6. Ledger #2
She stops crying and looks at me, confused. “What?”
“Do you have your things?”She frowns and points to the bag next to the door.
“Get your gun and your bag, please,” I tell her calmly.
She listens, doing exactly what I said, though struggling to stand up straight. I hope he didn’t completely break her ribs this time.
I back out of the room to the threshold of the door, and gesture with my chin for Shiloh to go ahead.
This is a bad idea. I’m aware of this. But I can’t let him win. She can’t pay the price for a piece of shit not worth scraping off my boot.
“Hey! What are you doing? I’m dying here!” Grey yells.
I look him in the eye as he struggles to sit up. “You will call 911 in five minutes. You will not bleed out. If I hear anything other than this was a self-inflicted accident, you will not like the consequences,” I say sternly.
He glowers, and I toss the phone close enough that he can reach, but he’ll have to wiggle himself over to it. Then again, real men would stand up and get it.
I close the door behind me, and Shiloh stands on the porch, frozen with silent tears streaming down her face.
I grab her elbow, hurrying her down to my truck, and she doesn’t say a word.
I don’t have anything to say to her.
I shouldn’t have done it. I should have called it in.
But I couldn’t.
She doesn’t deserve that.
But if she’s lying, I don’t deserve to lose my career either.
Shiloh stays quiet, hugging herself closely.
Her wild blonde hair is a mess, and her skin seems pale, but it’s dark out, so it could be the light or the adrenaline fading.
Or she could be in a lot of pain. I’m willing to bet the latter is more likely, seeing as he hit her again less than 48 hours later.
“Do you need to go to the clinic?” I ask her.
“No, it just hurts. He hit me in the face. He didn’t get my ribs,” she whispers.
I force a deep, calming breath into my lungs so I don’t turn the truck around, and shoot him between the eyes.
Now I have to ask her the hard questions.
“I know you wanted to get yours, and you did, but why are you pushing for more?” I ask her.
“I wasn’t but … I wanted to mess with him a bit more. He’s usually not around this time a night, so I thought I was safe.”
“And you’re telling me the truth?” I ask her, pulling the truck over.
She glares at me and shakes like a leaf at the same time.
“He is an asshole and deserves the worst of things. But no, I did not go in there pointing a gun at him to kill him. It was …” She takes a deep breath and bursts into tears.
“It was an accident, and I didn’t mean to do it, and there was so much blood.
You’re taking me in, right? I understand.
It’s fine. I did it. I’ll own up to it.” She sniffs and looks out the window, and I realize I have no idea where I’m taking her.
“Where do you live?” I ask her.
“What?” she asks.
“Where do you live now?” I ask her again, but slower.
“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a child, Ledger.”
“Then don’t act like one.”
“You know what? Screw you! This was an accident. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I wanted to make him rue the day he did … what he did.”
I glance at her bag, with a few rolls of toilet paper poking out of the top.
“And teepeeing his house is all you could come up with?” I ask her.
She huffs and leans against the door, wincing in the process. “I’m sorry you have better ideas that won’t get me arrested?”
I lick my lips, trying to contain my smile. “Now, how do you think that would go over? The sheriff who enforces the law gives the criminal ideas on how to break said laws he enforces.”
I don’t have to look her in the eye to know she’s rolling them. I keep driving, then realize I have no idea where she parked her car. Hell, for all I know, she walked.
“Are you going to arrest me?” she whispers.
“No? Why would I? I didn’t see a thing,” I mutter.
“But—”
“Shiloh, take it for what it is. This puts everything I’ve ever worked for on the line, but … just accept it,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road though I’m finding myself curious about the look on her face right now.
“Why?” she asks.
“What?”
“Why would you do this for me? You’ve tried to help me. I heard you were asking around. You know what I did, but I’m not in cuffs.”
“Do you want me to put you in cuffs?” I ask her and realize my mistake. That is not how I meant it, but the corner of her mouth tips up and she looks away.
I’d like to tell her what I think of Grey and how I’d like to make sure he gets good old fashion western justice, even though she accidentally exacted some of her own, but I don’t because if she talked to anyone about tonight it could sink both of us.
I’ve worked really hard for my position and the last thing I need to do is make Paxton look soft on crime.
“Where did you park Shiloh?” I ask her.
“Ten minutes the other way,” she says.
I groan and turn the truck around, heading back towards Grey’s. I pull a rag from the back and hand it to her. “Wipe your hands off.”
“Not Grey’s street, but the next one and three blocks down,” she says.
I follow her directions and come to a stop at an old 90s Jeep Wrangler.
“Thanks, Ledger. I — thank you,” she whispers.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
I probably shouldn’t let her out of my sight. I should be making a plan. A cover-up was not on my list of things to do today, or ever, but I started this.
“I think so,” she says, and gets herself out of the truck.
I wait for her to start it and drive away, and follow her to make sure she gets home okay.
But as we drive through town, close to the station, I realize she’d been living with Grey. She doesn’t have a place.
Shiloh pulls into Ella’s Inn. She’s living at the Inn.
That bastard is the one who should have given her the house when they broke up. But I can’t say I’m surprised either.
I pull in next to her and roll down the window.
“You didn’t have to follow me, you’re making me look bad,” she says with a half smile, and angles her head towards a group of people standing in front of their rooms with the doors wide open.
I don’t like this, and I don’t like that she’s here with them, alone with a bit of blood still on her face.
“Sorry I’m ruining your street cred, but are you sure you’re alright?”
None of this feels right. “Oh, I’ll be just fine, sheriff,” she says and lifts her shirt.
I raise a brow. “You sure you know how to use that? I’m not convinced.”
She sighs and her shoulders drop. “I’ve got it, Ledger, thank you,” she says. And I don’t know why hearing her say my name again does something to me, but it does, and it’s odd.
She walks up the stairs and disappears into her room.
The police officer in me says something doesn’t feel right. But the man who was raised by Dixie Hayes says, don’t you dare let that girl figure this out on her own. When someone needs help, you help them. That simple, and I did. I did the exact opposite of what I should have. But she needed help.
But maybe the bigger question is: Does she want help?