Chapter Eight
Wade
"Jessup."
I glance up from contemplating the stain in the middle of the cement floor to see Dillon Armstrong standing outside my cell, his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. He looks mad as hell.
Fuck.
I haul myself off the stone bench lining the back wall. "Hey, Dillon."
"You want to tell me why the fuck you're in my holding tank?"
"Broke Danny Palmer's nose again." I yank my hat from my head, running a hand through my hair. "He decided to be a little bitch about it and press charges."
"You broke his nose, Jessup. Did you expect a thank you?"
"I expected him to keep his mouth shut about my girl," I mutter. "He refused."
Dillon sighs so hard, I'm surprised he doesn't stroke out. "Of course this is about a woman. Harlow Spencer, right?"
I narrow my eyes on him. "What about her?"
"She must like your dumbass because she bailed you out."
"She what?" I blink, not sure I heard him correctly.
"She bailed your dumbass out," he said. "Frankly, I'd have left you in here. But that's just me."
Jesus Christ. She bailed me out? I want to kiss and spank her at the same damn time. That isn't her responsibility, especially when she's already struggling.
Dillon leans against the bars of the cell, clearly in no rush to let me go. "He's been causing problems at the Spur?"
"He's jealous that she wouldn't give him the time of day."
He eyes me for a long, silent moment, and then shakes his head, chuckling.
"You've always been a stubborn son of a bitch, Jessup.
But how about you do us both a favor and cut the bullshit this time?
I can't help you if you don't help me. We both know damn well that you and Palmer had issues long before your girl entered the picture. So, talk."
I hesitate and then mutter a curse. "I worked at his ranch for a while a few years back.
The prick sent me to buy a tractor off a guy, and failed to mention that the fucker was stolen," I say.
"When I found out and confronted him about it, he casually reminded me that I'm the one who bought it, not him, and that I'd do well to keep my mouth shut.
He then told everyone on the goddamn ranch that I set up the deal. "
"Jesus Christ," Dillon mutters.
"I hit him and then quit on the spot. Been at the Carringtons' place since."
"Why the fuck didn't you come to me?"
"Because there was a ranch full of other motherfuckers for him to blame," I say.
"And the only proof I had was a cowboy with a record who heard him setting up the deal in the first place.
Figured it was better to keep my mouth shut than for him to point the finger at any of them.
You've been sheriff long enough to know that money talks, Dillon.
Guys like Palmer walk away from the shit they do, and the guys who work for guys like him take the fall. "
Dillon sighs and then nods, unable to deny it.
He's a good sheriff, but that doesn't change the way the world works.
When you have enough money, it's easy to convince a jury of your peers that you're the good guy, being fucked over by someone you generously employed. Pricks like Danny do it all the time.
"If you search his property, you're going to find stolen property," I say, tiredly.
"VIN and serial numbers will probably have been filed off most of it, but a good quarter of his equipment is likely stolen.
He'll blame everyone but himself, but he's the one who buys it.
He's been doing it for years to save a few bucks. "
"I'll take care of it," Dillon mutters, reaching into his pocket to grab a set of keys. He shoves one into the lock on my cell, letting me out. "If we find anything, I'll see what I can do about getting the charges against you dropped."
"Appreciate that," I murmur. "I've got shit to do."
"So long as that shit isn't hitting Palmer in the face again." He arches a brow at me. "You two were already in a bar fight last week. And now this."
"How do you…" I trail off, shaking my head. Of course he knows about the bar fight. Dillon is a nosy bastard. He probably knew about the fight five minutes after it happened.
I step out of the cell, shoving my hat back onto my head, and then pause. "How much did she pay to bail me out?"
"Five hundred," he says. "Debit card."
"Goddammit." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "You couldn't have told her no?"
"Motherfucker, do I look like I make a habit of telling women in this town no?
" he asks, shooting me a look. "I'm not that stupid.
You assholes stress me out enough. I'm not trying to have every woman in town on my ass, too.
If one wants to bail one of you out, I just smile and agree.
Not my woman, not my problem. You have fun sorting that out. "
"Chickenshit."
He just laughs in response to the insult, smirking at me. "Sticks and stones, Jessup. Sticks and stones."
I step around him to leave, but he halts me with a hand on my arm.
"I meant what I said," he says, his voice pitched low. "I'll deal with Palmer. You stay out of it, all right?"
