Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Claire
I got into my truck and hit the steering wheel with the palm of my hand.
Dammit.
I hadn’t wanted this assignment. Not when it meant working with Mr. Hollywood.
And now, he was going to be staying at my ranch.
On top of having to work with him, I’d have to see him at breakfast every morning and at the guest dinners we held once a week.
There would be no real break from him, no escape.
I’d watched him today, after he’d sent me out.
My desk in the bullpen was angled just right to be able to keep an eye on his office.
He’d worked constantly, reading things over multiple times, making careful notes.
He never twitched or fidgeted or needed to get up and pace the room like I did.
He hadn’t been punishing me by being silent.
That was just who he was. Calm, capable, and clearly able to handle this investigation without me.
He was like a mirror, showing me my incompetence. My inexperience. How absolutely ridiculous it was for me to be a deputy sheriff—especially one investigating a high-profile homicide.
I’d done my best on the assignment he had given me, despite knowing it was pointless. He didn’t need me to find other potential victims; he had just wanted me out of his way while he dug into Katelyn Brown’s history.
I was a joke.
Tears pricked my eyes as the truth of it washed over me. That’s all I’d ever be, no matter how hard I tried to succeed at this job.
When I’d first told my parents I’d applied for the position, they’d both laughed. “Good one,” Dad had said, slapping me on my shoulder. It had taken me half an hour to make them realize I was serious, that I really wanted to work for Sheriff McGrath.
I’d understood their surprise. Sort of, anyway.
I’d always been a rebel, a girl who refused to fit into any mold anyone tried to put her in.
I was a tomboy who loved to rough it in the wilderness, but who also loved sparkly boots and rhinestones.
I was a wild soul who longed to see the world, but who’d chosen to stay put in one tiny corner of it—and who still lived in her parents’ house, despite being nearly thirty.
I’d also been on the wrong side of the law a time or two and then decided to make a career of law enforcement. Of course they’d thought it was a joke. But they didn’t understand me. Not really.
I stared at myself in the rearview mirror.
Did I even understand myself?
Why had I become a deputy? It was a question I’d asked myself more than once. The only answer I had was that I wanted to help people—and that answer rang true to my soul.
Joining the Sage County SAR team had been the best decision of my life, one that had given me purpose. We dedicated ourselves to helping people, saving lives, and putting families back together. That work felt good. It made me feel like I mattered. Like I was doing something important with my life.
Working on the ranch didn’t make me feel that way.
So when Sheriff McGrath had encouraged me to apply for the job, I’d jumped at it, hoping for the same purpose I’d found in search and rescue.
But giving out speeding tickets and breaking up bar fights wasn’t anything like performing a successful rescue mission.
Plus, I was still working part time at the ranch—and still living with my parents.
And they weren’t any prouder of me than they’d been before.
Sometimes I wasn’t sure why I was still doing any of it.
I snuck inside the house, somehow managing to avoid being seen despite hearing at least three of my siblings laughing in the kitchen. I had a brewing headache and was desperate for a hot shower.
While the water heated, I took a hard look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Almost a year later, the stiff deputy’s uniform still looked strange on me.
Men like Trey wore it well, as much as I hated to admit it.
It added to their authority and suited their natural build.
On me, it felt awkward, like I was playing dress up.
I couldn’t wait to shed it every single day.
Off came the uniform, and I stepped into the spray of hot water, sighing in relief.
My mind drifted to the investigation as I lathered up with my favorite coconut-scented body wash.
The uniform might have felt pretend, but this case wasn’t.
If I wanted to help people, here was a chance to do it—and maybe prove to myself that I was in the right profession after all.
Or fail miserably and prove I was as much of a joke as everyone thought I was.
When the water turned cold, I shut off the faucet and stepped out, wiping the steam from the mirror.
I pulled my hair out the bun I always wore to work, sighing in relief with every bobby pin I removed.
My curls never looked great after being forcibly held back all day, but that was what cowboy hats were for.
I toweled off and slipped into faded jeans and an aqua flannel shirt.
Then I pulled on the soft leather boots that fit me like a glove, appreciating how comfortable they felt compared to the shoes I wore with my uniform.
The uniform shoes were supposed to be the better ones, made for running after the bad guys that didn’t actually exist in Wildwood. But to me, they felt clunky and odd.
Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I belonged on the ranch after all. I loved the ranch—loved the horses, the wide-open spaces, even the smell of the barn.
I couldn’t explain why the thought of spending my life here felt so damn suffocating.
