Chapter 4
Alex
I'm a cop at heart—it's in my blood.
~ David A. Clarke, Jr.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for this.
Two nights ago all I took in was a vague impression of the front desk and Jesse fainting.
Today I’m seeing all the details I missed—plus the added touches obviously pulled together this morning.
The station looks mid-conversion between a small-town jail and a Chuck E.
Cheese—streamers over bulletin boards, balloons bobbing beside a Code of Conduct poster, and a glittery Welcome, Officer Alex!
banner taped above the holding-cell door.
“She’s here! She’s here!” a middle-aged woman at the front desk whisper-shouts.
My eyes catch on Jesse. He’s wearing an apologetic expression, quietly telling me he tried to stop this, but no one listened to him.
“It’s okay,” I silently mouth to him.
A shy smile inches across his face. The man is not hard to look at.
“Welcome to Bordeaux PD, Alex!” the group exclaims in unison.
“Thank you,” I say, frozen in the hallway between the entrance and the main room.
“I’m Jeanie!” The woman at the desk rounds the tall counter and sweeps me into a hug.
These people are huggers.
“Funny, huh?” she says, still holding me tight before stepping back and pointing to the man with salt and pepper hair. “I married Chief Gene—well, he wasn’t chief back then. Gene and Jeanie. That’s us. At least we didn’t name our kids Jeanette and Billy Jean.”
Jesse’s in the background stifling a laugh. If our eyes meet, I’m certain we’ll lose it.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, smiling. “And you, Chief.”
“You can call me Gene. Unless you have an infraction. Which I’m sure you won’t.”
He glances at Jesse—and all eyes follow.
May as well drag the elephant out from under the rug.
“He had every reason to believe I was stealing Lexi’s van,” I say. “Did everything by the book.”
Looks are exchanged between all the men and Jeanie.
“Good to hear,” Chief Gene finally says.
Jeanie introduces the other three policemen. Officer Randy Madson—a thirty-something brunette; Officer Buzz Larkin—slightly younger with a blond cropped cut; and Deputy Nolan—probably younger than me with wavy sandy-brown hair.
“Nolan’s just a floater for now. He works at Satterson’s as a mechanic part-time too,” Jeanie boasts.
Two jobs. I’m convinced it’s a thing around here no matter what Lexi says.
“Well, we’ve got cupcakes,” Jeanie says brightly. “And punch.”
I’m tempted to open closets to check for the human-sized dancing stuffed mouse.
“Jeanie, if you don’t mind holding those till later,” Chief says. “I wanted to see Jesse and Alex in my office. Men, you can help yourselves before you head out.”
Jeanie looks only slightly disappointed, so I promise I’ll indulge later.
She beams. “Memaw’s lemon cupcakes—county fair winners.”
Jesse and I follow Chief to his office, a small room toward the back of the building. He takes a seat in the leather swivel chair behind the metal desk. Jesse and I take our spots across from him.
“Well, I planned this differently before you two got acquainted Saturday night.” His amused smile says he’s been in on the ribbing. “Since you’re familiar now, you’ve saved me the trouble of introductions. Jesse, meet your new partner—for the next four weeks.”
Jesse smiles over at me—reserved, but friendly.
I smile back, unexpected shyness making me glance away the second our eyes meet.
Get it together, Alex. You’re on the clock.
I straighten my face, cadet-style—a posture I learned in the academy.
“Great!” Chief says, clapping his hands together. “Chemistry’s important on patrol.”
He briefs us on his expectations. Jesse nods at all the right times, adding the occasional “Yes, sir,” before we’re dismissed to start patrol.
“Get out there and make us proud,” Chief says from his desk as Jesse waits for me to exit the office ahead of him. “Oh, and pop in on Jed White. His tractor won’t start and he needs some help moving that old feed bin before the next snow.”
I glance at Jesse. He shrugs.
Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore—or, actually, you are!
We head out to the patrol car together.
“Sorry about the circus back there,” he says.
“It was sweet,” I say, meaning it.
I may not be in a high-crime setting, but I’m on a force—and they want me here.
“I usually drive—alone,” he says, swirling his key ring and popping the station door open. “Do you mind riding shotgun?”
It takes me a moment to answer. After Marco’s total rejection of my dream of pursuing law enforcement, Jesse asking my preference catches me off guard.
“You could drive half the shift,” he offers. “I just know the town a little better.”
“You drive,” I say.
He nods, ducking into the car and waiting for me to buckle before he starts the engine.
The air in the cab is filled with unspoken thoughts. I can tell Jesse’s trying to act like Saturday didn’t happen. I can’t decide if I should ignore it or needle him just a little to pop the tension.
