Chapter 5 Where Duty Meets Desire
Where Duty Meets Desire
They’d all grown up with Micky—well, not Amy because she hadn’t been born in Fall River—but Micky was a local boy, born and raised, like Shane and the Hunnicutts and Neve—but that didn’t mean Shane had to like the guy.
In fact, the older they got, the less he could tolerate Micky.
Maybe because Micky had never actually grown up.
His maturity was stunted. Not that Shane was that mature—hell, he sometimes acted like a thirteen-year-old zipped into an adult male body—but where he had the emotional maturity of a teenager, Micky was a two-year-old tantrum-throwing toddler.
And there was a sneaky side to Micky that had always made Shane wary, especially these last few years.
Micky had been like a brother to him at one time—the brother you wanted to throttle most days because he pulled so much dumb shit.
But that should mean Amy was like a sister, right?
Not so much. Shane had never thought of her that way and probably never would.
Not since that first time he’d seen her six years ago, when she’d just moved to Fall River and announced she was opening a coffee shop.
From day one, he’d been dumbstruck by her features, from her smooth, bronze skin to the shape of her face to her soft, kissable mouth that so often curved into a smile.
Shane had been so blown away that he’d never found the courage to ask her out, and Micky had slithered right in there and snagged her.
Not that Amy would have agreed to go out with Shane if he’d asked.
He was small-town and unsophisticated, and she was stunningly beautiful, worldly, with swanlike grace and warmth you could wrap around yourself like a heated blanket.
Micky is small-town too and less sophisticated than you, bro.
Yeah. Micky was also bolder. Too bad Shane hadn’t made a move earlier because after sweeping her off her feet, Micky had stopped trying.
Now he treated Amy like … Well, not the way she deserved to be treated.
Not the way Shane would have treated her.
Why someone as smart and pretty and kind as Amy was with a douche like Micky befuddled Shane. Why is it nice girls go for assholes?
Shane’s gaze was still glued to Micky when a guy with a dark beanie appeared and planted himself beside Mick.
Where had the dude come from? Their heads bent together, and Micky’s expression corkscrewed into a scowl.
Their hushed conversation grew heated, each man talking over the other.
Days of stubble sprouted on the guy’s face and neck, the growth haphazard and obviously not intended to impress the ladies, and his unkempt clothes hung on a lanky, underfed frame.
Shane’s inner warning system went on high alert.
Drug activity had been picking on the Western Slope, and this guy was a poster child for a user.
From their body language, Beanie Guy and Micky definitely weren’t strangers.
Whether that was Shane’s sixth sense at play or him wishing he could bust Micky, he wasn’t sure.
He strode in their direction. The dude’s head whipped toward him, and red, glassy eyes flared wide. He pivoted and took off at a clip that bordered on a run.
Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all.
Micky had been in the middle of saying something to Beanie Boy but looked in Shane’s direction the instant the other guy took off. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he struck a casual air and watched Shane approach.
“Who’s the tweaker?” Shane asked him.
“What tweaker?”
Shane narrowed his eyes. “The one you were just talking to.”
“What makes you think I know him?”
“You two were pretty deep in conversation, and it didn’t look like you were exchanging recipes.”
Micky smirked. “He wanted to know where the head was.”
“You mean that row of bright pink port-o-lets not twenty feet behind you? Funny how he walked right past them.”
“Fucking Christ, O’Brien. Could you stop being a fucking deputy sheriff for once?”
“Not when I’m on duty.” Shane pointed at his badge. “Your tax dollars at work.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know him. He just walked up to me.”
Bullshit. “Hey, I’ve got another question for you. Have you got your key to Mountain Coffee on you?”
The shift in topics caught Micky off guard, and his eyebrows disappeared under the bill of his ball cap. He recovered quickly, though. “Haven’t got one. What makes you think I do?”
Shane gave him a shoulder shrug. “I just figured since you live with the owner …”
Micky crossed his arms over his chest and stepped back. “Well, you figured wrong. What’s it to you, anyway?”
