The Deputy Gets Her Man. Stella Bagwell
look at him and at that moment the odd thought of kissing her shot through his mind. What would it feel like to pry those lips of hers apart and feel the soft skin of her cheek pressed against his?
Her voice suddenly interrupted his wandering thoughts. “Mr. Pickens, I suggest you let the law do its job. Otherwise, you might find yourself in a pair of handcuffs.”
He didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or curse. “If you haul Santo to jail, you’ll be making a huge mistake.”
“Your man just confessed to the crime,” she retorted. “I’d be stupid not to arrest him.”
“You insulted him. He said all of that out of spite because he’s angry!”
Stepping forward, she wrapped a hand against the back of Tyler’s arm and urged him several feet away from the vehicle and out of the earshot of Santo and the other men. Tyler was acutely aware of the warm weight of her hand, the flowery scent wafting to his nostrils.
“Mr. Pickens,” she said lowly. “When I left your house less than an hour ago, you implied you had no qualms about me interrogating your men. Now here you are interfering. Maybe you should start explaining yourself.”
It suddenly dawned on Tyler that if their roles were reversed, he wouldn’t be showing the calm patience that she was projecting at the moment. The insight was enough to dissolve his anger and make him even more aware of her touch and the deep, dark depth of her eyes.
“Okay, I’m guilty of interfering. I’m sorry. But in this case I think you need to know what’s going on here.”
Dropping her hand away from his arm, she rested her hands on her hips. “Hmm. Well, exactly what is going on here?”
“Santo couldn’t have started the fire. Yesterday I sent him over to Roswell to pick up a horse. He didn’t return until late in the evening and when the fire started, Santo and I were both down at the stables dealing with the new horse.” He inclined his head to a point beyond her shoulder, where a long barn with a wide roof protecting the whole length of the building, which stabled more than two dozen horses. “We’d barely gotten the horse unloaded and into its stall when we started to smell smoke.”
She stared back at him as she weighed the sincerity of his words. Then, finally, she inclined her head toward Santo. “I’ll talk to him again. You come with me. But don’t say a word. Understand?”
“Santo will hear a few choice words from me,” he assured her. “But that will be later.”
Seeming to accept his promise, she motioned for him to join her and they quickly returned to where his chief wrangler stood passively waiting for the deputy to haul him away.
A man in his sixties, Santo had worked for Tyler for eight years and since his wife had died several months ago, he’d moved into the bunkhouse and lived on the ranch full-time. Tyler understood the man was going through a tough emotional patch. Otherwise, he would have fired him for pulling such a stunt with Deputy Lightfoot.
She said to Santo, “I think you’d better tell me your story again, Mr. Garza. It’s not adding up to your boss’s account of your activities yesterday.”
Remorseful now, the man looked at her, then Tyler. “Okay. I was gone to Roswell. I didn’t set no fire,” he mumbled.
Her eyes rolled with utter frustration. “You stated that you wanted to burn every Cantrell to a crisp. If you didn’t set the fire, what was that about?”
“I added that for good measure,” the wrangler explained. “Miss Deputy, don’t you know when someone is feeding you a line of bullsh—uh—manure?”
She shot Tyler an exasperated look. “Evidently your man doesn’t understand he can get into deep trouble by lying to a law official. I could take him in, you know. For giving false statements, impeding an investigation and—”
“But you won’t,” Tyler interrupted. “Because you and I both know that Sheriff Hamilton doesn’t have time to deal with this sort of nonsense.”
“Neither do I,” she snapped.
Turning to Santo, she gave him a stern upbraiding before finally releasing him from the handcuffs. The horse wrangler didn’t press his luck by hanging around or tossing any more sarcastic jabs at the deputy, especially in front of his boss. Instead, he quickly headed in the direction of the stables with the other three ranch hands close behind him.
Lifting his hat from his head, Tyler raked a hand through his thick hair and heaved out a weary breath. This morning was hardly going as planned. “I’m sorry about this, Deputy Lightfoot. Santo is—well, he’s an independent cuss. He sometimes has the idea that rules are for other people to follow, not him. Believe me, I’ll get the message over to him.”
“That might be a good idea. Before he gets himself into a serious situation.”
She walked around the truck to where the driver’s door still stood ajar. Within the cab, he could hear the dispatcher relaying information to another officer and Tyler suddenly wondered if Deputy Lightfoot had already alerted the sheriff that she was making an arrest regarding the fire. He hoped not. It would hardly shed a positive light on her ability to judge people and the situation.
Whether she makes a fool of herself or not is hardly your business, Tyler. If she takes a fall for mishandling the investigation, it’s not your worry.
Even though the pestering voice in his head was giving him good advice, he pushed the annoying noise aside. For some reason he didn’t understand, he wanted this woman to succeed. And not just because it would be to his advantage to have the arsonist found and punished. No, this was a personal feeling. Something he’d been short on for a long, long while.
“Are you finished interviewing the men?” he asked.
“For now.” She climbed into the truck, shut the door, then looked out at him through the open window.
Amazed by the crazy pull she had on him, he couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer to the truck door. “I’d like to thank you again, Deputy Lightfoot, for being so understanding about Santo. His wife died a few months ago and he’s been struggling to get back to normal. If not for that, I would fire him. As it is—”
“Forget it,” she cut in briskly. Then, turning her focus back inside the truck, she started the engine.
“I’d rather buy your dinner,” he said, unable to stop the rush of words from tumbling out of him. “Just to show my gratitude.”
That jerked her head around, and Tyler could see shock arching her black brows and widening her dark brown eyes.
“Sorry. It’s against department policy to accept gratuities,” she said stiffly.
“Okay. Is it against department policy for deputies to eat dinner?”
A grimace tightened her lips. “No. We do get to eat from time to time.”
“Then would it be a crime for someone to sit down at your table and eat at the same time you were eating?”
She stared at him. “No. But you paying for it would be.”
He grinned and was totally amazed at the spurt of excitement skittering along his veins.
“Well, Deputy Lightfoot, you know how things sometimes go at busy restaurants. Meal tickets get mixed up. One diner’s order might get added to someone else’s. It’s all just innocent confusion.”
He could see the corners of her mouth twitch, making it clear that she was trying her best not to smile. The idea pleased him far more than it should have.
“You know, Mr. Pickens, right now you’re proving to me that you’d make a perfect criminal.”
He chuckled. “Perfect, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She let out an exasperated breath; then, after a few moments