We ride through town, crawling below the speed limit, Jesse’s watchful eyes taking in every detail.
I spend half the time admiring the postcard-perfect streets and the other half pretending not to study his profile.
Even when he’s obviously feeling awkward, he carries himself with a professionalism that’s apparently my kryptonite.
About a half-hour in, Jeanie’s voice crackles through the radio.
“Hey, Jesse! Hey, Alex! I know you’re heading to the Whites’, but we’ve got a complaint.
One of the Hendersons’ goats keeps breaking through the fence and eating Sarah’s winter cabbage.
She was yelling so loudly I only made out every other word.
But I definitely heard the threat of goat stew in there.
Can you check it out as soon as you’re finished out at Jed’s? ”
She gives us the address.
“That was not a typical dispatch call,” I muse.
“Yeah. Not much crime, but plenty of that.” Jesse tips his head toward the radio. His face is serious and detached. “Around here, we take turns manning the desk—or Jeanie or Mabel volunteer. After hours we outsource to the county.”
He’s too serious.
I turn to face him. “Next time, maybe run the plate before whipping out the handcuffs.”
“What?” My comment hit the intended mark, throwing him off balance.
“Run the …”
“I heard you,” he grouses.
“Look, I’m kidding, Jesse. It’s a memory now. I’ve already laughed about it—more than once. Can we move past it?”
He glances over. “I’d like that. I just …”
Here it comes. He never wanted a woman partner and now he’s stuck with me for four weeks.
“... People make fun of me.”
Oh.
“I’m the brunt of a lot of jokes around here.” He exhales a heavy breath. “I didn’t do myself any favors.”
My hand practically itches to reach out and settle on his forearm in a gesture of comfort. I ball my fist in my lap.
“You might have been doing Lexi and Trevor a huge favor—if I had been a carjacker.”
I can’t help it. A snicker escapes at the memory of his serious face, the ridiculous sobriety check, and that deflated Santa slapping the windshield. My laughter bubbles up until it bursts free and takes over completely.
Jesse chuffs out a laugh. Slowly, his mouth breaks into a wide grin. His eyes crinkle. And then he’s laughing as hard as I am. Our laughter overlaps until we’re both leaning forward, gasping for breath.
“I can’t believe I had you recite the reindeer,” he says, his broad smile filling his face.
“Creative addition.”
He shakes his head. I feel the warmth in his eyes when he glances over at me—like a sip of cocoa chasing away the chill.
“Thanks for rolling with it.” His tone is sincere.
“That’s what partners are for. I’ve got your back.”
“You won’t officially be my partner after four weeks,” he reminds me. “We run one-man shifts and take turns being on call for the rare emergency. Though, I guess they might pair us up occasionally if we’re both on at the same time.”
“Well, I’m your partner for now.”
“Yeah” he agrees, softly. “You are.”
Our ride out to the Whites’ property is filled with a different kind of silence—comfortable and easy. I like this side of him. Not that I mind him when he’s commanding, but this softer side is unexpected—and I get the feeling not too many people have the privilege of seeing it.
We’re not the only ones who showed up to the Whites’. A bunch of neighboring ranchers and farmers came too. We get the job done before the sun starts to drop, then we drive to another ranch to follow up on the goat complaint.
We’re back on the road when Jeanie calls us about an hour later.
“Sorry, you two. Seems we’ve got a feud going on between Mrs. Hawthorne and Mr. Dobbs.
Electricity sputtered at the Hawthorne home.
She’s blaming the light-up decorations on the Dobbs’ property.
Her exact words were, ‘That man’s going to blow the grid!
’ Can you go check it out and see if you can’t help them sort things out? ”
“On it,” Jesse answers.
“Décor wars,” he mutters after Jeanie disconnects.
“Really? They’re competing over holiday decorations?”
“Worse than Christmas with the Kranks. Bet they didn’t train you for this in the academy,” he jokes.
“Well, we did some hostage negotiation training and protocol for basic resolution of domestic disputes. De-escalation tactics. You know.”
Jesse nods. “Consider all of those to be locked and loaded for this situation.”
I almost laugh, but his face is dead serious. Okay, then.
We arrive to find a middle-aged woman shouting at her neighbor across the driveway—both of them hands-on-hips, leaning in like a showdown between the Grinch and Scrooge.
Jesse exits the patrol car; I follow, a step behind. These people know Jesse. They don’t know me—though I’m guessing my reputation for family van heists and Santa abduction precedes me.
