Chapter Five
Blaze
Istop by the Sheriff's Office to talk to Dillon on my way to Burkett's. As soon as Dillon sees me step into the closet that he swears is an office, he sighs so loud that I feel his breath across the room.
"It's ten in the morning, Blaze," he mutters, eyeing me from beneath the brim of his hat. "I don't want to do whatever bullshit you're here to try to convince me to do."
"Too bad, you prick. You wanted this job."
"Literally no one wants this job," he growls. "You assholes just won't stop electing me."
"You ever thought about, I don't know, not running if you don't want to be elected?" I ask, leaning against his door with a grin.
"Motherfucker, I haven't put my name on a ballot for the last two elections. And somehow, here I am." He flings his hands out to indicate his office.
"So…campaign to not be elected next time."
"You…" He pauses, frowning. And then his face breaks out in a shit-eating grin. "That might be the smartest goddamn thing you've ever said."
I just chuckle, shaking my head. He loves his job, even if he'll never admit it. Hell will literally freeze over before he leaves the protection of this town in someone else's hands. But he's Dillon, so he's going to bitch about it. It's what he does.
"Why are you here?"
"You mean aside from coming to solve your election problems?" I smirk at him. "I came to solve another one."
"If you're here to tell me that you're the reason there are currently dicks popping up all over downtown, I may shoot you," he warns me.
I glance down at my cock then at him, chuckling. "Uh…no? My dick isn't popping up all over town." I leave out the part about it popping up all over the damn ranch this morning. My cock, my business.
"Not yours, you idiot. Someone is dicking the town." He holds up a picture. Sure enough, it's a cock, standing straight up in a planter outside the flower shop. "We've been getting calls all week."
"It's not me," I say, laughing. "I'm here about Roger Burkett, not about your cock problem."
He drops the photo onto his desk. "What about him?"
"Morgan Lott didn't steal the jewelry that he said she stole. He's running some sort of insurance scam."
Dillon eyes me levelly over his cluttered desk. "And you know this how?"
"If I tell you, I want a guarantee that she isn't going to jail until I have a chance to prove it," I mutter.
He opens his mouth and then snaps it closed. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask if she's yours. It's written all over your damn face," he says with a heavy sigh. "She's at the ranch?"
"I want a guarantee, Armstrong," I growl, ignoring everything else he said. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the way my heart is beating out of my chest for her. I'm not sharing the news with him. The whole damn town will know before lunch.
I have a feeling that won't help my case any. If she runs because everyone in town is nosy as fuck, I'm going to lose it.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "Of course I'm not going to haul her in if she's innocent."
I relax slightly.
"What do you know?"
"Not much," I admit. "I found her sleeping in the barn.
She's terrified she's going to go to prison for this and swears she didn't do it.
I believe her. Flint thinks Burkett hired her because he assumed people would take his word over hers when he pulled his little scheme.
And she says she thinks he's done it before. "
"Does she have any proof?"
"Not that I know of," I mutter.
Dillon jerks his chin in a nod. "It'll be easy enough to look into. The insurance companies will have records of payouts, which means a paper trail."
"You'll look into it?"
"I just said I would, didn't I?" He glowers at me. "I may need to speak to her, though."
"Dammit." I scrub a hand down my face. "Can you at least give me a few days to ease her into the idea? She may bolt if you show up now. She's scared, man." And I'm going to lose my mind if she runs. Literally lose it.
"You found her sleeping in the barn?"
"Yeah."
His expression softens. "I'll give you a few days while I look into this. I'd rather bring that prick down anyway. He gets on my fucking nerves."
"Who doesn't get on your nerves?"
"My wife, my kids, and like three other people in town." He smirks at me. "You aren't one of them."
I flip him off, which makes him chuckle. "You going to arrest me if I go to Burkett's to pick up all of her shit?"
"You going to cause problems while you're there?"
"Probably."
He throws his head back, laughing. "You're supposed to lie, motherfucker."
