Beautiful Lawman Read online

  It was crazy how many of her fantasies centered on being like Shelley Rae.

  They were dumb games, but they had kept their minds off what was happening in the trailer at the time.

  She shut off the ignition and stepped out onto the broken asphalt of the lot. Malia, still subdued, followed her as she headed toward their unit. Piper fiddled with her keys, searching for her house key, when she noticed movement on her small stoop. Cacti and scrub crowded the stoop. She’d asked management to cut back the foliage. Unsurprisingly, her request had been ignored. Just like they had ignored her request to handle the rat problem. She could hear them scurrying in the walls, especially at night. Nocturnal bastards. They’d eaten through the back of the kitchen cabinets and gotten into the sugar and flour.

  She’d had to break down and buy the traps herself with her own money. Either that or stay up all night guarding herself and Malia.

  She peered through the dark toward her porch, her steps slowing. She’d recently replaced the porch light and could just barely make out a large shape at her door—a man with his back to her, a thin T-shirt stretched across his thick back. He fought with her lock and door handle, jiggling the hardware.

  She stopped in her tracks, her hand flying to grasp her sister’s arm and keep her from moving forward.

  She tightened her hand around her keys, finding the longest one and letting it jut out. A poor semblance of a blade, but it was all she had.

  “Can I help you?” she asked loudly, forcing a deepness to her voice that didn’t normally exist.

  The man turned around, surprisingly quick for his size, and she immediately recognized the property manager, Raymond.

  She relaxed only slightly because the guy always gave her the creeps. Ever since they moved in, her skin crawled in his presence. She had warned Malia never to let him inside their unit when she wasn’t home. She’d even installed additional locks on the door, partly because of Raymond and partly for extra security in general. Actually, her brother’s friend, North Callaghan, had installed the locks for her when he happened to stop by and caught her attempting to do it herself. An additional dead bolt on the inside and another on the outside of the door.

  “What’s this extra lock doing on the outside of your unit?” Raymond demanded, his face glowing with sweat beneath the yellow porch light. Apparently he noticed her additional lock.

  She shrugged, striving for a light air. “We can never have too much security, can we?”

  He scowled. “You didn’t have permission for that.”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed permission.”

  “Any changes to the structure of the unit need approval.”

  She fought the impulse to roll her eyes. It wasn’t like she tore down a wall or did any other serious construction work. “It’s a lock. What were you doing trying to get inside my unit anyway?” He couldn’t possibly have meant to do any of the numerous requests she had requested over the last two years. At this time of night, no less.

  He held up an air filter. “Changing the filters.”

  She stared. Was he for real? “This time of night?” He had never bothered with the task before. Or any task, as far as she knew. Any task other than spying on them from the window of his front unit or while he watered the small yard of near-dead plant life in front of the management office.

  She held out a hand, clearly offering to take the filter from him. “I can see it installed. Thank you.” Actually, North had changed their filters a few times for them, insisting it would help with Malia’s allergies. Not that she felt like explaining that to him. She just wanted him gone.

  He looked across the distance at her, his small eyes inscrutable beneath the gleam of his glass lenses.

  He’d always been too interested in his female tenants. She hadn’t missed that fact when she first moved in with Malia, but he’d had a wife that kept him on a pretty tight leash. That had given her some comfort. Up until recently. Marsha had run off with a truck driver about three months ago. Since then, Raymond always found some reason to knock on their door or stop them outside for conversation. This was the first time, however, that he had ever attempted to enter their home.

  He huffed out the round barrel of his chest a little and glanced back at the lock. Clearly he wasn’t ready to let the subject go. “I can understand a pair of young girls like you wanting a little extra protection.” His voice softened to a slithering ribbon on the air. “What you need is a man around to look out for you.” His gaze roved over Piper as he made this declaration.

  Malia snorted behind her and Piper gave her hand a warning squeeze. She knew that belittling this guy wasn’t the way to handle him. She needed to mollify and appease him until they managed to move out of this dump. Until she’d lost her job, she was hoping to do that soon. “I appreciate your concern. It’s very kind of you, Raymond.”

  Funny she had not handled Sheriff Hale Walters with the same kid gloves. It would have been wise, she supposed, to be more deferential to a lawman, but there was something about him that prevented her from doing that. She could probably blame it on her genetics. No Walsh ever got along with law enforcement. It wasn’t possible.

  “Well, I do have a boyfriend,” she blurted. The lie was instinctive. She told a lot of her patrons who got too frisky and asked her out on dates that she had a boyfriend. It was easier than crushing them with a rejection and kissing any hope for a tip good-bye. Only as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized that her lie might be easily verified when she never had a guy show up at her place.

  “You do, huh?”

  She nodded, detecting a thread of skepticism in his voice.

  “Yes,” she insisted. Maybe she could get North to pretend he was her boyfriend. He’d done that at Joe’s to scare off customers that were getting too handsy. Although if she told North that Raymond was giving her a hard time, he might just resort to kicking the man’s ass, and that wouldn’t be a good thing for anyone. Kicking someone’s ass was most definitely a parole violation . . . and something told her it would also get her kicked out of Sunset Views.