“You stole my reindeer!” the man shouts, his voice echoing off the siding.
“Why would I want your dang reindeer? I’ve got my own. And don’t you think if I took it you’d see it proudly displayed in my yard?” the woman fires back, cheeks red and voice climbing.
“Proudly?” The man crosses his arms and nods. “You’re not kidding, it would be proudly. They’re the kind of reindeer you showcase.” He tips his head toward her flock of reindeer.
Flock? Swarm? Herd? Whatever a bunch of plastic reindeer is called.
“Not like that batch of Rudolphs you’ve got over there,” he says. “Misfits, every last one of them.”
“They’re eclectic,” she shouts. “I’ve got a whole aesthetic!”
“So does Goodwill!”
Jesse blows a whistle—an honest to goodness whistle. Both parties spin toward us, wide-eyed, like they hadn’t noticed the patrol car at all.
“Stuart. Grace,” Jesse says evenly. “Meet my new partner, Alex.”
“Well, hello, dear,” Grace says, her face miraculously transformed. “I’ve been meaning to stop by with a casserole.”
“Nice to meet you,” Stuart says, extending his hand. “Welcome to Bordeaux.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to find my equilibrium in light of their sudden shift of demeanor.
“Now, Stuart,” Jesse says. “Jeanie called—said you two were at it over the yard décor again.”
“Not me,” Stuart says in a tone reminiscent of a sibling being accused of breaking a lamp during a skirmish.
“Not you, my patootie,” Grace fires back. “He’s stealing all the electricity on the block. Look at this place. No, don’t look—you’ll burn a retina. Honestly, how many lights does one man need?”
“Says the woman with ten inflatables going every night,” Stuart mutters. “It sounds like the tarmac on the muni airfield out here!”
Jesse raises both hands, calm and steady, his serious-cop expression in place. “All right, all right. Before both of you end up on the naughty list, let’s take it down a notch.”
Grace crosses her arms and mutters. “He’s stealing my power.”
“She’s defaming the neighborhood,” Stuart shoots back.
Jesse calmly walks up the driveway, positioning himself between the two adversaries.
“Pretty sure the grid can handle both of you. We checked the transformer after last year’s Candy Cane Catastrophe.
” He pauses just long enough for that memory to sink in.
“But maybe turn everything off by ten? No one’s out and about after then anyway—unless it’s Santa, and he brings his own lighting. ”
Grace sniffs, though she’s smiling at Jesse. “Fine. But I didn’t take your reindeer, Stuart.”
“Fine,” Stuart echoes. “If she agrees to ten, so do I. And I’d like to file a missing reindeer report.”
Jesse gives them each a nod. “Look at that—peace on earth, goodwill toward neighbors.”
I look at Stuart. “If you have any photos of the reindeer in question, email them to the station—we’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I’ve got plenty.”
“He sure does,” Grace jabs, but there’s no heat in her words.
“We good here?” Jesse asks.
Both neighbors nod.
As we walk back to the cruiser, I murmur, “You missed your calling—you should’ve been a marriage counselor.”
“Nah,” he says, opening my door as if we’re on a date, not my first day at work. “I just know how to put myself in someone else’s shoes.”
While he rounds the front of the cruiser, I can’t help smiling. He’s a good man. I’ve observed him in three different situations today, and in each one he shined without needing to be noticed—steady, charming, and obviously fluent in small-town diplomacy. A dangerous combination.
“I usually grab dinner at home—my house—when I’m alone on duty,” Jesse says as we pull away from the scene of the décor wars. “Or I hit up the diner. Do you have plans?”
“Are you asking me to dinner?” My words are intended as a tease, but sound slightly flirty once they’re out of my mouth. “I mean … I was thinking of Memaw’s cupcakes.”
“For dinner?” he asks, effectively skirting my question.
“I’ve been known to eat worse.”
“How about we grab a bite and then swing by for the cupcakes afterward—unless we get another call.”
“Sounds good.”
Jesse glances over, “You handled that well.”
“The call?” I ask lightly. Or your invitation to dinner?
“Yeah. I think they settled down faster just to impress you.”
“I didn’t do much.” I fight the urge to fidget under his praise. “Maybe I picked up a thing or two watching you in action.”
“You mean when I arrested you?”
“Mm hmm.”
He laughs easily, the sound filling the cab. “Do as I say, not as I do.”
“Noted, Officer Heinz. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Working with Jesse feels steadier than it should—even our banter feels seamless. His appreciation settles over the place Marco’s rejection left raw, like salve on an open wound. I’m not sure what that means for my future here in Bordeaux. I guess only time will tell.