Beautiful Lawman Page 5

She eyed him closely, trying to read him for sincerity. He was Faith Walters’s brother. There had to be something redeeming about him if he was related to North’s fiancée. That penetrated for a moment. This was sweet, generous, never-judge-a-book-by-its-cover Faith’s brother. That had to make him at least partially decent. The badge on his chest might not offer her that same assurance but his family tree gave her pause.

  “She’s fine,” she responded, her tone somewhat conciliatory.

  “Good.” He glanced around her and in his next question she understood why. “I don’t see her with you.”

  Because she should be with Piper. Because a girl that was hauled into the police station last night shouldn’t be left to her own devices. That’s what Piper heard in his words. Judgment. The same thing she’d faced all her life. Did she really think this guy might be as decent as his sister? What did he think? That she was out here cavorting at the city park while her sister was off snorting lines with her delinquent friends?

  “That’s because she’s on field eight playing a soccer game.”

  He looked in the distance of field eight as if he could spot her. “Soccer?”

  “Yeah. You know, that game with the ball where you kick it.”

  He stared down at her with a frown. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her sarcasm or that he was still grappling with the fact that her sister played a team sport. Most delinquents shied from organized sports. Too demanding of dedication, time and responsibility. Malia was probably the first Walsh to ever play for a school team, much less a competitive select team.

  “I know what soccer is.”

  “I see you’re having difficulty wrapping your head around the fact that my delinquent sister is disciplined enough to play on a soccer team.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” She readjusted her hand around her strap. “You don’t know me, Sheriff Walters.”

  He inhaled and the motion lifted his enticing chest, drawing her gaze down, down . . . the way the waistband of his briefs hugged his tight waist mesmerized her. “Just following up when I see an opportunity, Ms. Walsh. It’s my job.”

  Why did the sound of him addressing her as Miz Walsh make her want to sock him in the mouth? She wasn’t a violent person. Really. He brought it out in her.

  “And I’m sure you’re great at your job.” She waved her fingers in a little circle in his direction, coming dangerously close to touching his chest. She told herself that wasn’t deliberate. “You just don’t need to do your job so much with us. We’re fine. Concentrate your efforts elsewhere.” God, she could practically feel the heat radiating from his body.

  She dropped her hand at her side and curled it into a fist.

  He propped his hands on his hips. “I’ll try to remember that, Ms. Walsh, but my job isn’t the kind that can be turned off just because you tell me not to worry. There are some people that demand worry.”

  Because he had a stick up his ass and he was unbendable like that and only saw things as wrong or right. He judged things in absolutes.

  It didn’t occur to her that he might actually be concerned for her—despite what he said. So few people cared about her, she couldn’t believe this of him. Maybe that made her a hardened cynic, but so be it. Life made her this way. Trust no one. Let no one in. Take care of yourself.

  Clearly he saw her as only one thing. And that filled her with all sorts of helpless rage. A man like him, a man who was supposed to be a conduit for justice, should serve all. He should see her for what she was. A woman who was simply trying to get by.

  “You know what you are, Sheriff?” she hissed.

  His eyes widened slightly and she tried to ignore how lovely a gray they were. “What’s that, Ms. Walsh?”

  “You’re a bully.” She’d been enduring them all her life. She would know. “A bully with a badge.”

  Tension feathered the skin across his jaw so she knew she had hit a nerve. It satisfied her but also sent a pulse of guilt through her that maybe she had hurt his feelings. As if she could hurt this big arrogant hulk.

  And so what if she had? He deserved it . . . living his overprivileged life and judging her when he didn’t know her from Adam.

  “That a fact?”

  “That’s a fact. And I’d appreciate it if you would butt out of my life.”

  “As long as you keep your sister and yourself out of my jail, that won’t be a problem. I can do that.”

  “Good,” she snapped.

  “Good,” he returned.

  Suddenly she realized how close they were standing. How had that happened? They had started out this conversation with a healthy distance between them. She took a hasty step back, marveling at the way the pulse in her throat felt like it was about to burst free from her skin.

  She felt his gaze, a palpable trail of heat as it moved over her face. It was hard to explain but she felt pinned under that gaze, desperate to move and turn away, but unable to. She held herself still. Confused . . . but waiting for something to happen. Wanting it to.

  Oh. My. God. This was attraction. She was attracted to him. She still thought he was an arrogant jerk with a stick up his ass, but she wanted him right down to the marrow of her bones.

  It was horrifying, but the awareness also released something inside her. A pulsing tightness pulled low in her belly as she stood there gawking at him.

  “Hey!” the guys on the basketball court behind them started hollering.

  She jumped slightly, startled. Spell broken. Good.

  He glanced back at his friends.

  She nodded at them and waved in their direction. “You’re holding up the game. Better get back to it, Sheriff.”

  His friends continued to call for him.

  Yeah. Go. Get out of here so she could examine her brain and try to figure out how she broke it and then how to repair it. His face and body might be the stuff of dreams but this man, Sheriff Hale Walters, was the stuff of her nightmares. She could almost hear Cruz’s voice. Run, Pied Piper. Don’t look back. Get the hell away from him as fast as you can.

