21. Eric #2
I hadn’t admitted that part to myself until just now. My subconscious had been saving it for maximum impact.
The thought landed hard enough that I found myself staring at nothing for several long seconds, wondering why one woman’s opinion suddenly mattered this much.
Did she hate me now?
Probably. If I were in her shoes, I wasn’t sure I’d be sending myself Christmas cards either.
Could I blame her?
Not really. She’d looked at me with complete trust last night. This morning I’d asked her to turn around before putting handcuffs on her. Perspective mattered.
I stared out the window a little longer. The bakery door opened again. Someone wheeled a stroller past. Life continued with infuriating efficiency while my brain stubbornly refused to move on.
The kiss replayed itself anyway. My memory had become a terrible roommate, insisting on rewatching the same scene over and over despite repeated requests to change the channel.
Her hands on my face. Warm. Slightly trembling. Determined in that wonderfully reckless Hartwell way that somehow managed to ignore every logical reason not to do something.
The way she’d looked at me afterward, equal parts surprised and delighted, like she couldn’t quite believe she’d actually done it. Truthfully… neither could I.
Then the image shifted.
Handcuffs. Tears she refused to let fall. She’d blinked them back before anyone else could notice. She probably thought she was hiding them. She wasn’t.
Her asking about the animals instead of herself.
Not once had she asked if she was going to jail.
She’d only asked about the animals. Not her record.
Not the charges. Not her job. Just one stubborn little goat and the rest of the trailer full of creatures she’d somehow decided were worth risking everything for.
That was the part I couldn’t stop thinking about—not because it excused what she’d done but because it explained exactly who she was.
I shook my head slowly. “You’re impossible, Hartwell.”
The frustrating part was that I understood exactly why she’d done it. And that made doing my job a whole lot harder than it had been yesterday.
A knock sounded against my office door, jerking me away from my thoughts.
I turned around. “Come in.”
Jenna stepped inside carrying a manila file tucked under one arm.
She shut the door behind her and then leaned against it instead of crossing the room.
One boot hooked casually over the other, like she planned on being here for a minute.
That was never a promising sign. Jenna only leaned when she intended to have a conversation instead of delivering paperwork.
She didn’t say anything, which was unusual. Jenna generally averaged at least one sarcastic remark every thirty seconds. The silence meant she’d already formed an opinion.
I sighed. I’d seen that expression before. “Why the look?” I figured I’d save us both some time.
“What look?” She managed to keep a perfectly straight face. She’d always been a terrible liar. Mostly because she enjoyed getting caught.
“The one that says you’re about to tell me I’m an idiot.”
She shrugged. “If the shoe fits.” Not even a hint of apology. Just quiet confidence. She’d arrived with conclusions already prepared.
I let out a tired breath. “I’ve had a long morning.”
“So has Sophie.” She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t soften it. Just dropped Hartwell’s name into the room like evidence marked Exhibit A.
I watched her. “Is that it?”
“You were an ass.” She said it with the same tone she’d use to tell me it’d probably rain later—calm, matter-of-fact, and completely convinced of the forecast.
I narrowed my eyes. “I was doing my job.” I heard the defensiveness in my own voice immediately. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t seem to stop it either.
“No.” She crossed her arms. “You did your job. And then you were an ass.”
“Those are two different things.” At least they were in my head. One involved legal procedure. The other involved… interpersonal skills, a category I’d never claimed mastery over. “I arrested someone who stole a truck.” Facts seemed like the safest place to stand.
“You arrested a woman trying to save some animals.” She didn’t blink. “The handler isn’t pressing charges.”
“I know.” I’d signed the paperwork myself. Three times. Bureaucracy loved duplicates.
“Dr. Keller offered to keep the animals until the handler figures something else out.”
“I know.” Keller had been surprisingly persuasive. Probably helped that half the clinic staff had already fallen in love with Bandit within ten minutes.
“And Sophie spent the entire time in that holding cell worrying about those animals.”
“I know.” Every time I answered those two words, they sounded a little less convincing. Like maybe I understood the facts without understanding why they bothered me so much.
Jenna pointed toward the bullpen outside. “She didn’t ask about herself once. Just the animals.” She studied me for another second. “So why couldn’t you answer her?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Because I couldn’t.” The answer sounded flimsy even to me.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I couldn’t.”
“There’s a difference?” She tilted her head slightly.
“There is to me.” Maybe not to anyone else. But once I’d decided to stay inside the role of sheriff, I couldn’t step halfway out of it because she looked at me with those eyes.
She let that sit for a moment, long enough that the silence became part of the conversation. Then she sighed. “I watched you two last night.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
“The festival.” She smiled faintly. “I saw the dance.” Her smile widened enough to tell me she knew exactly where this was going. “I saw the kiss too.” She delivered that one almost cheerfully.
“I don’t want to talk about that.” There were approximately seventeen other subjects I’d happily discuss first. Budget reports. Parking citations. Tax policy.
“Too bad.” She smiled. “I outrank you in nosiness.” She looked entirely pleased with herself.
“That’s not how rank works.”
“It does today.” Without missing a beat.
A tiny laugh escaped me, more out of surrender than amusement. I couldn’t help it.
Jenna pointed a finger at me. “There he is.” Her expression softened immediately.
“Who?”
“The guy who likes her.”
“I don’t.” Reflex. Automatic. Entirely unconvincing.
She waited—didn’t argue, didn’t interrupt, just waited me out with the patience of someone who already knew the ending.
I looked back at her. “Okay, fine. I do.” There. Out loud. Somehow saying it made it considerably more real than thinking it ever had.
“I know you do. It’s written all over your face.” Jenna smiled like she’d just finished a particularly satisfying crossword puzzle.
I sighed. “It doesn’t matter.” Feelings and practical decisions rarely occupied the same room for long.
“Why not?”
“Because it won’t work.” I’d already listed the reasons to myself a dozen times. They hadn’t become less logical.
Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Why?” She genuinely wanted to hear me say it.
“We’re total opposites.” I gestured vaguely into the hallway. “She steals livestock. I enforce laws. She jumps first. I think first. She creates chaos, and I spend my days cleaning it up.” It seemed like a fairly comprehensive list.
Jenna nodded thoughtfully. “So?” She looked genuinely puzzled, which made my own argument sound weaker.
I spread my hands. “How exactly is that supposed to work?” I wanted an answer. Because from where I stood, it looked like a recipe for professional disaster with a side order of emotional exhaustion.
A grin slowly spread across her face.
“Eric.”
“What?”
“Opposites attract.” She said it like she’d uncovered an ancient universal truth.
I rolled my eyes. “That’s a refrigerator magnet.”
“It’s also true.”
I shook my head. “No.” Mostly because admitting otherwise felt dangerous.
“No?”
“No.” I held the line with all the conviction of a man standing ankle-deep in rising water insisting everything was perfectly dry.
“You’re really going with denial?”
“I’m going with reality.” Or at least the version of reality that required significantly less emotional risk.
She laughed and walked toward the door. Her hand settled on the knob as she looked back one last time. “You did the right thing arresting her.”
I nodded once. “I know.” At least intellectually.
“But…” She smiled gently. “You handled everything after that like a sheriff.” She let the words hang there. “You forgot to be Eric.” She opened the door. “You should probably fix that.” Then she gave me one last knowing smile just as the door clicked shut behind her.
I stood there alone, staring at the empty doorway. Funny how one person could leave a room and still somehow occupy all of it.
Fix that.
The words echoed through my head.
Jenna was right.
I’d done my job. But somewhere between arresting Hartwell and putting her in that cell, I’d forgotten how to be myself.
It was time to fix that.