“Someone’s been moving stuff around in her store. Know anything about that? ’Cause if you do, you need to come clean, or you’re just as guilty as whoever might be trespassing on private property.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Boy Scout. And why would I know anything about shit moving around in a coffee shop? Inventory comes and goes, so it moves.” The way he said the word reminded Shane of a lowing cow. “When did this supposedly happen?”
Shane rubbed his jaw. “Yesterday. Maybe before.”
“Ha!” Micky cried triumphantly. “Couldn’t have been me. I was delivering that wreck to GJ.”
Interesting. Shane hadn’t accused him of anything, yet he’d responded as if he had. More interesting was Micky’s cover story.
“Thought it was Durango.”
Micky shook his head. “Grand Junction, man.”
“Huh. That’s interesting because you were going to haul it and the driver to Durango,” Shane drawled.
“Even more interesting is that when I called the dude this morning, he gave me the name of a tow yard where you dropped the vehicle—right before you dropped him. In Durango. When I called them, they confirmed it was there.” Shane crossed his own arms and waited.
Micky glowered. “You checking up on me now?”
“Nope. I was following up for my report.”
Micky let out a shrill laugh. “Oh, shit! Did I say GJ? I meant Durango. Christ, I get those two mixed up all the time.”
“Yeah, ’cause they’re so close together, and their names sound so much alike.” Asshole. “You told Amy you were in GJ and you’d be late, so which is it? What’s really going on?”
God, he hated liars.
Micky’s mask began to crack, and his face reddened. “What the fuck are you doing listening in on my phone conversations with Amy? Those are private.”
Shane kept his tone steady. “I was standing right there when you called. Your voice carries through the phone. You lied to her.”
“That’s none of your fucking business, O’Brien.”
No, it wasn’t, but Shane pressed anyway.
“You stepping out on her? Is that what this is about?” Micky treated eye-fucking like an Olympic sport.
Shane had never known him to follow through and two-time Amy, but he’d been wrong about human behavior before.
Micky’s shiftiness could have been because he was messing around with drugs or because he was messing around with other women—or both.
Micky seethed. “That badge doesn’t entitle you to dig into someone’s personal life.”
Shane went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “If you are stepping out on her, she’s going to find out. That girl puts up with a lot of your bullshit, but I doubt she’d stand for that.”
“Oh, and I suppose you’re the one who’s going to fill her head with lies?”
“She won’t hear any from me. But you know how this town works, and she will hear about it, which makes you a damn fool.”
“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, O’Brien.” Micky spun and stomped off.
Sipping his hot brew, Shane tracked Micky with his eyes all the way to Amy’s tent, where she was hefting another tray filled with cups of coffee.
Micky bent down, and stupidly, Shane expected him to take the tray from her.
Instead, he lowered his face until it was mere inches from hers.
Shane couldn’t hear what Micky said, but judging by his expression and Amy’s body language as she pulled back, Micky was lighting into her.
Shane opened and closed his fists as he remained rooted where he was, holding his temper as he silently counted to ten … to twenty … to fifty.
He found himself wanting Micky to cross a line that would give him the green light to open up a can of whoop ass on him.
He hated this feeling of impotence, of having his hands tied behind his back.
Then again, if Micky actually did cross that line, that meant he’d be getting physical with Amy. And that was beyond unacceptable.
Amy didn’t seem to need Shane’s help, though.
From the fire in her eyes, the tight set of her mouth, and the pleats between her brows, she was giving it right back, her delivery more measured than Micky’s.
Whatever she was saying packed a wallop because Micky was growing more flustered by the second.
Let him have it, sweetheart!
“My land, I will never understand why some people stick with them that don’t deserve to be stuck with.”
Shane whirled in place. Dixie Dobbs had somehow materialized beside him without a sound.
She shook her brassy-blond head as she fixed on Micky and Amy.
Besides the eye shadow that looked as though she’d smeared blue neon on her lids, Dixie was best known for having her digits on Fall River’s pulse and knowing every secret in town, no matter how tiny.
She tsked. “I’ll bet you wish you could crack some sense into him with your club.”
“It’s not a club. It’s a baton.” And damn straight I wish I could use it on his thick skull.
