Chapter 2
Fresh Out Of The Slammer
As soon as Walker lets me go, I bolt out of the sheriff’s office, not taking any chances. I’m at the front entrance of the building, fingers poised on the door handle, when I realize I left my bag behind.
“That’s just great,” I huff.
I must have left it on the counter when Mason returned my personal belongings. I was so focused on checking my missed calls and messages I didn’t look to see if I had everything. I drop my head and groan before forcing myself to trudge back the way I came, bracing for Walker’s merciless teasing.
I’m glad it’s a Friday and no one else is around this early to witness my second walk of shame this morning. Honestly, it’d be less humiliating if I were sneaking out of someone’s apartment after a one-night stand—at least then I’d be exhausted for reasons I could actually brag about.
I’ve just turned the corner into the processing area when I spot Walker.
He’s standing by the row of filing cabinets in the corner, head buried in a file.
I flatten myself against the wall and carefully peek around it, relieved to see he hasn’t noticed me.
He’s scanning the page, fingers brushing the scruff along his jaw.
The charcoal-gray deputy’s button-up is tucked into his Wranglers, and his favorite cowboy hat sits perched on his head.
My eyes linger on the way his biceps tighten when he moves his arms. There’s no question he’s the hottest guy in Bluebell, and plenty have tried to rope him in—but he’s also lived up to his reputation, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts.
Stop ogling your friend’s brother, Birdie.
I may admire him from afar, but I’m fully aware he has a type, and I’ve never fooled myself into thinking I’m it.
I’ve always just been his little sister’s friend, someone he looks out for, and who, over the past few years, has become a good friend.
I accepted long ago that’s all I’d ever be, and I’m just glad he doesn’t find me too awkward to hang out with like other guys have.
Before I can gather the courage to come out from my hiding spot, Mason storms out of the holding area across the room, his face beet red as he beelines for Walker.
“What the hell did you do with it, Halstead?” he growls.
Walker lifts his head slowly. “Do with what?”
“The video evidence from the fairgrounds. I left it on my desk, and now it’s gone.” Mason jabs an accusing finger at him. “I’ve looked everywhere, and it’s not here. You’re the only other person who’s had access to this area, so don’t bother lying.”
“That’s quite the imagination you’ve got there, kid,” Walker drawls, setting his folder on top of the closest filing cabinet. “Shame you lost the tape. It was the only thing tying Birdie to the scene.”
It’s probably wrong to eavesdrop, but their conversation is about me, so I figure listening a little longer can’t hurt.
Mason throws his hands in the air. “Oh, come on. I wasn’t born yesterday. She’s the sheriff’s kid and one of your sister’s closest friends. And don’t think I didn’t notice you two looking rather chummy earlier.”
Walker’s expression hardens. “Careful. If you’re suggesting I’d tamper with evidence because of who the suspect is, you’re walking a very fine line.
” He takes a step closer, looming over Mason.
“I’ve been a deputy for six years without ever giving the sheriff a reason to doubt me.
You, on the other hand, have only been here a couple of weeks and will definitely be on his shit list when he finds out you brought his daughter in without consulting him first.”
My dad might not agree with my methods, but he raised me to stand up for what I believe in, even if it means bending a few rules along the way. But Walker’s right—when my dad finds out Mason left me in a holding cell overnight, he’ll have some choice words for his newest deputy.
Mason opens his mouth, hesitating, then closes it.
“Figures you wouldn’t have a good comeback.” Walker scoffs, his gaze returning to the file he’d been reviewing before he was interrupted.
I might’ve felt a twinge of sympathy for Mason if he hadn’t called me stupid for risking my freedom to save Daisy and Peaches. Anyone who treats animals as disposable rather than worth protecting deserves exactly what the universe throws at them.
Deciding I’ve pushed my luck far enough, I duck around the corner, disappearing from sight. I’ll get my bag later.
Besides, even if I asked Walker, he would deny helping me. Whatever he did was probably a favor for my dad or Briar, and he’d likely shrug it off if I tried to thank him. It’s best to let him think I’m still in the dark and act surprised if it ever becomes public knowledge.
When I finally step outside, I squint against the sunlight and inhale the sweet scent of blooming flowers.
Mason hauled me in right after my second shift at the feed store yesterday, so it was dark when I got here.
