Chapter 11
Eleven
Porter kicked back at the main table in the Elsie Creek Police Station, with soft music playing in the background and the smell of coffee still hanging in the air. His laptop was open, a few files spread out beside it as he worked through his reports, tapping away between sips of his coffee.
The front doors slid open.
Porter sat taller to peer over the high reception counter that was a protective barrier against the world. Not that much ever happened in this town, but no one should be coming in this time of night.
‘Office is closed.’ Surely, he’d locked the front doors.
The inner security door clicked open, and Amara stormed in, her boots thudding against the linoleum.
‘Montrose?’ He went back to scribbling his notes in the margin of a report. ‘You in a rush to lodge a complaint about me?’
She didn’t take the bait, which was worrying.
Instead, she yanked a chair out from the opposite end of the table and dropped into it, breathing hard.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Where’s Tanisha?’
‘Gone. She has a life that involves cats, cocktails, cactuses, and lately a thing for glitter. Why are you here?’ It had him worried, because she looked worried.
‘I took these photos of Tempest.’ She swiped open the screen of her trusty tablet that she carried like a secretary’s notebook.
‘Who?’
‘My horse.’
‘He’s got a name now. I was just getting used to Lot 728.
’ The horse that had all his toys grounded this past week so as to not upset the animal with the engine noise.
Especially his favourite machine, gathering dust in the man cave.
It had earned its reputation for a reason—not for sounding like a mouse. But not while the new horse was there.
Ah, yeah… Compromise, they called it.
Signing up for night shift to avoid the tenant could also be considered a compromise, to let the waters settle, especially after that kiss.
‘The horse’s name is Tempest,’ she said with her nose in the air.
‘Sounds snobby, like some Shakespearian play.’
‘Are you saying it’s wrong?’
‘No. It suits you and that horse.’
‘Forget that and focus, Porter. Can you see this?’ She practically poked the tablet in his face, displaying a picture of the horse. ‘See the difference in the colouring, the ageing on his brand’s markings? I think it’s been covered with something else.’
Porter took the tablet and pinched at the screen to enlarge the image. She was right. ‘I’m not a branding expert, but I do know someone who is.’
‘You do?’
‘Yeah. Runs the local stock brand register. She’ll tell you straight away if it’s a flaw in the design or something else.’
‘Where can I find her?’ The hope in her eyes was just gorgeous. Made worse when she nibbled on her plump pillowy bottom lip he’d tasted and was tempted to snag between his own teeth before settling in for another one of those punishing kisses.
Deadset, this was hard…
He scrubbed a palm over his face and sat up, focusing on the tablet’s screen.
‘She lives at Elsie Creek Station.’ He glanced at his watch to avoid looking at her. They needed to have boundaries, after all, they worked in the same police station.
If Amara wanted to be professional about this, he could too.
‘As it’s after sunset, you won’t get a straight conversation out of her until morning. She won’t talk business until then.’ Not like Amara, who was all business, never pleasure—except when she melted into his kiss.
‘Why not? Is she a big beer drinker?’
‘Gin. By the jug full. She’s a blacksmith, who has a rule that when she douses the flames of her forge, and she’s dragged her old cattle trough to fill with ice, there is no way she’ll talk shop, or even English, after hours.
Especially not when the ice hockey is playing.
’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Although, I think her husband built her a spa, to not use the trough anymore.’
‘Can we call or email her?’ Amara slapped her palm on the table, leaning forward, the excitement at finding answers shining in her eyes. She loved the hunt for clues, just like he did.
‘Send me those pictures…’ He slid her tablet back towards her.
‘I’ll email her tonight and then follow up in the morning.
’ Hopefully, it wasn’t what it looked like.
Because if that brand had been tampered with—if the horse was stolen—he didn’t want to think about how it’d effect Amara. Not after what she’d been through.
‘Thank you.’ Amara tapped on her tablet. ‘Can you CC me in? I’d like to meet this woman. I’m sure Finn would like to know her, too, especially if branding is her expertise.’
‘Finn knows her very well. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t met her yet.’
‘Why?’ Was there a hint of jealousy in Amara’s dark brown eyes? Or was that a level of protectiveness she had for her boss?
‘Bree is Finn’s ex-wife.’ He chuckled at her surprise, which then turned into a frown—oh, she was being protective over her boss.
‘Don’t worry, Bree and Finn are still friends.
Although, I think her new husband isn’t quite sure about the connection yet.
