town diner.”
Dolly’s expression suggested that “perfectly adequate” wasn’t much better than “burnt sadness,” but the sheriff put a hand on the counter between us like a referee.
“However, I’m not going to withhold my opinions on your food.”
“Why you little—” Dolly began.
“How about we take this outside?” the sheriff offered, cutting her off.
“Sheriff Webb,” I said, crossing my arms, not budging and inch. “I’m here to plan the wedding of the century for my best friend. That means everything needs to be perfect. Including the catering. And if Dolly’s going to be handling the food, then yes, I’m going to have opinions about the quality.”
“The catering’s already been decided,” Dolly interjected from behind the counter. “Beau and Lucas approved my menu weeks ago.”
“Before I got here,” I countered, turning to face her. “Before someone with actual wedding planning experience could weigh in.”
The diner went quiet. Even Frank and Jack stopped their not-so-subtle eavesdropping to stare. I felt Sheriff Webb shift beside me, and I wondered if I’d finally crossed a line that would get me thrown out of town before I’d even unpacked.
The sheriff lifted his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a long sigh. “Can’t y’all just… get along then?”
I turned to look at Sheriff Webb, really look at him, and saw the exhaustion written all over his face. This was probably not how he’d planned to spend his afternoon—mediating between a stubborn diner owner and an opinionated city boy. For a brief moment, I felt a pang of guilt.
But only brief.
“Look,” I said, softening my tone just a fraction. “I’m not trying to cause problems. I just want Lucas and Beau’s wedding to be perfect. That’s all. And part of making it perfect means ensuring the food is up to standard.”
“My food is up to standard,” Dolly said, her voice dangerously low.
“I haven’t tried it yet,” I pointed out. “So, I can’t make that determination.”
Sheriff Webb looked between us, those green eyes calculating something. Then he did something I didn’t expect—he smiled. Not a big smile, just a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth, but it transformed his entire face from intimidating lawman to something softer, more approachable.
“How about this,” he said. “Dolly, why don’t you put together a tasting for Xavier here? Show him what you’re planning for the wedding. And Xavier, you keep an open mind and try the food before you make any more judgments. Sound fair?”
I opened my mouth to argue that I always kept an open mind, then realized that would be a lie. “Fine,” I said instead.
Dolly studied me for a long moment, her red nails tapping against the counter. “Fine,” she echoed. “Go sit your fancy ass down in that booth and keep a lid on it.” Then she turned to Marcus, poking a red nail into his chest. “Make yourself useful and watch him.”
The sheriff opened his mouth to argue, but Dolly was already gone, storming off into the kitchen.
I watched her go, then looked up at Sheriff Webb, who was still standing there with that half-smile on his face.
Up close, he smelled like leather and something clean—soap maybe, or just fresh air. Either way, it was distracting.
“Well,” I said, sliding into the booth Dolly had pointed to. “I guess you’re babysitting me now.”
“Appears that way,” he said, and to my surprise, he sat down across from me instead of just hovering. He took off his hat and set it on the table, running a hand through his sandy hair. It was left slightly mussed, and I had to actively stop myself from staring.
“You didn’t have to sit,” I pointed out. “I’m sure you have important sheriff things to do. Crimes to solve, cattle rustlers to apprehend, stuff like that.”
“We don’t get a lot of cattle rustlers these days,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. His expression was so serious. “And right now, my most pressing duty is making sure you and Dolly don’t kill each other.”
“I wouldn’t kill her,” I said, leaning back in the booth. “I might critique her to death, but that’s different.”
Something flickered across his face—amusement, maybe? It was hard to tell with him. He had one of those faces that didn’t give much away, all stoic and controlled. It made me want to crack through it, see what was underneath all that careful composure.
“But Dolly might kill you,” he replied.
“Don’t let my good looks fool you,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I know how to handle myself with overgrown drag queens.”
I saw Marcus’s jaw flex as he clenched his teeth. Clearly, he was trying not to laugh.
“You’re Lucas’s friend,” he said after a moment. It wasn’t a question.
“Best friend,” I corrected. “Known him for years. And you are...?”
“I’ve known Beau since we were kids,” he said. “Grew up together.”