"Happy to," I agree. "Just so long as he stays the fuck away from Harlow."
"Well, we can actually make that happen," he says with a grin. "There's a No Contact Order on account of you breaking his nose. The order goes both ways. If he violates it, he goes to jail just like you do if you violate it. So keep her close to you, and your problem is solved."
That…actually, that might work. Palmer is a prick, but he's also a fucking coward. He won't risk jail time just to piss me off.
"Thanks," I mutter, relaxing for the first time since Dillon's deputy slapped cuffs on me hours ago.
"No problem."
Irelax further when I step into the lobby to find Harlow pacing a hole in the floor, her hands clasped in front of her. She looks worried as hell.
The sight of her loosens knots all over my body.
"Hey, beautiful," I murmur.
She whips her head up, her steps faltering. I know she's happy to see me the moment our eyes meet. The way she looks at me…fuck. I want her to keep looking at me just like that, forever.
"Wade!" she cries, practically flying across the tiled floor to me. She hits my chest like a meteor, knocking me back a step. "I was so worried!"
I catch her, hauling her up against my chest to bury my face in her throat. Christ, she smells better than the cell. So much fucking better. I inhale deeply, my lips brushing her throat. "I'm all good, baby."
I'm an asshole for loving that she was worried about me; I know I am. But I love it anyway. It means she cares. Even if she doesn't realize it yet, she's falling for me. It's why she bailed me out. It's why she stayed. It's why she's worried.
God, please let her be falling for me. I'm not a man who needs much. I'm not one who asks for much, either. But I need this woman to fall for me. I need her to let herself love me.
I need her, every beautiful, fragile, fiery, perfect piece of her.
"Can we go home now?" she asks, clinging to my shoulders.
"Yeah, we can go home now."
She sighs softly, tensing like she's going to step back. I scoop her up into my arms instead, not ready to let her go just yet.
"W-what are you doing?" she whispers, her eyes wide in her pale face.
"Carrying you," I murmur, already striding toward the doors.
"Oh. Okay."
She settles against my chest, one arm around my shoulder, her body relaxed, and I love everything about that. Little by little, she's learning to trust me. She's letting herself surrender to what's between us.
I'm not surprised when I see my truck in the parking lot, since I gave her the keys before they arrested me, but I can't help but chuckle at the way she parked across two spaces like she was afraid she'd scratch it.
"How far up did you move the seat?" I ask, glancing down at her.
"All the way." Her brows furrow. "I still couldn't see over the stupid dashboard."
"Poor baby." I nuzzle her throat. "I'll make it up to you."
Her breath hitches, her hand spasming against my shoulder. I barely bite back a groan, hurrying my steps. Somehow, I manage to juggle her and open the door at the same time before depositing her in the passenger seat.
Once she's buckled in, I cup her face, tilting it back until her eyes lock with mine. "Thank you," I murmur, brushing my lips across hers.
"For what?"
"For being you."
Her entire face goes soft.
"I'm not finished," I warn when she opens her mouth to say something. She immediately snaps it closed, nodding. "What happened today had nothing to do with you, and you didn't have to bail me out, Harlow. Your money is your money. You don't spend it on me, not a dime, okay?"
"But…"
I gently press a finger to her lips. "Not a dime, baby."
She hesitates for a long moment, holding my gaze, and then she nods reluctantly. "Okay," she whispers against my finger.
"I'm paying you back every penny first thing tomorrow."
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. You've spent most of your life taking care of your mom. Now, it's your turn to be taken care of. I plan to be the man who does that. I've been saving for half my life, waiting for you. I've got you, baby."
"I can take care of myself," she whispers.
"Yeah, you can. You've been doing that. But just because you can do it doesn't mean you have to do it," I remind her. "You're allowed to put it down for a while and let someone else share the load. That's what you're going to do now."
Her gaze flits across my face, somber. "You're kind of bossy."
"And you're kind of perfect, so I guess it works out, doesn't it?"
She smiles even though I know she doesn't mean to do it, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're shameless, too."
"For you? Always." I press a hard kiss to her lips and then back off, closing her door.
When I climb in beside her, she's quiet, thoughtful. She doesn't say anything, but I feel her mind running a million miles a minute.
"Wade?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"You hit him at the bar because he insulted me then, too, didn't he?"
I hesitate and then sigh, not willing to lie to her. "Yeah."
She nods thoughtfully. "Okay."