Ruth Herne - Falling for the Lawman

Not so much. He liked his steady law enforcement paycheck, a promised pension, clear expectations and visible rewards. Bad guys got put away. Good guys stayed safe. It was a tangible world with measurable results, which suited him.

The girls hustled into the country-themed barn. Zach followed. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in lighting, but when they did, he was surprised.

The other buildings showed wear and tear no doubt caused by lack of money or time. Probably both. The Southern Tier of Western New York had fallen on hard times over a generation ago. Businesses closed, factories shut down, employment dropped to all-time lows.

But this barn glistened. Bright white coolers were located to his right, their glass doors immaculate despite the throng of people and busy hands. Inside the coolers, glass bottles formed military-straight lines. He moved closer, intrigued. Intrigue gave way to surprise as he read the labels. Whole milk...2 percent milk...skimmed milk...eggnog...

Eggnog? In midsummer? Either these folks lived by a different calendar or they were way ahead of the game prepping for Christmas.

The rooster crowed again, the pitch and length of his practiced voice taunting Zach. Clearly the bird didn’t realize Zach packed heat in the form of a lightweight Glock.

The twins buzzed past him, back toward the door, dragging a small brown-and-white goat between them. The creature needed a haircut, which reminded Zach he could use one himself. But the sight of them bound for fun touched a wistfulness inside him. Their presence instilled a warmth he didn’t know existed five minutes ago.

“May I help you?”

He turned.

His heart melted. It was an absurd reaction because he’d met a lot of pretty girls in his life, but the one watching him now with more than a hint of question and a bite of sass in her gaze, could have been cast in a country music video. Her trim T-shirt read Yes, I’m the Farmer. How Can I Help You? A faded Kirkwood Lake Central School ball cap was pulled down properly on her forehead, while a long reddish-brown ponytail swung from the hat’s opening. Thin jeans, faded and worn, said she wasn’t afraid to work for a living, and farm boots gave testament to the shirt’s claim. A pair of work gloves poked haphazardly from her right hip pocket. Right-handed, then, most likely.

“Zach Harrison. I live...”

“Piper McKinney.” She stuck out her hand, then paused and withdrew it. “Oops, forgot. Cops don’t like to shake hands. My bad.”

She was right, but how did she know that? Some cops were fanatic about not shaking hands for various reasons. Zach wasn’t one of them. He’d been on the force for eleven years and he’d defused many situations with a simple handshake. In this case? Shaking this particular hand couldn’t be called a hardship.

He extended his hand. She waited two breaths, maybe three, then inhaled and touched her fingers to his. He gripped them gently, noting the work-worn surface of her skin.

“Piper?” A voice, ripe with question, interrupted the moment.

She withdrew her hand and turned. “Lucia. This is Trooper Harrison. He lives...?” She raised a brow again and made a face. “I have no idea where he lives because I never gave him the chance to say so. Sorry, Officer. This is my stepmother, Lucia McKinney.”

Zach nodded politely. A hint of distrust marked the older woman’s eyes. She swept his uniform a furtive glance, as if she’d had less-than-happy run-ins with police before. That would be something to think about later. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. McKinney.”

“Lucia is fine,” she told him. Her voice, a touch gruff, sounded work-worn. Zach understood that. Farms were life-draining occupations. He’d seen that firsthand, hence the pledge to work somewhere else. A pledge he’d kept from the day he graduated from the academy.

Lucia turned her attention toward Piper. She jutted her chin toward the back. “Chas is grumbling about the new pasteurizer.”

“Of course he is.” Piper offered a bright smile that stopped short of her eyes. The resignation in her gaze made Zach want to have a word or two with Chas.... Whoever he was.

Her expression called to the protector in him. And while this woman’s straight-on gaze said she needed little protection, something in her stature said otherwise.

Piper shifted her focus to Lucia. “Are the girls still in the back room or did they escape again?”

Zach waved toward the door. “That way. With a goat.”

“Ach, those girls!” Lucia flapped her apron in Zach’s general direction, as if it was his fault the two miscreants had performed another vanishing act. The college-age girl behind the counter took care of the next milk customer while Zach shifted his attention back to Piper.

Her expression defined the current chaos as normal. Zach wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, especially where kids were involved, but he remembered some early escapades from his youth on the family farm. And he’d survived.

“Are you here on a case?” Piper interrupted his musings.

“No.”

“Have we done something wrong? Maybe you need milk. Or eggs. Unless you’re waiting for Ada Sammler’s daily baking of bread? It should be arriving any minute.”

He had no idea who Ada Sammler was, and while fresh bread sounded great, he wasn’t about to store bread that would only go moldy in days because his busy schedule meant he wasn’t around often enough to eat it. Even with his father there. Dad wasn’t eating all that much. Another source of concern.

He simply wanted peace and quiet. The sooner the better. “It’s the rooster,” he said again. “Roosters,” he repeated, stressing the plural.

She frowned, not understanding, and waved to a young family as they strode through the doors, then again to an aging couple. “Albert, don’t think for a minute I’m letting you haul jugs of milk to the car on your own,” she scolded, but her grin took the sting out of the reprimand. “You hang on to Edna so we don’t have another broken hip on the prayer roster and we’ll handle the bags, okay?”

The old man smiled, and the peaceful look on his aged face made Zach wish that kind of contentment for his father. But they’d have to find a way to redistribute a wagonload of Marty Harrison’s anger, and Zach had no clue how to do that. You there, God? I’m open to suggestions these days. Not nearly as stubborn as I used to be. If you’ve got any bits of wisdom to throw my way, I’m ready for them.

Piper pulled her attention back to him, and smiled as if what he had to say mattered. The smile almost made him forget his request, she was that engaging. Bright green eyes sparkled beneath thick brows, and her classic athletic look said she stayed in shape to do her job, not just to look good in a dress. Though Zach was pretty sure she’d look great in a dress.

Another rooster crow brought him back on track. “Him. Them.” Zach waved a hand to the right. “I bought the house around the corner on Watkins Ridge, and I need the roosters to quiet down during the day when I’m sleeping.”

She stared at him, then tried to hide a grin by coughing into her hand. “You want quiet roosters? There’s a novelty.”

“I’ve been working nights...”

“Close your windows.”

Brilliant idea, except for the extreme summer temperatures. “Too hot,” he shot back.

“Get a fan. Install air-conditioning.”

“A room air conditioner blocks sound. That’s not safe. And I’ve got hot-water baseboard heat, so installing central air would be crazy expensive.”

She tapped a finger to her jaw, contemplating him. “Let me get this straight. You want the roosters to be quiet because you can hear them, but you don’t want to install a room air conditioner to block the noise of the roosters because then you can’t hear things. Right?”