“Ah, so you’re one of the locals who doesn’t like city boys getting all up in your small town.” I said it lightly, but there was an edge to my voice I couldn’t quite hide.
His green eyes met mine, and I felt that flutter in my chest again. Damn it. “It’s not my place to judge,” he said quietly. “I’m just tryin’ to keep the peace.”
We sat there for a moment in silence, and I realized that half the diner was still watching us. Frank and Jack in their booth, a couple of older women by the window, even a guy at the counter had swiveled his stool to get a better view. Small town entertainment at its finest.
“Does everyone always stare like this, or am I just special?” I asked.
Sheriff Webb glanced around, and I watched a slight flush creep up his neck. “They’re just curious. We don’t get a lot of... visitors like you.”
“Visitors like me,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You mean devastatingly handsome and impeccably dressed?” I paused. “Or do you mean visitors with mesh shirts and their nipples out?”
He glanced down at my chest and the flush deepened, spreading to his cheeks. His eyes lingered there for longer than I expected, as if he was memorizing every detail. That was interesting. Very interesting.
“Uh,” he cleared his throat, his eyes snapping back up to my face. “We don’t get many folks dressed like that, no.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Does it bother you?”
“What you wear?” He shifted in his seat, and I noticed his hand came up to adjust his collar even though it didn’t need adjusting. “No. ‘Course not. You can wear whatever you want.”
“But?” I prompted, because I could hear the unspoken word hanging in the air.
“But nothin’,” he said firmly. “Just might want to bring a jacket if you’re plannin’ on spendin’ time at the ranch. Gets cold in the evenings.”
I studied him, trying to figure out what game we were playing here.
He was giving me nothing but professional courtesy and careful neutrality.
But his eyes had definitely lingered on my chest, and that flush was still coloring his neck.
Sheriff Marcus Webb was either very uncomfortable around gay men, or he was uncomfortable for entirely different reasons.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said slowly. “Thanks for the fashion advice, Sheriff.”
“Marcus is fine.”
“Marcus,” I repeated, testing his name on my tongue. I liked the way it felt. Solid. Grounded. “So tell me, Marcus; what’s a guy supposed to do for fun around here? Besides antagonize diner owners and get babysat by handsome sheriffs?”
The flush deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears now.
Bingo.
“There’s, uh... not much,” he admitted. “Folks usually just gather at Dolly’s or hang out at each other’s homes. Sometimes there’s events at the community center. Once a year we have the big state fair just outside of town.”
“Sounds thrilling,” I said dryly. “No bars? No clubs?”
“There’s a bar about twenty miles out on Route Nine. The Rusty Spoke,” he offered. “Nothing fancy though.”
“Of course not.” I sighed, already mourning the loss of my favorite cocktail lounges back home. “What about you? What do you do for fun?”
He looked almost startled by the question, like no one had asked him that in a while. “Work, mostly. I read sometimes. Go fishing when I get the chance.”
“Fishing,” I repeated. “Right. Because that’s a thing people do for fun.”
The corner of his mouth twitched again, and I was starting to think that was as close to a laugh I was going to get from him. “You’ve never been fishing?”
“I’ve been to sushi restaurants,” I countered. “Does that count?”
This time he did laugh, just a short huff of air, but it transformed his face again. He looked younger when he smiled, less burdened. I found myself wanting to make him laugh again, properly this time.
“Here we go,” Dolly’s voice cut through the moment as she emerged from the kitchen carrying two massive plates. She set them down and I saw one had what was obviously barbeque brisket, while the other had some sort of deep-fried flat thing.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the disc of fried breading slathered in gravy.
“Chicken fried steak,” she grunted.
“No vegetarian options?”
Dolly slapped down a fork so hard that it nearly put a hole in the table. “If you don’t eat meat, then you can eat around it.”
With another huff, she was gone. I watched her stomp back to the bar in her red heels before turning to Marcus.
“She really doesn’t like me, does she?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said simply, picking up his fork. “And that, I’ll have you know, takes talent.”
I let out a sigh before picking up my own fork and poking at the chicken steak thing. “How do you eat this?”
Marcus looked up at me, brisket halfway to his mouth, like I was the biggest idiot in the world. “You uh… chew it, I guess?”