  The sheriff nodded slowly. The fading sunlight hit his hair, gilding the brown strands gold in some places. “Take care, Ms. Walsh.”

  He kept his gaze trained on her, walking backward several steps before turning and jogging toward the court, giving her a perfect view of his backside—and the sight of that was simply ridiculous. She had never been the kind of woman to gawk at a guy’s ass, but this man and this ass demanded its due.

  Too bad he was such a jerk. And too bad she didn’t have time for men in her life.

  The last thing she needed in her life right now was a man to complicate things. Things were already complicated enough.

  Forcing herself around, she turned and started toward field eight, and couldn’t help wondering what it would be like for a man like Hale Walters—barring his jerk qualities—to look out for her, to turn his protective instincts on her and to genuinely care about her. Not because it was his job. Because he wanted to.

  What would it feel like to be wanted by a man like that?

  The list of people who gave a damn about her was pitiably short. She had her brother in jail and then North Callaghan—and the only reason she had him was because her brother tasked him with looking out for her. It was rather embarrassing when she thought about it. North was living his own life now and on the verge of getting married. His visits and looking after her made her feel like a burden. She’d started attempting to distance herself from him without being rude—not that that kept North and Faith out of her life. They had a way of popping in uninvited. She just didn’t want anyone in her life there purely out of obligation or pity.

  She believed in that kind of love and happiness even though she had witnessed so little of it in her life. And then she remembered. That kind of fairy tale existence wasn’t for her. She didn’t deserve it.

  She’d lost the right to that kind of life a long time ago.

  As soon as Hale rea
ched the basketball court, he glanced back to check Piper Walsh’s progress across the expanse of sun-withered grass. She was the only human out here in a skirt and blouse. She looked like she just came from the office—even if her clothes weren’t anything fancy and actually looked cheap and ill-fitting on her small frame. She reminded him of a little girl playing dress up in her mother’s clothes. Whatever the case, looking at her now, she didn’t resemble a girl who worked at Joe’s.

  At least, not until she’d opened her mouth and reminded him that she was that same prickly, smart-mouthed girl.

  “Who’s that?” Baker, one of his buddies from high school, stepped up beside him. He was a firefighter, married with three kids and definitely enjoying the domestic life. He weighed thirty pounds more than when they were in high school with all the weight concentrated in his stomach. A veritable beer gut, but Baker didn’t seem to mind. Nor did his wife. He loved his life.

  “No one.”

  “Really? So you were just talking to no one for a few minutes.”

  “I talk to lots of people. It’s part of my job.”

  “Talking to her is part of your job, huh?” He glanced back to where Piper was a shrinking figure. “I’m thinking I went into the wrong line of work.”

  He shot his friend a quick frown. “You’re a happily married man. Amber would kick your ass to hear you talk like that.”

  He held up both hands. “Hey. I love my wife. I’d never stray, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a red-blooded man and I don’t have functioning eyes in my head.”

  “Like I said. It was work related.” He looked back at her fast-fading figure. She was part of the job. Her little sister getting hauled into his department had established that last night.

  “Yeah. And everyone knows you don’t mix business and pleasure. You’re much too disciplined for that,” Baker murmured. “She’s not your type anyway.”

  He snapped his gaze back to Baker. “What do you mean?”

  “You know. Like your Miz Alpine. What is she? Double D? Legs up to her chin. Bottle blonde. Amber tried to get her hair that color once. Came out orange.” He snickered.

  He didn’t bother correcting Baker. He wasn’t far off from the truth. Only Annabelle didn’t get anything out of a bottle herself. She worked for the biggest accounting firm in Alpine. Gordon and Fitzmichel happened to be based out of Dallas with satellite firms all over the country. Her salary was double Hale’s and he made a decent living. At least he always knew she wasn’t after him for his money. But then, he knew what she wanted from him. Annabelle had never disguised that fact.

  He knew she would only go to the most expensive salons to get her hair that shade of white-blond. She demanded the best for herself and she worked hard to get it.

  Every few weeks Hale visited her. Spent a night. Spent himself in her willing body. It was easy. No strings. They both had a good time and parted ways until the next time.

  Only lately . . .

  Well, they were overdue. That was probably it. He hadn’t seen her in almost a month and he wasn’t sure why. She’d been texting him about hooking up. He’d had some free time. He just hadn’t taken her up on any of her offers.

  He studied Baker. “I’m not so predictable. I don’t have an exclusive type.”

  “Riiiight. I’ve known you since high school, man. You have a type and Miz Alpine fits it.”

  At this point he didn’t want to argue because it would be like insisting that Piper Walsh was his type. Tiny things with dark hair and dark eyes had never been his choice female.

  Baker continued. “A little variety would be a good thing for you but that one is probably too young for an old man like you.”

  “Who you calling an old man?”

  Baker ignored him. “You need to be working on that family. Doubt you’ll get that with that Disney princess you were talking to.”

  He shook his head. “Man, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not into Piper Walsh—”

  “Walsh?” Baker said abruptly. “As in of the Walshes? Well, forget that. Steer clear of her.”