"What's the point of that? If he pisses me off, I'm going to cause problems. And the odds of him pissing me off are high." Because of him, she was sleeping in a stall in the barn. I'm mad as hell about it.
Dillon shakes his head, climbing to his feet. "I'll escort you. It's better than staring at these goddamn dick pics, trying to figure out which of you assholes is fucking with me this time."
"Uh, you know that's not a dick pic, right?"
"It's a dick, and I've got a picture. It's a dick pic," he growls.
I don't argue. Not my cock, not my problem.
When we pull up outside of Burkett's, I kind of want to burn his place to the ground just on principle. The bastard lives in a mansion big enough to house about fifteen barns. His lawn is perfectly landscaped, not a single blade of grass out of place. Even the fucking bushes are carved into shapes.
He's living in the lap of luxury, lying and cheating just because he can, while Morgan is sleeping in a stall, terrified out of her mind because of him.
Unfortunately for me, he isn't home. His new maid is, though.
As soon as she sees Dillon behind me, her face pales. She tries to argue about letting us in—probably on orders from her asshole boss—but her arguments die quickly when I explain why we're there.
She reluctantly leads us to the small apartment where Morgan stayed. My blood pressure climbs when I see it. The goddamn thing is the size of a closet. Everything she owns is in boxes, shoved into a corner.
That prick doesn't even have the decency to give his staff space to breathe, while he lives alone in a mansion big enough to fit a quarter of the town.
It takes me and Dillon all of ten minutes to load her stuff in the back of my truck. I'm on my way back to the ranch in another ten, hoping like hell that she's still there when I get there.
My heart is beating out of my chest when I pull up outside the cabin to find her on the front porch.
Jesus.
She stayed.
"Hey," I drawl when she hurries down the steps toward me.
"Hi," she whispers.
"I got your stuff."
She peeks into the back of the truck, her face lighting up. Christ, she's beautiful. So fucking beautiful, it hurts to look at her.
"You're the nicest kidnapper I've ever met," she says, beaming at me.
My goddamn knees go weak.
"Uh…how many kidnappers have you met?" I ask, my voice gritty.
She thinks about it and then laughs, the sweet sound bouncing across the yard. "Just you, I guess. Well, there was this one guy who was…" She trails off, her laughter dying.
"Tell me."
She hesitates. "Uh, he was in prison with my dad. I met him once." Her gaze stays firmly on the boxes in the back of the truck. "He says he didn't do it, but I guess they all say that, huh?"
"Look at me, Calamity."
She shakes her head.
"Look at me, baby."
She turns reluctantly, her gaze meeting mine.
"I knew about your dad before I offered you a home here," I murmur. "It doesn't change anything. My dad was in prison, too."
"Really? Why?"
"Drugs."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too." I tip her head back, meeting her gaze. "You aren't him, just like I'm not my dad, okay?"
"Okay," she whispers.
I want to kiss her again. Actually, I want to fucking devour her, just lick into her mouth and keep going until neither of us can breathe.
What is she doing to me? More importantly…what the fuck am I going to do about it? I've never wanted this before. I never even considered it. Love and happily-ever-after are just fairytales, meant for people who still believe in shit like that.
I've never believed in it, not after watching my mom spend her entire life loving a man who never loved her the way she deserved. No matter how many times he broke her heart and let him down, she still kept waiting for him, kept holding out hope that this time, he actually meant it.
He never did.
I refused to be him. I refused to be her, too. I just decided fairytales and happily ever after didn't exist. Love and marriage and all that shit were meant for other people, not me.
Except…they feel a whole helluva lot like they might be meant for me right now.
Fuck.
I curve my hand around Morgan's jaw, preparing to kiss her. But I see this split second of panic in her eyes, like she's ready to bolt. Fucking hell.
I brush my lips across her forehead instead, and then step back, giving her a little space. I need her to want to run to me, not away. Until she's ready to give me that, I can't push her. If I do, I'll only push her away.
"I'll carry your stuff in," I mutter, grabbing the first box.
"T-thank you," she whispers, her voice shaking.