“You know, Deputy,” she continued without looking at him, “our little Amy is wasting her breath on that man. A shame those kinds of crimes are allowed to go on.”
Shane took another swig to keep himself from blurting out something that could wind up on the town’s gossip feed. The coffee was strong, just the way he liked it, but the interplay between Micky and Amy was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
“They’ve been together for a while,” he reasoned. “Amy’s a smart woman, so she must see something in him that maybe isn’t so obvious to the rest of us.” Even if the rest of them had no clue what that something could be.
“Well, that girl is way too nice. Plus, I think she gave up and gave in to him when no other fellas stepped up to the plate. She’s probably convinced herself she can’t do better.”
Shane nearly spewed his coffee. What? How could Amy think she couldn’t do better than Micky?
She merely had to look at herself in the mirror to see how stunning she was, and her looks were only the cherry on top of the entire package that, at its very core, held her sunny disposition.
And Shane wasn’t the only one who noticed.
He’d heard plenty of talk in his own office about the “exotic beauty with the gorgeous smile and the great coffee.”
“And another thing,” Dixie went on, “that man is not true to that sweet woman of his.”
“He claims he is.” It took a moment before Shane swiveled his head and looked at her. “What makes you say that, Dix?”
“Don’t need twenty-twenty vision or glasses to see he’s not keeping things zipped up.”
“That’s a little vague,” Shane pointed out.
Dixie usually got her rumors right, but this was the first time Shane had heard someone come out and openly declare that Micky was unfaithful.
Something that juicy wouldn’t have stayed quiet this long; it was entirely possible Dixie’s statement was off the mark.
She turned to him and blinked several times, her thick, pasted-on lashes obliterating her blue eyes with each pass.
She perched a gloved hand on her ample hip.
“Might’ve known the deputy needs him some black-and-white facts.
Well, I ain’t got the hard proof you’re looking for—like video evidence and sworn statements and all—but a woman just knows.
I will tell you one thing—and this is a fact you can take to the bank—that man is scrawnier than a scarecrow that’s lost its stuffing.
Amy deserves a real man and not some darned pipe cleaner.
” She looked Shane up and down from his booted feet to his hat.
What the hell is that look about?
He shoved the question aside and nearly laughed out loud. First of all, Micky wasn’t that scrawny. But even more ironic was that Dixie probably weighed twice as much as her wire sculpture of a husband, Dewey. Seeing the two of them together was like watching—
“Now I know what you’re thinking.” Beside Dixie’s talent for appearing out of nowhere, she could also read minds.
Law enforcement could use her skills. “Now, my man may not have much meat on his bones, but he is powerful strong. You’ve seen him heft a stock pot full of chili in Noah’s kitchen or the way he moves the tables in the dining room like he was picking up matches.
” Dixie and Dewey both worked for Noah in his bar and restaurant, where she was the manager and Dewey was the head cook.
“But you have no idea how that man can move when and where it counts.” Her painted-on brows bounced beneath her hair-sprayed bangs.
Shane’s brain screamed, “TMI, TMI, TMI!” He tried to lock out the images flickering on his mind’s movie screen and instead swept his gaze back to Micky and Amy. Micky was gone, and Amy was frantically filling more coffee cups while Cade looked on in a daze. Wasn’t anybody going to help her?
Well, shit! Shane debated heading over there himself, but he had a job to do that didn’t include filling cups for the pretty barista.
“Quite a day with the train coming and all,” Dixie prattled. “I reckon it’s going to make your day a little busier and your job a little more challenging, what with drunk tourists stumbling down the sidewalks and overrunning our little town.”
“One can only dream,” Shane remarked dryly.
The train whistle grew louder, shriller, as the telltale chugging became more insistent.
A low vibration in the ground announced the engine was about to pull up to the depot, matching the rumble of excitement in the crowd.
A bright headlight, the clanging of a bell.
Steam rolled from the train’s gleaming black stack as it came into view.
The moment everyone had been waiting for had finally arrived. Shane’s gaze bounced between the train and the crowd. Every Fall River resident who should have been there to witness history was there. Everyone except Micky.