  He dragged his eyes off her and looked back at her door with its additional lock. “Not sure about the lock,” he grumbled. “I’ll have to look at your lease agreement.”

  This time she softened her voice. “It’s just one little lock.”

  He hooked his thumbs inside his waistband and hefted his pants higher over his huge stomach that spilled over his waistline. “I’ll check with the management. They frown on structural modifications . . . but maybe I can put a word in for you.”

  “Or don’t mention it at all . . .” She let her voice fade suggestively.

  His gaze went back to crawling over her body. He actually ran his tongue along his lower lip. She’d noticed his fleshy lips before. They were very red. Almost like he’d been perpetually sucking on a lollipop. “Mebbe I can do that. You’ve always been a model tenant . . . would hate to lose you.” He placed a wealth of meaning into his words and that urge to submerge herself in a Clorox bath surfaced again.

  Quelling the rise of bile in her throat, she clung to her smile.

  Why, she wondered, did she always feel like she was surrounded by predators? Was this poverty? Because God knew she’d lived most of her life hovering on that brink. Did poverty make victims out of people or was she just special?

  Not you. You’re not a victim.

  She knew how to fight. Backed into a corner, she would come out swinging. History had shown her that.

  She nodded. “I’d be grateful.”

  “You would.” It was half statement and half question. He let it hang between them.

  “Of course.” She nodded. At the moment she would say anything to get both she and Malia inside her house and close the door on his face.

  He stepped off her stoop, giving her enough room to pass. She edged around him, keeping herself between him and Malia.

  She took the filter from him.

  He gestured at the square. “Now y
ou sure you know how to—”

  “Yes. I’ve done it before.”

  “Because I’m happy to help.” His beady eyes blinked through the lenses of his glasses. He pushed the frames up the moist line of his nose.

  “We’re fine . . . but thank you.” Sound nice, Piper.

  “Just doing my job.” He held her gaze for a lingering moment, pinning her to the spot. Would he ever leave? “Let me know if I can do anything at all for you girls.”

  She backed up closer to the door, pushing her sister until she was practically backed into the cacti. She turned to stick her key in the first lock, glancing over her shoulder. “Will do.”

  “I’ll let you know about the additional lock. If it’s okay.”

  She murmured something noncommittal. With the second lock free, she shoved her sister forward and plunged them both inside. Flipping on the light switch, she released a breath as she shut the door behind them. Turning, she looked through the peephole to see Raymond still standing there, staring at the door with his head cocked at a contemplative angle. She could swear he was staring at the lock—the lock that he didn’t possess the key to . . . that barred him from entering their apartment. That’s right, you bastard. Stay away.

  “God, he’s creepy,” Malia muttered.

  Nodding, Piper turned back around and dropped her bag on the small table beside the door.

  Sighing, she shook off thoughts of Raymond the Creep. The day had been endless and she was ready to put it to bed. “Get ready for bed while I make you something to eat.”

  Malia nodded, her face once again contrite. She started to move away, and then paused. “I’m really sorry, Piper.”

  “I know you are, but you have to be better than this. Other kids can mess up, but you can’t. Understand? We don’t have that luxury.”

  Malia nodded, her velvety brown eyes deep and sorrowful, and that hurt. A fifteen-year-old shouldn’t have such sad eyes. Piper had worked hard to keep sadness from her sister’s eyes, but she supposed she couldn’t protect her from all pain.

  “Good. Are Claire and her mom still picking you up tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Six-thirty.”

  “Okay, good. Hurry up now. Six-thirty is gonna come early.”

  Malia hurried forward and gave her a hug. Tough love or not, Piper hugged her back, inhaling the apple scent of her hair.

  “I love you, Piper,” she murmured. “Someday things will be better. I’ll go to college and get a good job. You’ll see. We won’t live like this forever. We’ll have a nice house and nice things. I promise.”

  “I know, Malia. And I love you, too, sweetie.” She watched as her sister disappeared into the bathroom and then turned to the fridge. Fortunately, there were two slices of American cheese left. She grabbed the butter and bread she kept in the fridge (so that it would last longer) and quickly slathered two slices. Heating a skillet, she starting cooking the sandwich. She put both slices of cheese in her sister’s sandwich. She was a growing girl and burned countless calories on the soccer field. She needed the nutrients.

  Once the grilled cheese was finished, she set it on a plate and grabbed a box of crackers. Sinking down on a chair at the kitchen table, she opened her laptop where she left it on the table earlier today. North had given the device to her a year ago when he got himself a new one. It was an improvement from the ancient one she’d owned before. This one was faster. It took almost no time at all to open up a search engine for jobs in Sweet Hill, Texas.

  Rubbing her tired eyes, she munched on a cracker and reached for her notepad to start jotting down possibilities.

  She hadn’t gone job hunting in a while. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as last time. Maybe people would give her a chance now. Maybe her employer wouldn’t mind that her last job was at Joe’s Cabaret—or that her last name was Walsh.

  It wasn’t impossible.

  Five

  It was impossible. No one would hire her.

