The Sheriff's Son. Barbara White Daille
with Daddy, that she learned the price of all that convenience. Taxes. Utilities. Upkeep. And a business that usually lost more money than it earned.
Right now, the accounting books glowed in neon-red. She would be ashamed to show them to Delia, the owner of Dillon’s one and only restaurant, who had taught her how to balance the accounts after Daddy died.
Daddy would never give up the house or the store—and neither would she. She’d never wanted to work anywhere but here.
She turned back to the notes she’d jotted on the legal pad in front of her, the rough outline of ways to earn extra money. Maybe not enough to pay off all her bills, but any lightening of her load would help. The first idea she’d come up with, she owed to Tanner Jones and his devotion to her pecan loaf.
And speak of the devil—she looked out the window to see the County Sheriff’s sedan glide to a stop in front of The Book Cellar. She’d had a reprieve from Tanner the day before, but that had just ended.
She slid the notepad onto the shelf beneath the cash register. Wiping her palms on her skirt, she glanced at the wall clock. Kevin’s school bus would drop him off shortly.
The last thing she wanted was for Tanner to be in the same room as her son. She prayed Kevin would come into the store and head directly to the stairs leading up to their kitchen instead of charging into the store like he usually did. But surely he would see the sheriff’s car outside and would know enough to avoid Tanner. Or maybe not.
She would have to get rid of him.
For a moment, his broad outline blocked the light from the front window, and a cool shadow seemed to fall over her. How could that happen, when he hadn’t yet entered the store?
He shoved the door open. The bell tinkled. She wrapped her arms around herself for reassurance.
She could handle this situation. She had to.
“Afternoon, Sarah.”
She nodded. Even before he removed his mirror-shaded sunglasses, she could feel his gaze on her. When her hands shook, she both feared and welcomed the reaction. Feared it for showing, no matter what he’d done, she hadn’t gotten over him. Welcomed it because, like the jingling bell, it gave her a warning.
She slipped a clipboard out from beside her notepad. She’d hurry this meeting along.
Between them, she and Tanner had set up the neighborhood watch. In pairs, people walked through town or drove past the outlying ranches. So far, though, they hadn’t seen anyone involved in suspicious activity.
She forced herself to meet Tanner’s eyes. “Not a thing new to report, Deputy. We’ve got our groups set up for tonight and tomorrow.”
“Enthusiasm staying pretty high?” He leaned close. Too close. Above the well-loved scents of paper and leather bindings that permeated the store, she caught a whiff of his aftershave.
Easing backward, she shrugged. “Things have quieted, but the teams are still out doing their jobs. And you?”
“Doing my job, you mean? Trying to, at least.” He grinned.
She looked down, made an unnecessary checkmark next to an imaginary item. Tried to keep her mind on her own duties. “Have you found out who’s behind all these pranks?”
“In two days? No. But I’ll start making rounds in the County car at night.”
“If you’re taking on extra duties yourself, I’ll do the same.” It was the least a co-chair could do.
“We can make up a team.”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He leaned forward, giving her another look at his devilish grin. “Aw, c’mon, Sarah. Be like old times, when we’d cruise around in that old clunker I had.”
They had spent more than a few of their nights riding alone in the dark, intimate closeness of the front seat of his car. She glared at him.
The gall of the man yet again, same as on the night of the Town Hall meeting. Insinuating himself where he wasn’t wanted, using that same teasing tone. Acting as if they could regain what they’d had between them years ago.
“That won’t work, Tanner. We’re not teenagers anymore.” She clutched her clipboard harder. “I can’t patrol after dark, anyway. I need to be home in the evenings for Kevin.”
As if the mention of her son’s name had summoned him, the front door swung open. Tensing, she glanced past Tanner, then sagged in relief.
Jerry, the mail carrier, came down the center aisle of the store juggling a couple large packing boxes. An envelope rested precariously on top. Her heart sank as she spied the return receipt card attached to it. Another creditor, wanting to make sure she received her overdue bills.
“Afternoon, Sarah. Not a bad haul, today.”
In his opinion, maybe.
Jerry set the boxes on the counter. The envelope slid off to land on the floor at Tanner’s feet. “’Scuse me, Deputy.”
“No problem.” Tanner bent and picked up the offending piece of mail. He frowned down at it, then handed it to Sarah.
She scribbled her signature, ripped off the receipt, and returned it to Jerry, who nodded his thanks and left.
“Let me set these boxes back in my office,” she told Tanner, “and we can go over the roster for the watch teams.”
“Here, I’ll give you a hand.”
Before she could protest, he lifted the packing boxes as though they weighed no more than the envelope. She hurried into her office, not wanting to be trapped in the narrow aisle with him.
Her tiny back room gave her no better space. With the added height of his high-crowned Stetson and the heels of his dress boots, Tanner seemed tall enough to brush the ceiling. Broad enough to fill the room. Alive and healthy and strong enough to require all the air in the vicinity.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Just set them on the pile beside the filing cabinet.” She looked toward the desk, intending to place the envelope there, and cringed when she saw the bills she’d left lined up, with their incriminating red stamps marked Overdue. One little shift sideways, one turn of his head, and Tanner would see them, too.
As he leaned over to put the boxes down, she hurried past him to the desk.
“That’s some son you’ve got, Sarah.”
The words stopped her in her tracks. After a long moment, she turned and faced him, her body blocking the desktop. “What do you mean?”
He nodded toward the bulletin board. “Drawings up there, looking good. He shows more talent with a couple of crayons than we ever managed to do in Art. He take after his dad?”
The blood rushed from Sarah’s head. Her face felt chilled, her mouth frozen. She didn’t want to answer Tanner. Couldn’t. But he stood looking at her, waiting for an answer.
“No, his father doesn’t have any artistic skill, either.” It wasn’t a lie. Tanner had just made that clear. Still, the half truth seemed to twist in her heart.
He stepped closer. “I say something wrong?” He reached up, as if to stroke the stray curls that tumbled against her temple.
Time stopped. Turned back. Raced away.
She stood, held in place by the look in Tanner’s eyes.
His hand hovered near her head, a breath away from touching her, until he clenched his fingers and lowered his arm to his side.
She whirled to face the desk, scooped the row of bills into an untidy pile and flipped it over. Hands shaking, she struggled to line up the edges of the papers.
The crazy thought occurred to her that she should tell him everything