“I figured you’d want one of these.” She motioned to the beer as I walked up the porch.
“Yeah.” I sat down, tipping the beer to my lips and quenching my thirst.
She took her own drink as her eyes raked over my legs. “You are sexy on that horse, cowboy.”
“What’s it going to earn me?”
“Take a shower and you’ll find out.”
I laughed, leaning over the arm of my chair and waving her closer. Then I fit my lips to the corner of her mouth before I left her on the porch and went inside to shower.
With a towel to my hair and wearing only a pair of jeans, I came out of the master bedroom and checked my phone.
I’d missed seven calls, and a dozen texts waited to be read. They were all from family members, and though I should find out what was happening, put out whatever fires had started today, I ignored it all and went in search of Winn.
I’d expected to find her inside, but through the glass windows in the living room, I saw her sitting in the same porch chair, rocking gently as her eyes stayed glued to the trees and the mountain peaks rising beyond.
She looked at peace. Maybe more at peace than she’d ever been, even in sleep.
My heart skipped. The towel fell from my hand. My hand came to my sternum.
She was perfect in that chair.
So beautiful I wanted this view every night.
Fuck. We were supposed to burn out. We should have burned out already. I needed it to burn out. My focus had to stay on this ranch. On my family.
Yet it didn’t stop me from walking outside, picking her up out of that chair and carrying her to my bedroom.
We would burn out.
Just not yet.
Chapter Thirteen
Winslow
“Did he give you any trouble?” Mitch asked.
“Not unless you count him crying the whole ride here.” I glanced through the jail cell’s steel bars to the man I’d hauled in for drunk driving.
He sat on the cot, his head in his hands, still crying. Dumbass. Maybe this would teach him a lesson.
Oh, how I hated the Fourth of July.
“Hopefully he’ll be the last,” I said.
Mitch sighed. “It’s still early. I bet we bring in one or two more.”
“But we’re out of space.” All five cells were occupied by other dumbasses.
“We’ll double up if we have to. Last year on the Fourth we had to triple a few cells.”
“Let’s just hope no one gets hurt.”
“Agreed.” He nodded. “But hey, on the bright side, no bar fights this year. Two years ago we busted up a brawl at Old Mill. That was a cluster. And last year we had six girls who got into it at Big Sam’s. That was even worse. Girls fight mean.”
I laughed, following him out of the holding area. “Yes, we do.”
The bars in town were closed. The rodeo was over. Now, hopefully, we just had to deal with the idiots who hadn’t gone home. The ones who’d decided to take the party elsewhere and cause trouble.
Mitch would be here to lock them up when the other officers brought them in.
The keys attached to his belt jingled as we walked. Of the officer team, Mitch was my favorite. His tall and stout frame made him an intimidating man, but I’d learned in my time here that he was gentle and kind.
Smiles aimed my way were rare in the station. They normally only came from Janice. And Mitch. He always had one waiting when I walked into the station in the early-morning hours before the shift change.
As we passed the last cell, the man who’d been hauled in first was on his cot, snoring louder than a bear.
Mitch simply shook his head and hit the button on the wall to signal we were ready to come out.
Allen was waiting on the other side to buzz us through the secure door. He’d swapped out of day shift to help tonight on patrols.
Every member of my staff had been on duty today, even the office crew. The county sheriff and his team had come into town to help manage the crowds and patrol the streets. The Quincy Independence Day celebration had been a whirlwind of activity. We’d been prepping for it all week, and in just a few more hours, it would be over.
Thank God.
I yawned and dug a set of keys out of my pocket. They belonged to the cruiser I’d taken out for a two-hour patrol shift.
“It’s all yours.” I handed them to Mitch. He and Allen would be taking the next patrol shift together.
“Thanks, Chief.”
“Winslow,” I corrected.
He nodded but I suspected he’d keep calling me Chief. “Heading home?”
“Yeah.” I yawned again and glanced at the clock on the wall. Three in the morning. I’d come in at four, yesterday morning. “Call me if you need anything.”
He nodded. “Will do.”
“Night, Allen.”
“Night, Chief,” he said. “See you Monday.”
“That’s technically tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Guess so.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not cut out for the night shift.”
“Me neither.” I waved, ducking into my office to collect my purse before heading outside, where my Durango had been parked for nearly twenty-four hours.
Sliding behind the wheel, I let my shoulders slump. “What a day.”
The festivities had started with a parade on Main. My team had barricaded the road and put out detour signs for the traffic needing to pass through Quincy. Officers had been stationed at both ends of the street to guide pedestrians and wave through cars. I’d missed most of the parade—floats and horses and classic cars—too busy walking the sidewalks and surveying the crowd.
Cleanup had followed, and I’d found thirty minutes to scarf down an early lunch at my desk. Afterward, while half of the officers had set out in cruisers on patrol, the rest of us had made our way to the fairgrounds to prepare for the evening rodeo.
During the barrel racing, I’d visited with the county sheriff, learning more about him and his team. During the steer wrestling, I’d escorted a drunken cowboy who’d been vomiting behind the porta-potties off the grounds to sleep it off in the back of his horse trailer. And during the team roping, I’d helped a little girl who’d gotten separated from her family find her parents.
But toward the end of the night, as the sun had set and with it the temperature, I’d found a quiet moment to stand against the fence and breathe. The overhead lights had cloaked the arena in their blinding glow and obscured the stars above. Bull riding had been the final event, and as young men had climbed on the back of massive beasts, hoping to make it eight seconds, I’d focused on the stands, searching for Griffin.
He’d sat toward the bottom rail, and even from the opposite end of the fairgrounds, his smile had made my heart skip. Every row had been crammed, the space around Griffin no different. I’d recognized his family sitting close by.
The Edens had drawn nearly as much attention as the bull riders. People had passed, waving and stopping for a quick hello. Like he’d known I was watching, Griff had searched the fence line and found me.
In a sea of people, above the noise and below the lights, one look from him and the world had melted away.
The Fourth of July meant trouble.