He probably thought he’d be the hero bringing in the person he assumed was responsible for last year’s theft at the county fair, not realizing he’d signed himself up for a world of trouble.
It’s not the first time someone’s accused me of stealing animals, but I usually walk away with a warning. I probably should have figured my luck would run out eventually, especially with Mason left alone overnight at the station, eager to prove himself.
I’d resigned myself to the possibility of being stuck in that holding cell until my dad got back from his work trip. What I didn’t expect was Walker Halstead swooping in to rescue me.
A smile spreads across my face when I see Charlie and Briar waiting at the curb.
“Rough night?” Charlie calls out. “Thank god you weren’t sent to county jail because those green uniforms would be unforgiving with your complexion.”
I shake my head as I go down the stairs to join them.
“Glad your concern is for my wardrobe and not the fact I spent the night behind bars,” I deadpan.
Charlie leans against the hood of her red SUV, grinning. “They took your mugshot, right? I have got to get my hands on it.”
I shake my head. “Nope, they didn’t,” I lie.
Walker better have been kidding about handing it over to her, or I swear I’ll make good on my own blackmail threat.
Years of hanging out at the Halsteads’ ranch means I have more than enough of his secrets stockpiled.
Like the time he and Heath crashed their dad’s brand-new Ford F-350 and lied, telling him a mule deer darted out of nowhere on the road into town.
As I reach the curb, Briar rushes to me, her hands gripping my shoulders as she scans me from head to toe. “Are you okay? I nearly had a heart attack when Walker called to have us come get you.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “Your brother had his fun teasing me, but don’t worry, I got some jabs in too,” I add with a small smile.
“You totally got off easy,” Charlie interjects, muttering under her breath. “If that had been anyone else, they’d already have been shipped off to county.”
I’m sure that was Mason’s plan all along, and there’s no telling how long I would’ve been stuck there. A chill runs down my spine just thinking about it.
Briar opens the passenger door of the SUV and grabs a paper bag with the Lasso & Latte logo on it. When she hands it to me, I find an oat milk latte with a dash of cinnamon on top and a blueberry muffin.
“We figured you could use some caffeine and a sweet treat after the morning you had,” she says with a sympathetic smile. “It’s probably a little cold now, sorry.”
I pull the coffee from the bag, letting out a satisfied hum as I take my first sip. “This is perfect, thanks.”
By this time most days I’m already three coffees in, so it tastes more like a lifeline than a treat.
“Did you guys get something too?”
Briar nods. “Yeah, we ate while we waited for you.”
I turn to Charlie, who’s still leaning against the hood of the car. “You got the sugar-free syrup in your drink, right?
“Yes, Mom,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “You do remember I’m a year older than you, right?”
“Technically only by eleven months,” I counter. “Yet somehow I’m the one always monitoring your blood sugar.”
Charlie was diagnosed with diabetes at sixteen, and even though the owner of the coffee shop stocks her favorite sugar-free red velvet syrup, she prefers to order the regular syrup when I’m not there to stop her from turning her coffee into a sugar bomb.
She’s stubborn to the core and not even a serious medical diagnosis can compete with her sweet tooth.
Being the youngest in our friend group hasn’t spared me from being teased for mothering everyone.
Am I overly cautious? Absolutely. But after having to step up when my mama’s health declined a few years ago, it’s become second nature to take care of the people I care about, particularly when it involves medical issues that could easily take a turn for the worse.
“Why don’t we save the bickering for later,” Briar suggests, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s get our girl home to rest.”
“Sounds great,” I agree, my eyes stinging from the lack of sleep.
The wooden bench in the cell offered zero comfort, and Mason kept me awake most of the night with The Great British Bake-Off blaring from the other room.
Not exactly the kind of show I’d imagine someone watching who likes to play the tough guy.
Every underbaked cupcake and overwhipped batch of cream was met with him shouting at the TV, and by the time I finally drifted off, sunlight was starting to stream through the single window in the cell.
I slide into the back seat of Charlie’s SUV, setting my coffee in the holder and sinking into the headrest as the fatigue finally catches up with me.
To keep myself awake, I check my phone and find a string of worried texts from Wren, the latest sent a few minutes ago.
Charlie and Briar must have looped her in when they found out what happened.
Wren: Please tell me you survived your stint in jail.