Ryder Riggs, he’s a mate of the Sarge’s.
’ He pointed to Marcus’s closed office door.
‘They drink the high-end bourbon together. Total bourbon snobs, like I’d imagine you are with your wine. ’
‘I don’t drink wine. The sulphur upsets me. Like dried fruit.’ She sat back in her chair, thinking hard. ‘You know everyone.’
‘No. But I’m not shy about saying hello to people.’ It’s something she needed to learn if she wanted to be a small-town cop.
‘I say hello.’
‘Yeah, right.’ He shook his head, shuffling through the final reports for the night. ‘You realise that being approachable is one thing you need on the job, especially out here? Along with being community-minded. We’re here for the people, not for the arrest numbers.’
She scowled at him. It was dark and filthy because she liked to spout off her numbers, especially the livestock they’d saved.
But then she paused, looking around the simple station. ‘You like it here, don’t you?’
‘I do. Didn’t think I would. At first I thought I was being sent to the far ends of the scorched earth and that it’d suck.’
‘What happened?’
‘The place accepted me. Even if they still call me Policeman Porter, at least they know my name.’
‘They don’t know me.’
‘They know you’re Finn’s offsider.’
‘And I’m okay with that. I know I have a lot to learn on the job. And Finn, even Craig and Stone, have been teaching me a lot.’
‘In this job, we never stop learning.’ He tapped on the keyboard and sent the email, then added a note into his phone.
‘What are you doing?’ She craned her neck to try to peer over his screen. The nosy thing. She wasn’t going to start micromanaging him now, was she?
‘I’m reminding myself to call Bree in the morning. Early. She goes riding at dawn.’ He slid his phone back into his shirt pocket. ‘Talking about riding… How’s the new horse? Taken him for a spin, yet?’
Her lips split into a full wattage smile that made him lean back in his chair, in awe of her beauty, the smile, and the incredible shine in her eyes. Deadset, she lit up the room like an outback sunrise—rare, wild, and impossible to ignore.
‘That good, huh?’ Surprised how calm he sounded. Hoping that the brand on her horse wasn’t tampered with, and was just an anomaly, because it’d be a shame to kill that smile of hers.
‘I had fun.’
‘Good. Let your hair down?’ Which he doubted it’d be on his watch, again. Not like last time…
‘Almost. Kind of.’ She giggled.
Amara Montrose giggled.
And he liked it.
Aw, come on, this rodeo ride of emotions had to stop. Didn’t help when she smiled like that, where those pillowy lips of hers only made her smile all the more illegal. It was outright criminal. And enough to get this bloke locked up.
But then she sobered up as she sat back, with the tension rolling off her.
He could practically hear her brain firing at full speed.
‘I need to go through the records from that auction.’ She spun her tablet around, scrolled across the screen to start her search for answers in cyberspace.
‘You won’t get Lydia until the morning.
‘I hate this… waiting.’ She then frowned at him. ‘Are you going to judge me?’
‘I already promised to be brutally honest with you when you moved in. That still okay with you?’
‘Yeah… As long as you don’t kiss me.’
‘But—’
‘Ah!’ She waved her hand, cutting him off. ‘Let’s not discuss it again.’
‘Fine. Spoilsport.’ Porter finished his nightly reports, gathered them up and dropped them into the in-tray beside Tanisha’s desk, all without leaving his chair.
He then pulled out a file that was thick and well used, and started work, noting she’d kept her distance from him. No doubt because of their kiss.
But he understood no, and as a lawman who’d dealt with plenty, he believed in the power of no, especially from a female.
He hadn’t planned to kiss her. So sue him if he was impulsive, and in this job, he’d learned to trust his instincts. And kissing Amara had felt right in that moment.
Good thing was she hadn’t slapped him in the face, reported him to his superior officer or HR, and hadn’t moved out.
Hmmm…
It also wasn’t like her to wait, either. Amara liked answers, immediate ones. And struggled with impatience.
So he went back to his file, expecting her to walk away.
But she didn’t.
So he kept on working, ignoring her. How long would it take her to talk? One minute, two…
‘What are you doing?’
A whole thirty seconds. A new record for her to maintain her silence.
‘I’m crocheting pot-plant holders so Tanisha’s cats can pull them apart. And we all know how cats love those balls of wool.’
She almost smiled. Almost. Only to let out a slow breath as if to control herself. ‘Are you working on that cold case that involves Dixby Downs?’
Porter leaned back. ‘I am. Why?’