Barbara Daille - The Sheriff's Son

She nodded. “You go to school, and I’ll speak with Deputy Jones. Be prepared, though. We’ll talk about this when you get home.”

“Wait a minute—” Tanner began.

Her son bolted, sneakers pounding across the wooden floor, down a side aisle and through the front door, which he slammed shut behind him.

The bell jangled so hard, she thought it might fly off and break a window.

“Damn, the kid’s fast,” Tanner muttered.

Fast and long gone—while she stood there, trapped.

Kevin had done plenty to concern her lately, from smart-mouthing her and his teachers to acting the clown in class. He would face the consequences eventually. She would have to face her consequences right now.

Tanner started down the center aisle toward her. She had no plan, but instinct knew what she needed. Distance and a sturdy barrier. Immediately.

Sidestepping, she put the long, waist-high counter between them. With shaking fingers, she straightened the pile of bookmarks near the cash register. Wishing for a more time-consuming chore, she glanced around the store, through the windows, everywhere but at Tanner.

Where were the Bookies when she needed them?

Reluctantly, she looked back to find Tanner standing across from her. Sunlight glinted off the badge pinned to his shirtfront, threw golden highlights into his sandy-colored hair. He’d been blonder back in their school days. Butterscotch, she’d tease, tug on a handful, then run away. But he’d always catch her.

Today, he’d caught Kevin.

She leaned against the shelves lining the wall behind her, bracing herself.

“What are you thinking, Sarah, letting your boy run off like that? Don’t you even want to know what he did?”

“Of course, I do. But first, I want to know what you’re doing here. Why did you come back to Dillon?”

“What’s this look like?” He tapped a finger against his badge. “I’m Deputy Sheriff in this great state of Texas, sent to guard the good folks of Dillon.”

She took a closer look. “You’re County?”

He nodded.

At least he wouldn’t have an office in town. She’d grasp at any spilled straw, though Daddy would’ve told her you can’t fix the camel’s back once it’s snapped.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here. What happened to Deputy Worth?”

He frowned. “Worth’s out on sick leave, so I’m assigned to Dillon for the present. And judging by your boy’s activity this morning, I’ll have plenty to keep me busy.”

“For heaven’s sake, Tanner. He’s only a child. What kind of damage could he have done to your car? Surely not enough to make you so ready to lynch him?”

All right, even she could recognize an overreaction when she heard one. But Tanner had always driven her to extremes. Had made her do things she wouldn’t ordinarily consider—

No time for those thoughts now. Or ever.

She had her child to worry about.

“Lynching?” He laughed, loud and full-throated, tipping his head back, exposing the long lean column of his neck. “I just wanted to give him a scare, make him think twice before he goes off and does something else he shouldn’t.”

“Just what did he do?”

“Took it upon himself to decorate my car.”

Her heart sank. She sneaked another glance at Tanner. He didn’t look nearly as fierce as he had when he’d first come into the store, Kevin dangling from his fingertips. With any luck, she’d get by with a written warning, instead of a ticket she couldn’t hope to pay. If her son was guilty of the damage.

“You know for a fact it was Kevin?”

“Caught him egg-handed.”

“Eggs?” She sagged in relief. “Is that all?”

“You know what dried egg does to a paint job?” He flipped open his notebook. “‘Kevin Lindstrom,’” he read aloud. “Age?”

“Under eighteen,” she snapped. “That makes him a minor.” Low down in her stomach, a small tremor of guilt and fear began to build. “W-why do you want to know?”

His eyes focused on her, and her legs threatened to buckle. She knew what Kevin must have felt like, without solid footing beneath him.

“I’m going to keep an eye on that child.”

“He’s my responsibility, thank you.”

He snorted. “And a great job you’re doing, too, aren’t you? Can’t even control your own son.”

“How dare you!”

“I’m a deputy sheriff, that’s how. Seems to me your boy’s a bit high-strung and looking for some attention.”

“He’s a typical child,” she shot back.

“Trouble waiting to happen. Where was he supposed to be when he was egging my County vehicle?”

“Waiting for the bus at a friend’s house.”

“With no one to watch over him?”

“His friend’s mother keeps an eye on both boys.” What did he think, she let her son run wild? “You heard Billy. If his brother had to drive them to school, something must have happened to the bus.”

She would find out what—later. Her affairs were none of Tanner’s business. Not anymore.

“I’ll give you the price of a car wash and make sure Kevin knows what he did was wrong. Let it rest with that.”

“Can’t. Pranks can lead to worse things. We sure don’t want Dillon overrun by hooligans.”

“I agree with you there. But egging a car is childish mischief, Tanner.” Ticket be darned. She’d take on a mountain of debt before she’d let her son be railroaded by a deputy carrying a grudge along with his gun. “Are you calling my son a hooligan?”

The very idea of this man doing Kevin an injustice set fire to her maternal instincts, and she raised her hands in frustration.

Instantly, Tanner reached out to curl his sturdy fingers around her wrists, and another basic instinct competed with the first, turning her insides all warm and mushy.

Somehow, she kept her wits about her enough to notice his barely concealed anger. To observe his admirable restraint as he placed her palms down flat on the countertop. To realize she might have edged her toes over the line between getting a ticket and getting carted off to jail.

“Simmer down. I wasn’t referring to Kevin. But—”

“And you’ve done lots worse than egging a car yourself, Tanner Jones, or don’t you remember?”

Suddenly, all signs of his anger disappeared, leaving her wondering if it had only come from her imagination. He smiled down at her with those sea-blue eyes she’d so loved.

He leaned closer, jerking her from her thoughts and bringing those eyes…his face…his lips on a level with hers. “I remember a lot of things, Sarah.”

If she thought his tone gave special meaning to the statement, his next words left no doubt.

“I remember how it was having a conversation with you, instead of arguing, like we are now.”

“That was before you left Dillon—and everyone in it—behind.” She lifted her chin. No tears. No trembling. “I’d call that a real conversation stopper.”

A flush began at his neck, crept up his smooth-shaven jaw, stained his lightly tanned cheeks.

“Dammit, Sarah, I told you my reasons the night of graduation, after we…” He stumbled to a halt, the words dying on his lips.

The way she had died inside when he left her.

Her eyes hurt from the effort to keep her gaze locked with his, to stop him from reading the thoughts her face would plainly show.

“Listen,” he continued, “I’d told you my plans. You’re the one who wouldn’t talk to me after that.”

“After that,” she echoed in a frosty tone, “I had nothing to say to you.”

“Yeah, and after that, you ran off and got married.” He took another deep breath. “We’re grownups now, Sarah. Why don’t we put all this behind us and go on?”

“I have.”