  Piper made it to the Sweet Hill City Park by 4 p.m., just in time for Malia’s final game of the day and after she had been rebuffed from five restaurants around town. They never outright rejected her; they simply told her they’d be in touch, but she could always tell they were lying. They’d never be in touch. One look into their eyes and she knew that.

  A few of them had seemed interested enough until they discovered where she last worked. One of the hostesses at a popular barbecue place had even refused to give her an application for employment. She’d remembered Piper from high school. She’d actually been a cheerleader with Shelley Rae. The moment Piper walked through the double doors, the hostess’s ready smile had melted off her face to be replaced by a scornful smirk.

  She could almost hear Cruz’s voice in her head, encouraging her to take Malia and move to another town. In moments like that it was tempting.

  She’d stuck it out this long, staying in Sweet Hill ever since her brother’s incarceration, but if she couldn’t find work soon, she was afraid she would have to move whether she wanted to or not. And she hated knowing that. It felt like she was failing Cruz even if he was the one telling her to leave.

  Parking was crazy. She spent fifteen minutes driving up and down rows before swerving into a spot just after a car vacated it. Grabbing her purse, she jumped out and grabbed her folded lawn chair from the backseat.

  With her work schedule, she didn’t often get to see Malia’s games. This was about the only bonus of losing her job. Malia was going to be surprised, too. Other than North, who occasionally came to watch her play, she didn’t usually have any family or friends there to cheer her on at games.

  Slinging the strap of her lawn chair over her shoulder, she took off in the direction of field eight. It was hot as hell and she was still wearing her interview clothes—a simple skirt and blouse that stuck to her shoulder blades like a second skin. Her wedge heels weren’t ideal for rushing across concrete and cutting through the sticker-riddled grass. The sticker burrs stabbed at her toes peeking out of her shoes. Wincing and muttering curses, she pushed on.

  Multiple soccer and baseball games were happening in the vast expanse of park. Shouts and cheers went up from every direction. Additionally, amateur basketball games were being played on nearby courts. She hurried past one court, eyeing the grown men who were a far cry from NBA players.

  Well, except that one. Her steps slowed as she appreciated the sight of him. Lean, muscled and over six feet, he was a blur as he moved. She watched, her chair bumping her side as she walked. The shirtless player drove the ball right through the other players, dodging left and right, the ball moving from hand to hand with ease as he dribbled. Her steps paused as he slammed the ball through the net. His body seemed to hang in the air, suspended for a moment, the hard lines of his body glistening. His washboard abs were something out of a Calvin Klein ad.

  The rest of the guys looked like a bunch of Homer Simpsons beside him. She couldn’t help gawking. His teammates slapped his back as he came down from the shot—and that was when she recognized him. Holy hell. Not him.

  Out of uniform, out of his shirt, he was totally drool-worthy.

  She shook her head. A physique like that was wasted on an arrogant cop. Arrogant was a mild word for him. He probably didn’t blink an eye when he arrested people and threw them in a cold jail cell. No, he probably got off on it. He probably only saw the world in black and white. No consideration for the gray where people like her existed. All she knew was that area in between black and white, right and wrong. She’d lived in that stretch of gray for her entire life.

  Suddenly he was staring back at her. His eyes locked on her and she stumbled, catching herself right before she fell. She forced her gaze forward, cursing her lack of grace and the sticker burr wedged deeply in the tip of her big toe. Bending, she quickly plucked the thorn out of her skin.

  “Hey!” a deep voice called. “Ms. Walsh!”

  Straightening, she kept walking, moving stiffly like a robot on high speed, fervently wishing her ears were pla
ying tricks on her and Hale Walters wasn’t calling her name.

  “Piper!”

  As though she could mistake that growling baritone. His voice was closer now. Fabulous. A bare-chested Sheriff Walters was chasing her down through the park. She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to talk to her unless it was to continue lecturing her about what a horrible guardian she was. Already been there. Done that. She didn’t care for a repeat.

  “Piper.”

  He wasn’t going to quit.

  Sighing, she turned around, sending the chair hanging off her shoulder swinging wide. The strap slid down her arm. She fumbled for it and pulled it back on her shoulder, feeling like ten kinds of idiot.

  “Yes. Sheriff. How are you?” Her voice came out breathless and a tad too loudly. He looked her up and down. It was the slow assessment he’d subjected her to before, but it felt a world different coming from him like this—with both of them out of uniform.

  She tried not to stare, but he was standing in front of her in sneakers and athletic shorts and nothing else. God, his torso was bigger than she was. Holy hell, was that an eight-pack? And his waist was narrow. A faint hint of his briefs peeked out from the waistband of his shorts and her traitor eyes strayed there.

  Clearly this man didn’t spend his time in a doughnut shop. Throw that stereotype out of the window. Her skin flushed hot and her tongue felt thick and clumsy in her mouth.

  Instead of waiting for him to answer, she rambled on. “Am I trespassing? Did I park illegally?”

  He blinked at her aggressive question, and she cringed inside. Did the words out of her mouth have to be so antagonizing?

  Clearly her bitchiness was a defense. Just not a very smart one. Even she recognized that.

  “I was going to see if your sister is doing okay. After last night?”