Chapter Fifteen
E mily stood in the briefing room reading the overnights—reports of any activity that might need following up on today.
She was scheduled for the walking beat this afternoon, something that the chief insisted every officer take periodically, to stay in touch with the local businesses.
And this week it was upped to two a day, morning and afternoon, because it was rodeo week.
The hubbub was bigger and louder when it was on a weekend, but when it hit mid-week the uproar went on all week.
Hence the double patrols. Plus at night everybody was either out or on call. Including the chief himself.
Emily didn’t mind the foot patrols. She liked walking up and down Main Street and its feeders to see what was new.
It would be good for Lobo, too. Not just to get him more used to walking among crowds but to make up to him for being left at home while she’d gone out to the saloon.
At the thought her mind wanted to careen off in just one direction.
Tucker Culhane. As if she hadn’t obsessed enough about him last night. Practically all night.
She made herself shift back to the dog. He had the run of her fairly spacious two-story town house, and when she’d come home she knew from a slight fur deposit that he’d been snoozing on the couch.
And that had made her smile, because at first he’d been too restless and nervous in this new-to-him place.
She looked down at the big shepherd lying patiently at her feet and smiled. “Good boy. Just let me make a couple of notes on things I want to check out today, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Add a stop at the Carriage House to your list, will you?”
She’d heard somebody step into the room but hadn’t looked up, wanting to finish that last incident report.
But when she heard the voice of the chief, her head snapped up.
It wasn’t unusual for him to be here on the weekend, but the frequency of that had dropped since he and Lily had gotten married, and especially since little Steven had been born.
“Of course,” she said immediately. “What’s up?”
He took a sip of coffee from the mug he held. “Just wanted to let them know that kid who broke the window will be turning up Monday morning to start that work they agreed would suffice.”
Emily knew the chief had negotiated that, and quietly agreed with his assessment that having to play busboy and janitor during rodeo week would probably get through to the kid, whereas a couple of days in the juvenile lockup over in Fredericksburg would have just made him mad and sullen.
The kid would be kept occupied, and the Carriage House could avoid at least one extra hire during the crazy week ahead.
“I’ll deliver the message. Happily.” She tilted her head slightly to study her boss for a moment before she said, “You missed the gathering last night.”
There had been a time, she knew, when the chief and his brother avoided anything more than necessary contact.
They’d spent a lot of their childhood and into adulthood in sibling conflict.
But that had changed, quite visibly, since the women they loved had come into their lives, and their long-lost and searched-for brother had finally come home.
“Yeah, we did,” the chief answered. “But,” he added with a slight but evocative smile, “it was worth it.
If she didn’t admire and respect the man so much, she’d be envious of his obvious happiness. But nobody deserved it more, and it was self-absorbed of her to even think such a thing.
“Shall I stop by The Defender and pass along your appreciation?” she asked, in a tone only slightly mischievous. That was another thing—the chief had a definite sense of humor, and he took the occasional ribbing well.
He grinned at her, clearly taking no offense. “No. She knows. Besides, she won’t be there. She’s heading out to the Baylor place, for an interview.”
Emily blinked. “Oh?”
“Yes. With the guy saving me from having to play MC Wednesday.”
“Lily’s going to interview Tucker?” The words were out before she thought.
His grin widened. “I figured you’d know who I meant. I heard you two had quite the talk last night.”
She felt heat rising to her cheeks as the memory struck.
“I like you, Officer Stratton.”
“Back at you. Although I’d like you more if you just called me Emily.”
“Do you promise that…Emily?”
“That grapevine,” she muttered. Then, in an effort to recover, she said in her most businesslike tone, “He’s a newcomer to Last Stand. Just trying to make him feel welcome.”
“Uh-huh,” the chief said. “Have a good day, Officer Stratton,” he said, matching her tone, but still with that teasing sparkle in his eyes.
And as he waved a salute with the mug and headed back toward his office, she thought for at least the two-thousandth time how very lucky she was to work for him. Down-to-earth genuine heroes were hard to find.
And as she and Lobo headed off to begin their foot patrol, she wondered how many street cops could have a conversation like that with their chief.
*
“So, is tripping metal detectors the most annoying part?”
“Let’s just say that if it’s less than a thousand miles, I drive.” Tucker answered the question in a wry tone.
So far he’d been surprised by this. He’d done more than his share—by his count anyway—of interviews over the years.
Both during his stellar rodeo career and after, and in Hollywood, at least after Stonewall had taken off.
Of course most of those had been trying to get some tidbit out of him about Jackson, but he’d learned to fend those off.
And since he had a lot less to lose, he had few qualms about telling off those reporters more interested in personal invasion than the business or the show.
But Lily Highwater was different. When she said human interest, she apparently meant it.
She wanted to know the personal side, yes, but it wasn’t the usual surface stuff.
