Chapter 4 Colton
Colton
“Dude, you’re being played.” Greg’s voice dripped with something just short of disgust.
Colton knew it, but he didn’t think it was all that bad, and as long as they were both aware, so what? “Shut up. I’m going to have a meal with the kid. That’s legal.”
And if they ended up having mutual orgasms, okay. Fine.
“Yeah, well, watch your wallet.”
Colton rolled his eyes. “This from Mister Oh-sir-can-I-see-your-very-big-gun?” He raised his voice to the pitch of the little gal who’d all but assaulted Greg.
“Yeah, she was hot, huh?”
“She was twelve, tops, man.” It was a huge exaggeration, because while Greg was a horn dog, he was still a good guy, like one of the white hats, bone deep. Still, Colton figured fair was fair. If Greg could get some and call it just a passing thing, why couldn’t he?
“Nah. She wasn’t jailbait.” Greg grinned, then waggled his tongue. “I know her sister.”
More like he slept with the sister as well. “You are foul. Back to the point. I said I’d be there and I’ll be there.”
“No one said you had to miss your booty call. Just don’t come cryin’ to me when your dick rots off.”
STDs were always a concern, and Colton planned on being safe, but despite being a carnie, he didn’t see Zach as a skank. “Why not? You know just how to treat it.”
With a salute, Colton fled while he had the last word. He’d be a bit early for Zach’s show, but it would be worth it.
“Officer McAllen?” One of the older ladies, Miss Brea, who ran the cake walk for First Baptist, waved him down on the way. “Do you have a second?”
Ah, fuck. “Yes, ma’am. What did you need?”
“I need a volunteer for just a hot minute.” She dragged him off course and toward a tent.
Colton shook his head. So much for being early. “How can I help?”
“We need a taster.” She led him inside, where five plates sat on the table. “I think we should serve Maeve Anderson’s Dutch apple pie. Eileen Gould thinks we should serve her pear crumble. Pears. Honestly.”
Despite what Greg had said, Colton enjoyed good pie. “Well, I’d be happy to, but are you gonna be mad if I pick Miss Gould’s pears?”
“Hell, boy, just tell the truth. Tell it loud if it’s not the pears, but tell it regardless.”
Colton had grown up seeing Miss Brea strike fear in the hearts of most men for having no manners. She was a hoot, through and through. “Yes, ma’am. Honest, I can do.”
Miz Anderson’s Dutch apple was like the eighth wonder of the modern world. Of course, the pears were damn good, and the lemon pie made him pucker, and the huckleberry cobbler…fuck him raw.
“Oh ladies. This ain’t fair. They’re all amazing. A-mazing.” And he was going to be full as a tick standing up there watching the show.
He’d need to run in place or something if he wanted to eat with Zach. Lord, have mercy. He gave Miz Anderson a shame-faced look. “I’m going to have to go with the huckleberry cobbler. That’s my favorite and this one is out of this world good.”
Lauren Bean, the lady who ran their tiny library with an iron fist, actually did a little twirl. “Take that, Brea. I told you mine was the best.”
Oh, good Lord and ice cream. “I got to go, but Grandma Betty always says the Lord made chocolate and vanilla because we don’t all like the same thing. They all deserve to be put out.”
The group cackled like a hen house full of chickens. He spared a glance back, and they were doing just as he’d said. Heaven save him from little old ladies and the Auxiliary. With a last wave, he ran like a coward. Give him an armed criminal any day over that crowd. They would eat your face.
He patted his belly. That had been worth every slice, though. Maybe another cobbler would show up at the office in the next couple of days too. That did tend to happen.
The crowd was big tonight, but not bad enough that he had the slightest guilt about heading straight to the stage to watch the finest fiddler player on earth. Greg was really pretty happy to cover for him, and he’d still be in the mix if something went down.
This was just for him, though. Watching Zach play was intense. Sexy as hell. Well, if he ignored the rest of the band. Some of those boys were good musicians, but they did dick all for him.
Was that tacky? Probably, but a man was allowed a touch of tacky in his own brain, wasn’t he?
Hell yes, he was.
Mouth dry, he watched Zach bend back and forth, sawing at that fiddle. That would fire fantasies for years, even if supper was crap. He nearly face-palmed himself. Was there anything he couldn’t pervert? He chuckled at himself.
He guessed Greg counted. And pie-judging.
Grunting when he took an elbow in the ribs, Colton moved on around closer to the side of the stage where he could still see, but not be in the mix. Some folks didn’t like cops, and some for good reasons, but he was a good guy and didn’t want to get banged up.
The song changed to something slower, something high and lonesome with mostly mandolin and fiddle.
Amazing. Oh damn. Damn. That was fine as cold beer on a hot night, and Colton stood there, more than a little hypnotized by the sound.
He was a fan. A real, honest-to-goodness fan.
The way Zach poured himself into the song said something about the man’s soul.
Coming from a musical family himself—not like that, of course not, but they could all play and sing, and they did, more than once in a while—he understood the power of music.
And it wasn’t only in the hearing of it, but the creating of it, the taking of something like sinew and wood and creating magic. That was important.
He tapped his foot and swayed, disappointed when the song ended. Colton had liked that one.
When he glanced up, Zach was staring down, and their eyes met. He smiled, nodded, and Zach grinned right back. Yeah. Okay, maybe he was being played, but no one was pulling the wool over his eyes. He wanted Zach.
He’d make sure to leave his heart in the truck with his cash and his gun.
Someone he didn’t know, someone not local, caught his attention.
He immediately took stock; white guy, fancy haircut, toothpick in his mouth, camera up, filming Zach.
Weird, because the man was in a suit. Not a redneck tuxedo, either, but a real-life shiny suit.
He reminded Colton of the mega church preachers his mama liked to watch on television.
Smooth, slick, and utterly full of bullshit.
Just out to line their own pockets with money from the poor.
Or maybe he was a music label guy. Did Nashville look like that? He didn’t know.
The guy was seriously focused on Zach. Colton knew because he did it too, but not in that kind of sleazy way. When Zach laid eyes on the man, it wasn’t pretty. Colton hadn’t seen Zach annoyed before, but his expression was damn near grumpy.
He and Zach weren’t a real thing, but the guy wasn’t gonna get near Zach while Colton was around.
And tonight he was very around. In fact, tonight he was going to be on Zach like white on rice.
Unless he was told to back off, but from the way Zach looked at Mr. Suit, chickens would fly out of Colton’s butt before that happened.
He met Mr. Suit’s gaze, smiling in his best aw-shucks sort of way. Everything in him, though, was setting off alarm bells. Something was askew. He didn’t know what, but that part didn’t matter. His gut told him to watch his back and Zach’s.
He scanned the rest of the crowd, hunting for anyone else out of place. Was anybody else giving Zach weird attention?
Everyone else seemed normal as could be, or as normal as a county fair at night, anyway. This was the chance for teenagers to pretend to be Goths, for college kids to pretend to be hipsters, and hipsters from Missoula to pretend to be hicks.
He chuckled. Kinda like Halloween.
Mr. Suit scooted closer to the stage, and Zach changed sides, clearly getting away from him. Score one for Colton’s instincts. All those years of police work had to be useful some times.
Colton shifted until he was closer—close enough for both Zach and Mr. Suit to see what he was doing and get his message.
Mr. Suit stared at him, and Colton gave him a different country-boy look this time.
The lizard stare of the small-town cop. This wasn’t Colton’s town, but it was his uncle’s, and that was close enough, dammit.
His job was to serve and protect, and he reckoned he’d do both.
And if he happened to do it from very close to Zach, so be it.