  His hackles rose higher, but he couldn’t say why. Baker wasn’t saying anything Hale himself hadn’t already thought. Still, he felt a surge of protectiveness. He didn’t like Baker thinking about her like she was some lesser grade of human.

  “Hey, you girls gonna keep gossiping or play?” Dan, another firefighter friend, called as he bounced the ball, looking ridiculous with his bright red sweatband around his head.

  Hale responded by jogging forward and stealing the ball from him. Dan shouted an obscenity, but he didn’t care. He just dove back into the game, making a mental note to answer Annabelle’s text waiting on his phone. She sent it yesterday and he hadn’t responded yet.

  He was off next weekend. It was time to make a trip to Alpine.

  Six

  By Thursday, the panic set in, sinking deep. She could feel her heart hard and heavy in her chest, like a stone weighing her down.

  For days now the terrible sensation had grown. Their fridge was nearly empty, the pantry was getting low and her bank account was floating on fumes.

  She was running out of options . . . if she ever really had any.

  She’d tried everything. Applied—or tried to apply—for employment at every restaurant in Sweet Hill and surrounding areas. She knew better than to aspire for anything beyond waitressing. Since high school, her resume only consisted of waitressing jobs.

  The cold reality of her situation pressed in on her like a wall closing in. She was going to have to ask Joe for her job back. Who was she kidding? She was going to have to beg him.

  Friday morning after seeing Malia off to school, she headed out of town for Devil’s Rock Penitentiary after scrounging fourteen dollars and seventy-two cents in change from the bucket of coins she kept in the closet. The cashier at the gas station had glared at her as she counted out her change. Yes, she’d filled up her car with precisely fourteen dollars and seventy-two cents. She’d glared back at the attendant. Money was money even if it was all coins.

  It was over an hour’s drive and she wanted to be on time. She didn’t want to miss a moment of the precious allotted visitation time allowed. Seeing her brother always grounded her and always reminded her of what she needed to do.

  She didn’t have to wait long before he joined her in the visitor’s room. They’d sat together in this very room for years now. At least once a month. She’d watched her brother change and grow into the man behind the glass barrier separating them. He was lean and muscled and tall, topping off at six feet. Surprising considering they shared the same gene pool. He looked dangerous. The scar bisecting his eyebrow and ending in his cheek (a souvenir from a fight when he first entered Devil’s Rock) added to his threatening appearance. He was lucky it hadn’t gone deep enough to take his eye.

  There were a few other visitors in the room, focused on the inmate they had come to visit. Just as they paid her little attention, she barely spared them a glance. She leaned forward in her chair eagerly as her brother picked up the phone on the other side of the glass.

  His dark eyes settled on her, looking her over. “Hey, Pied Piper,” he greeted, using the nickname he always used. Not very original, but then he’d been calling her that since she was two years old. He claimed their father had called her that once and it just stuck in his mind. Long after Dad had abandoned them and got sent away to prison when he killed a man in some drunken bar fight outside of Lubbock. She was her brother’s Pied Piper.

  “Hey, bub.” She pressed a hand against the glass. He placed his hand there, the broad palm of his hand flattening as if they were making actual contact. It was as much as they could have until the day he was released and they could actually hug each other.

  Her brother was a good man despite what everyone said—despite what a jury of twelve thought. It was a miracle, she supposed, that someone as good and noble as he could be the product of their parents—and he’d been under their influence pr
actically all the formative years of his life. Malia was good, but she couldn’t even remember Mom or Dad. Lucky for her. It was maybe the thing that saved her.

  “You look thin,” he said right away.

  “You always say that.”

  “You always look it,” he countered, lifting that dark eyebrow broken by that scar.

  She shrugged and deliberately didn’t tell him she’d eaten ramen for dinner the last three nights in a row. “I’m bigger than I was in high school.”

  “Well, yeah. You were just a girl in high school. You’re twenty-five now. You should have more meat on your bones.”

  “Says the guy who looks like he could use a hamburger himself.” She eyed the hard lines of her brother’s face. He reminded her of a wolf, all hungry and lean. His hair was closely cropped to his head and only added to his fierce demeanor. “Seriously. Are they feeding you well?”

  “Three squares. It was more than we got growing up.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

  She nodded. That was the truth.

  “How’s Malia?” Here was the part where she could tell him what happened last weekend—how her sister got dragged into the sheriff’s station and Piper lost her job as a result. And watch him lose his shit? Thank you, but no thanks.

  She knew that’s what got to him the most. What ate at him like a disease.

  Not that he was in jail.

  Not that he was stuck in here for several more years.

  Not that he couldn’t walk into a Starbucks and order a five-dollar cup of coffee.

  No. It ate him up that he couldn’t protect them from behind these bars.

  “She’s great. Scored three goals yesterday.” She shrugged. “Well, in the first two games anyway. They won the first two and lost the last one. Zero to four.”

  “Ouch.” His gaze drilled into her. He always got that earnest look when she talked to him about Malia. He hung on every word as though it was everything to him. And she supposed it was. She and Malia were the only people he had outside of this prison. “But she did great? Her coach? What did he say? He still thinks she looks good? She’s still on track to play in college?”