She wanted to know how he’d had to change his life after the crash, what reminded him of it, and did it ever come back to haunt him when he was doing stunt work, and did he ever regret deciding to follow that path… deeper questions than he was used to.
So he took his time to think before answering, also noting that she allowed him that, didn’t rush him or push, trying to get him to say something he might not otherwise.
This, he’d realized early on, was a different kind of reporter.
He supposed he should have guessed, from what he’d heard about her husband since he’d arrived in Last Stand.
Plus when she found out he’d agreed to this, Nic had pulled up the interview she’d done with Jackson, the day the therapy center had opened.
It had been an in-depth piece, but focused on the center and the why of it.
It had only brushed on the more famous, gossipy stuff of what Jackson had done, and focused instead on the why.
And after Nic had assured him he could trust Lily to be honest—“Not to say she won’t dig, and dig deep”—and not purposely distort or edit what answers he gave her, he found himself opening up more than he would have expected.
And he couldn’t deny his mind kept skittering off to the side, wondering what Emily would think if she read it.
All the more reason to tell the truth. Scare her off.
Because, he’d had to admit in the early morning hours after that night in the saloon, he wasn’t doing such a great job of scaring himself off. Which was something he never would have expected, given his personal history.
And so, when they arrived at what he’d suspected was coming—Lily, as she’d insisted he call her, and who obviously did her homework in depth—he talked about something he never, ever did.
And when that was done, and the reporter met his gaze head-on, what she said told him that Nic had been right. He hadn’t misplaced his trust.
“That was obviously painful, Tucker. If you decide you want that cut, let me know by tomorrow night.” She handed him a business card from The Defender , on the back of which she’d written her personal cell number.
After she’d gone he sat in the living room of the main house, where Nic’s parents had graciously allowed this to take place, for quite a while, fighting second thoughts.
“Uncle T?”
He snapped out of it and looked over his shoulder to the doorway where Jeremy stood hesitantly.
As he always did when he saw the boy, he smiled.
Jeremy smiled back and ran over to him, throwing himself up into his lap.
Tucker didn’t know all that much about kids, but he guessed it wouldn’t be too long before Jeremy would consider himself too old for such displays, and told himself to enjoy it while he had it.
“You okay?” The boy sounded actually worried, so Tucker hastened to assure him he was fine.
“Nic says she’s really nice.”
“She is.”
“An’ if she’s married to Chief Shane she must be, right?”
“I’m guessing that’s true,” he agreed.
Jackson appeared in the doorway, Nic beside him. Nic looked at Tucker assessingly, then shifted her gaze to Jeremy. “Why don’t you and I head home,” she suggested. “I suspect there just might be some ice cream left in the freezer for a bedtime snack.”
Jeremy lit up, but hesitated, looking at Tucker. And that simple act made Tucker feel that tight, throat-closing feeling again.
“You go ahead. I’m fine, buddy. Thanks.”
The boy scrambled down and darted over to Nic.
Jackson leaned down to kiss her but stayed where he was when they left.
And for a moment he just stood there, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, looking at Tucker.
And Tucker looked back, at this man who had, for a few years, ruled the Hollywood world, but who had given it all up for the sake of the boy who had just made Tucker remember why.
“She rattled you,” Jackson finally said.
Tucker shook his head. “I rattled me. I…talked. More than I ever have to a reporter.”
“I know the feeling,” Jackson said with a wry smile. “She got me going a bit, too, and you know I’m even more suspicious of them than you.”
“But her story was good. She didn’t go for the crap, she made people understand why you left, and why you started Thorpe’s Therapy Horses .”
“She did. And it’s no coincidence that we took off within a month of her article coming out.” He smiled. “I don’t think she’ll sell you out, bro. No matter what you told her that you’re having second thoughts about now.”
Tucker sighed audibly. And admitted to the only other person who knew the real story what he’d done.
“I told her. About…my dad.”
Jackson went still. And with the air of someone choosing his words very carefully, he said, “Your dad was someone to be proud of. Even when it hurts.”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “But then she asked about my mother. And…I told her.”
He heard Jackson’s sigh, which sounded a lot like his had. Because he knew. “That’s what she said to let her know if you wanted to cut?”
He nodded.
“She’ll do it, if that’s what you want. Unlike so many in her profession, she doesn’t lie to trip you up.”
“It just sounded so damn pitiful when I said it. Like I was looking for sympathy or something.” He grimaced. “I had enough of that after the crash.”
“Well, look at it this way. Now that it’ll all be out there, it won’t be hovering anymore. Any flurry will die down, and it’ll be over for good.”
Tucker knew he was right. It would pass. He just wasn’t sure what was going to be left of his life when it did. But one thing it would likely solve, and he told himself he was glad about it.
Once Emily Stratton read that article, he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping distance between them.
Because she would.