Addison Fox - The Colton Sheriff

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Trey said as he moved the menus to give the waiter room to set down their drinks.

“Bright-side Allen. That’s my name, sunshine’s my game.”

The joke had him smiling a little bit, but it couldn’t penetrate the heavy pall that seemed to weigh over him. They’d met at her office in Roaring Springs, then walked through downtown toward the southern end of the main drag. The upper end was reserved for any number of high-end shops and elite restaurants, but Aisha preferred the hipper and more eclectic choices at the south end. Besides, it was a pretty summer night to walk and she was going to need every step she could find after her enchilada fest wrapped up.

She picked up her margarita and considered a new tack. The lighthearted joking wasn’t working. And she knew that stubborn, settled look on his handsome face. Left to his own devices, he’d brood into his beer for the next two hours.

Which meant fixing his mood called for special measures. Time to activate Officer Do-Right.

“The press showed up today.”

“What? Where?”

“At my office. Some enterprising reporter read the notes of Tuesday evening’s meeting and decided to come grill me on the murders.”

“They had no right to do that to you.” He slammed his beer on the table, his golden-brown eyes narrowing. “No right at all.”

“Which is why I handled it and called for support in the form of the Roaring Springs police.”

“You didn’t call me. You didn’t even tell me.”

“I’m telling you now,” she murmured.

“It’s not the same—”

She lifted a finger, silencing him. “See how it feels?”

Recognition dawned, chasing the lingering anger from those golden depths. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s incredibly not fair. And it’s not what friends do. And for the record, I would have told you but I had a few patient emergencies that kept me occupied with necessary paperwork until about five minutes before you showed up. So.” She took a sip of her margarita, savoring the cold tartness on her tongue. “Your turn. Tell me about the visit from the chief lackey.”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“What happened? What did they say? Are they going to send the Feds in like you worried about?”

That had become his most recent fear as the situation with the Avalanche Killer spun out. In addition to battling Barton Evigan and the overarching sentiment of the townspeople, Trey was worried about how far the FBI would throw its influence around.

This was his turf. His county and his people to protect. The Feds might want a big score, putting a deranged killer in prison, but she knew that Trey wanted justice for his constituents. He wanted them to feel safe and secure.

Was there anything sexier?

The thought slammed into her, unbidden, and with it Aisha shot a wary glance at her margarita. She’d taken only a few sips and her brain had already shifted to images of Trey in full warrior-protector mode.

It was one of her favorite fantasies and it usually involved the man shirtless, gun in hand, as he patrolled the streets of Roaring Springs like a Wild West sheriff keeping law and order. It was silly and stupid and she felt the blush creeping up her neck at the erotic images that had suddenly taken over her thoughts.

And her body, if the tension curling low in her belly was any indication.

“Aish? You okay?”

“Sure. Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“It’s the margarita. It’s strong tonight and I didn’t get lunch due to my surprise visitors.”

The diversion had its desired impact, his curiosity over her flushed skin taking a back seat to the press intrusion. “I really am sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. It’s over and I lived to tell the tale.” She reached for her margarita again and took a tentative sip. “Which is more than I can say for the reporters who were chased off with their tails between their legs.”

“You looked positively maniacal when you said that.”

“I feel that way. Their presence disrupted my patients. The people who come to me in their quiet moments of need don’t deserve that.”

“No, they don’t.” Trey agreed.

And there it was, Aisha thought. They might feel the same way about the situation—even be angry about it—but they’d battle it together. “I told. Now it’s your turn. What happened this morning?”

“I don’t appreciate being caught off guard and it was a one hundred percent sneak attack.”

She nodded as she lifted a small fingertip of salt from the rim of her margarita. “It sounded like it from your texts.”

“It wasn’t his presence so much as what he said.”

Aisha wanted to be supportive but the unexpected ambush was one more example of all the ways Trey’s case had gotten out of hand. Did the governor think Trey was hiding something? Or worse, was he convinced the pressure of an in-person visit—from a subordinate, no less—would light a fire under one of the best sheriffs in all the state?

Because if there was ever anyone who had self-motivation down to a T, it was Trey Colton. The man lived and breathed his job and to have a stand-in for the governor just show up... It was insulting.

“You’re getting all flushed again.”

“This time I’m mad.”

“What were you before?”

Caught , Aisha wanted to say. But she bit her tongue at the last minute and pointed toward her drink. “Adjusting to the tequila.”

“Oh.”

He lifted a lone eyebrow at her, wiggling it before picking up his beer again. “We got off on a weird foot tonight.”

“You think?”

“I know. So let’s try again.” He put down his beer. “Aisha. How was your day?”

“Crummy. Yours?”

“The worst,” he said.

“Anything I can do to help?”

She might have left her poker face about three blocks away, but Trey’s wasn’t very visible, either. That same shell-shocked expression she’d seen off and on since he’d picked her up flashed once more, and for the first time Aisha began to worry.

What had happened earlier? Did the governor have information on the killer? Something known only to him?

“Trey. Come on, enough of this. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I think maybe we should get married.”

* * *

As proposals went, it was clumsy and stupid and just all-around bad. He wasn’t the smoothest guy on the planet, but he usually had more common sense than blurting out whatever was lodged in his head, drilling at his brain matter like a jackhammer.

The only problem was, he’d thought of little else since the governor’s lackey left his office. The gym hadn’t helped. Three hours of paperwork hadn’t helped. And a jaunt swiping left through his online dating app hadn’t helped, either.

All he could think about was asking Aisha to be his fiancée. Or his pretend fiancée, if there actually were such a thing.

Was there?

He knew things like that existed in wacky sex comedies and rom coms, but he had yet to meet anyone in real life who’d felt compelled to enter into a fake engagement to solve a problem. You didn’t solve problems by getting married. Or pretending to get married. Or asking someone to pretend to get married.

Only he did.

Or he would if Aisha said yes.

Having his best friend on his arm would solve a ton of problems and would at least smooth out one area of his life for the next few months. Because he was doing a piss-poor job of managing Barton Evigan’s full-on attack, finding a serial killer and identifying four dead women discovered in his county. The last two were going to take as long as they’d bloody well take, but the first...

Steve had given him an answer to that one.