By the time I made it downstairs, everyone else had already headed outside to the area where we hosted the guest meals.
It was a casual space, with hay bales for people to sit on and rustic buffet tables where Mom served up meals.
But the views were spectacular, especially at this time of day with the glow of the setting sun highlighting the majesty of the Bighorn mountains.
The sight of them could sweep you right off your feet.
“Claire!” Mom called from where she was already dishing up chili from the buffet. Her long red hair was gathered back in a messy knot. She grinned at me, looking as fresh-faced as always, with only the sunscreen and lip gloss she donned every day.
I headed straight for her. “Hey, Mom.”
“I saw the news this afternoon,” she said under her breath as she ladled chili into a bowl for the kid in front of her. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”
“Because I couldn’t,” I said, already uncomfortable. “We have to keep everything quiet until we have an ID.”
I hadn’t even known that the find had made the news, but I supposed it was stupid to think the local reporters wouldn’t notice the flurry of activity from multiple official vehicles heading to the scene.
“I’m your mother,” she scolded. “You could have told me. I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I raised my eyebrows. Right. She wouldn’t have told a soul—except for everyone she knew. Mom was great at a lot of things. Keeping secrets wasn’t one of them.
She saw my expression and gave me a sheepish look. “ Anyway , we booked a new guest today—a Vance Weston. When he asked for an open-ended booking, I figured he was involved somehow. I Googled him. He’s a special agent from Wyoming DCI. Isn’t that amazing? Maybe you can meet him.”
“We’ve already met,” I said, trying to avoid her gaze.
“Oh, so he’s already here!”
“He is. I’ll be his partner on the case.”
She gasped. “Claire! That’s wonderful. Did he pick you?”
I shook my head. “Sheriff McGrath did.”
“Oh. Well, that’s still great. Kind of like a promotion.” She seemed hopeful.
I sighed, unable to fake a smile. “All I know is my job is about to get a lot more complicated.”
“I bet.” She gave me a look of genuine sympathy.
But I barely saw it. Because all I saw was him strolling up the driveway toward the yard. He’d shown up, despite the many prayers I’d offered in my truck, hoping he wouldn’t.
I shot him a look, tilting my head toward Mom with a subtle shake. Warning him. Willing him to walk away.
He didn’t. He walked toward us with a swagger, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, and he’d ditched the badge and service weapon.
Though I had no doubt he had a weapon hidden somewhere.
“Hey, Hawkins.” His rich voice rang out over the crowd.
I closed my eyes and grimaced.
Mom turned to see who had called my name. Her jaw dropped when she saw him. “Who is that delicious man?” she murmured.
By the way his mouth turned up in a smirk, I knew he’d heard.
I took a deep breath as he approached, then forced a smile. “Mom, this is Agent Weston. Agent Weston, this is my mom, Naomi Hawkins.”
He removed his sunglasses, sticking them into his front pocket, and took her hand smoothly. “Call me Vance.”
“Vance Weston, of course.” A wide grin spread on her face. “I recognize the name from our records. You booked cabin four.”
“That’s right.” He nodded. “Your other daughter—Beth, is it?—got me checked in and settled a few minutes ago. Deputy Hawkins invited me to dinner tonight. I hope that’s okay.”
“Well, of course it is,” she said, her smile growing wider as she flicked her eyes from him to me, then back again.
I could see the wheels turning and knew exactly what she was thinking.
She gestured at the lawn. “Any time we have a meal out here, it’s open to all the guests. We do breakfast and lunch every day and dinner once a week. But since you’re working with Claire, please feel free to join us in the house for family dinner anytime.”
I smacked my forehead with my palm, stifling a groan.
“I just might do that. Thank you.” Vance grinned at me like we were sharing a joke—only I didn’t find it particularly funny.
“Here you go,” I said, grabbing a bowl and dipping out a generous portion of chili for him. I shoved it and a wrapped cornbread muffin into his hands with a pointed look. “I’m sure you’re starved. You can find a seat anywhere. Enjoy your night.”
“Oh, go with him, Claire,” Mom said, quickly making a second bowl for me. “Don’t make him eat alone. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, with the case and all. Plus, you can help give him the lay of the land.”
“I’m sure he’d rather have some privacy,” I began.
But Mom glared at me and he kept grinning like he knew I was in a bind and had no intention of helping me out of it.
“Fine,” I said, giving Mom my sweetest fake smile. “Save me some apple pie?”
“Of course.” She beamed at me.
I took the chili from her hands and stalked off, telling myself for the thousandth time that I absolutely had to move out and get a place of my own.