26. Eric
ERIC
Ibalanced another fence board against the post before driving one last nail into place. The wood settled flush against the support with a satisfying thud before the nail sank home.
Satisfied, I stepped back and wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. My shoulders ached from hauling lumber most of the afternoon, but it was the good kind of tired. The kind where you could actually see what your work accomplished.
A flash of movement caught my attention. I looked up just as the goat ran across the pen, bouncing up and down as he went.
I frowned. That is a strange one. I didn’t feel like chasing him down if he hopped the fence. I turned around to see where he was going—
And froze.
Hartwell stood twenty feet away, one hand still hanging uselessly at her side, the other clutching her car keys so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
Her chest rose and fell a little too quickly, like she’d run the last hundred yards.
Her blue eyes slowly moved across the pasture, to the animals, the new shelter, the feeding bins, everything all at once.
I’d been so focused on my work, I hadn’t even heard her pull up my driveway.
And Hartwell now appeared completely speechless.
I wasn’t entirely sure that had ever happened before. I’d seen her talk through panic, embarrassment, excitement, and even exhaustion. Genuine surprise was the one thing capable of shutting her up.
The goat kept bounding toward the fence, his tail wagging furiously before he stuck his nose through the rails as far as physically possible.
Sophie just stood there, like her brain simply couldn’t catch up with what she was seeing. I watched as confusion spread across her face, and something inside my chest loosened.
I set down the hammer, and it landed in the grass beside the toolbox. “I figured…” I began carefully, “this was probably easier than letting them disappear.”
She didn’t answer. Just walked toward the fence, slowly, like she was afraid the whole thing might vanish if she moved too fast.
The goat stretched farther through the rails until she finally reached him.
The second her fingers disappeared into the white fur behind his ears, he practically melted against the fence. His eyes drifted shut in complete contentment.
A shaky breath escaped her.
I waited.
She still didn’t say anything.
I’d interviewed enough people over the years to recognize shock, a complete emotional overload. Sometimes people yelled. Sometimes they cried. And sometimes they simply ran out of words.
I cleared my throat. “I owe you an apology.”
Her hand stopped for half a second and then continued scratching behind the goat’s ears.
“I handled today badly,” I continued. The words felt strange coming out of my mouth. Sheriffs apologized all the time, usually on behalf of paperwork delays, road closures, power outages, and things outside our control.
This? This was different. This one belonged entirely to me.
“I had to arrest you.” My voice stayed calm. “I don’t regret doing my job.”
I looked out toward the pasture. The larger alpaca had already found the hay with the miniature donkey. The smaller female alpaca appeared to be supervising everyone from a respectful distance.
“But I regret everything after,” I added finally.
Her head snapped up, and our eyes met.
I sighed through my nose. “I should’ve listened.
” I shoved both hands into my jeans pockets.
“I should’ve let you explain.” My jaw tightened.
“I’ve spent a lot of years putting this badge first.” Long enough that admitting it out loud felt strangely uncomfortable.
Long enough that it had become habit instead of a decision.
“Most days, it has to come first. But not every time.”
There were some people, some moments, when doing the job right also meant remembering a person was standing in front of the badge.
And I’d forgotten that.
My eyes found hers again. “Not when it costs the people that matter.”
I let the words sit between us for a second.
“They teach you in this job to stay objective. Don’t get too close.
Don’t let emotions make your decisions for you.
” I glanced down at the grass before looking back at her.
“Most of the time, that’s good advice.” I rubbed the back of my neck.
“But somewhere along the way…” I exhaled quietly.
“I got too comfortable letting the badge make every decision.”
The admission didn’t come easily.
“It was simpler that way. Cleaner.” I shrugged once.
“If I treated every situation exactly the same, I never had to wonder if I’d made the right call.
” I looked out across the pasture, watching Theo lazily nose through a pile of hay.
“The problem is... people aren’t all the same.
” My jaw tightened. “I’ve made that mistake before.
There’ve been people in my life who deserved more from me than a sheriff.
” I stared toward the fence I’d spent the afternoon repairing.
“People who needed me to put the badge down for five minutes and just listen.” I swallowed. “I didn’t.”
The breeze stirred through the trees, filling the silence again.
Sophie lifted the back of her hand and quickly brushed at one eye before returning her attention to Bandit.
“I told myself I was doing the right thing. That the job came first.” I shook my head once. “Maybe it did.” I looked back at her. “But not every single time. Sometimes the job isn’t what people remember. They remember whether you showed up for them.”
My eyes drifted to Bandit, who was leaning so hard into Sophie’s hand that he looked in danger of falling over.
