Brenda Mott - The Sheriff Of Sage Bend

The thought made Lucas insane. He and Miranda might’ve broken up, but he still cared about her and her sister.

He would make arrangements to go to the Cameron County jail and have a talk with Masterson as soon as he could.

Minutes later, he arrived at his brother’s place. Clint’s ranch—if you could call it that—consisted of a half-dozen horses and a pack of mutts. The place lay tucked into a valley, the breathtaking scenery sur rounding it a stark contrast to the shabby house. But the barn—that was another story. Clint spent most of his money on his horses, and as little as possible on Dena and the kids. For the life of him, Lucas couldn’t figure out why she didn’t leave his sorry ass.

Maybe it was because Dena saw the man that Clint could be if he’d only try. The man Lucas caught a glimpse of once in a while, when his brother was sober.

Lucas parked near the porch steps and was immediately swarmed by a half-dozen barking dogs, pit-bulls, rottweilers and a few mutts. Ignoring them, he walked around a small tricycle and up the steps. Before he could knock, Dena opened the door. Lucas heard Cody and Jason playing in the living room, their voices carrying over the sound of the TV.

“He’s not here, Lucas.” Dena stepped out onto the porch, letting the screen door bang shut behind her. “But everything’s okay. You don’t have to worry.”

“No, Dena, it’s not okay.” He shook his head in exasperation, but spoke low enough that the boys wouldn’t hear. “Don’t you get tired of him using you for a punching bag?”

“That’s not fair,” Dena said. “Clint’s good to me…most of the time.”

Lucas let out an expletive. “Fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fair. My worthless brother marrying one of the nicest women I know.” They’d all gone to Sage Bend High, Dena and Clint just a year behind Lucas. He indicated her hidden bruise. “I’ve put him in jail before, and if I could prove he did that to you, I’d lock him up again.”

“He needs help, not jail time.” Dena rubbed her wrist. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just the booze talkin’ when he lets his anger out.”

“Yeah, well, he still has no right to knock you around.” Come on, he urged silently. File charges against him.

But she wouldn’t.

“So, where’s he at? The Silver Spur?” The local honky-tonk was a few miles out of town, a favorite watering hole for Clint.

Dena’s expression told Lucas he was right. He turned to go.

“Lucas, wait.” She chewed her bottom lip. “It’s not so bad.” Clint’s a hard worker, and I…I love him.”

Lucas shook his head. “Dogged if I can puzzle that one out. See you later, Dena. Call if you need me.”

He clomped down the steps and nearly tripped over a gray cat lying stretched out on the bottom one. “Where’d you come from, buddy?” he asked, surprised Clint would let Dena have a cat.

The tabby blinked and let out a scratchy-sounding meow. Standing, it laced itself through his ankles and back again, then suddenly leaped to another step, batting at a small pebble. One of the dogs came over to investigate, and the tabby gave the mutt a disdainful look and swatted its muzzle before returning to play.

Laughing, Lucas got in his Blazer and turned it around, ignoring the dogs as they chased his rig off the property.

He forced himself to breathe deeply, exhaling through his mouth. What bothered him most was that he could almost see how Dena could still love Clint, in spite of what he did to her. Lucas remembered some good times he and his brother had had before Clint let his drinking take over his life. In many ways, Lucas loved him, and wasn’t willing to give up on him. Their father was serving a sentence for using his fists one time too many—one time too hard. Lucas hated to see Clint headed down a similar path.

Dena had a point. The man needed help. Yet half the time, Lucas just wanted to beat some sense into Clint. Ironically, controlling his own temper wasn’t easy.

He was a lawman on the outside. But inside, he was a Blaylock. And he knew there was a fine line keeping him from being a bastard like his brother and his father.

Lucas smacked the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. Unless Dena filed charges—or someone witnessed Clint’s abuse and called the law, which had happened that one time—there was nothing Lucas could do to help her. And unless Clint wanted help, no one could force him to get it.

Lucas drove to the Silver Spur. Sure enough, Clint’s pickup was in the parking lot.

And so was Miranda’s.

He supposed she’d come here to talk to Tori. He hated that Miranda might have to witness an ugly scene between him and Clint, but that’s the way it had to be.

Lucas stepped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. There were only a handful of patrons scattered throughout the room, and Clint was one of them. At the bar, Miranda was just sitting down. Tori put what appeared to be a glass of Coke in front of her. They both waved at him, and he nodded, then made his way over to the table where Clint sat swilling longnecks with one of his buddies.

“Look what the wind blew in,” Clint said. He was half-blitzed. “Whatcha’ doin’ here, big brother? Did you come to see me?”

Clint’s pal, Shorty, snickered. “Care to join us, Sheriff?”

“I hope neither one of you is planning to drive home.” Lucas fixed them with a hard stare.

“Why, no,” Clint said, his eyes widening. “We’re gonna call a limo to take us home in style.”

Shorty guffawed, and Clint laughed with him.

In one lightning-quick move, Lucas snatched his brother by the elbow and tugged him from the chair.

“Hey!” Clint stumbled as Lucas pulled him toward a corner of the room. “That’s police brutality right there,” he slurred.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Lucas said sotto voce. “Sit down, bro.” He dropped Clint into a chair, then sat next to him. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t like the way you’re treating your wife. And it had better stop.”

“Or else what?” Clint’s eyes practically crossed as he tried to focus.

“You’ll find out what,” Lucas said. He only wished both Clint and Dena had neighbors close by. Living so far out in the country left Dena and the kids vulnerable. “I’ll lock you up until you rot.”

Clint leaned back in his chair and laughed. “No worries, Lukie. I treat Dena like a queen.”

“Yeah. I saw the bruise. What about the kids, Clint? Don’t you ever think of them?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my kids,” Clint mumbled. “I feed ’em and clothe ’em.”

“Barely.” Lucas leaned close to Clint’s ear, trying not to breathe the alcohol fumes. “You’d better walk the line, Clint. I mean it.” He stood. “Now hand over your keys.”

Clint gave him a dirty look, then reluctantly fished the keys to the beat-up Dodge out of his pocket. He slapped them down on the table, and Lucas pocketed them.

“I’ll leave them at your house.”

“How am I supposed to get home?”

“Not my problem.” Lucas spun on his heel, ignoring Clint as he began to sing, in a drunken, off-key tone, Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line.”

“Hey, Sheriff,” Tori said. “What can I get you?”

“A glass of ice water would do fine.” Lucas slid onto the stool next to Miranda’s. She looked worn-out. “I’m surprised to see you here. I’d have thought you’d get some rest after we all left.”

She picked at the thin, plastic straw in her glass. “I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. I just don’t know what to do…where to look.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me worry about that. My deputies and I won’t rest until Shannon’s home safe and sound.”