“I’ve spent a lot of years trying to be a good sheriff.” I met her eyes. “But I don’t want that to come at the cost of being a good man.”
Silence settled between us again, stretching out in that strange way silence sometimes did when it wasn’t awkward anymore, just full of things neither person quite knew how to say.
Sophie sniffed, still petting the goat, her fingers absently scratching behind his ears like she’d forgotten anyone else was standing there.
But still saying nothing.
I smiled just a little. It happened before I could stop it. “Does he have a name?”
“Bandit,” she said finally. “He steals things.”
I glanced toward the goat, who looked suspiciously innocent for someone with an established criminal record. Bandit chose that exact second to steal the sleeve of Hartwell’s sweater, confirming the charges without even attempting a defense.
I cocked a brow. “Makes sense.”
A tiny laugh escaped her, almost like it surprised her as much as it did me. It was barely there, but it was something.
“And the alpacas?” I asked, hoping to keep her going. “Do they have names too?”
“Theo is the big male.”
“The other one?”
“Daisy.”
I looked around the pasture, mentally taking attendance like I was somehow responsible for the world’s most dysfunctional preschool.
“And the donkey?”
She smiled through suspiciously watery eyes. “I haven’t figured that one out yet.” She shrugged. “Names are important. I don’t want to rush these things.”
I laughed, the kind that showed up before I had a chance to decide whether I was supposed to be acting like the sheriff or just…me.
But then, Sophie laughed too.
The sound floated across the pasture, light and warm and completely different from the tears she’d been fighting only moments earlier. It carried on the breeze for a second before disappearing, leaving behind the kind of quiet that somehow felt brighter than before.
Bandit looked between us and bleated once, probably because he felt left out.
Sophie rubbed one hand across her eyes before looking back at me and taking a slow breath first. “Why?”
I knew exactly what she meant. I looked out across the pasture, giving myself a second before answering. The new fence. Fresh lumber. The little shelter. Four animals already making themselves at home like they’d been here for years instead of roughly twenty-four hours. “I had the space.”
She watched me carefully. “That’s not an answer.”
My eyes followed the donkey as it wandered into the little barn and investigated a pile of fresh straw with serious concentration, like conducting an official inspection.
“I’ve always liked animals. My grandfather had a farm.
I spent every summer there growing up, mucking stalls before breakfast, tossing hay, filling water troughs, fixing fences that somehow always needed fixing.
” I chuckled. “My grandfather used to say farm animals were honest. They didn’t care what you did for a living or whether you’d had a bad day.
Give them food, clean water, shelter, and respect, and they’d trust you. ”
My eyes darted to the barn, checking it the way my grandfather had taught me decades ago.
Plenty of fresh straw. Good ventilation.
No sharp nails sticking out. Water bucket in the right place.
It wasn’t something I had to think about anymore.
It was just… there, buried somewhere in muscle memory.
“And my place has been really quiet for too long. I guess I got used to it. Doesn’t mean I had to like it.
” I looked back at her. “And after meeting this bunch…”
Bandit picked that exact moment to headbutt the water bucket hard enough to tip it over. Water splashed everywhere.
I smiled. “I had a feeling things weren’t going to stay quiet.”
Sophie laughed again, a little easier this time, the sound lingering longer. She looked at me and said, “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yes, I do,” she pressed.
Bandit had wandered over to Theo, nudging the alpaca’s leg until Theo finally acknowledged him with what looked like reluctant acceptance.
Daisy stood nearby, pretending not to be part of the group while making absolutely no effort to walk away.
Even the donkey had positioned himself close enough to keep an eye on everyone else.
“They’ve already sorted themselves out,” I said. “Animals do that. They decide who’s part of the herd.” I glanced at Bandit. “I figured it wasn’t my place to break that up.”
Sophie looked back toward the animals, her expression softening.
“I remembered what you said,” I told her. “You weren’t worried about yourself. You were worried about them.”
She looked down, a faint smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.
“I listened,” I said quietly. “Just a little later than I should’ve. I figured...” I looked back toward the pasture. “If I was going to do this, I should do it right.”
I stepped closer, close enough to see the tiny freckles across her nose and the way her eyes were still a little pink around the edges.
My fingers gently found hers where they rested against the fence, brushing against them first before threading between them.
She didn’t pull away.
“I didn’t just do it for them,” I said, keeping her close, my thumb brushing lightly across the back of her hand, almost without thinking.
Her eyes slowly lifted to meet mine.
I smiled and said, “I did it for you too.”
And for the first time since I’d snapped those handcuffs around her wrists, I didn’t want her walking away from me again.