“What do you say we drive another round this last hour, boss, and then make our way home?”
I snort.“You mean my mama’s home, you parasite!”
“What! Your mama loves me and loves cooking for me, you dumb ass.” Chris looks at me smugly.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s making pork chops tonight.” I smile at him and see his eyes go wide.“I love your mama!”
“Watch it!” I warn him. Nobody talks shit about the women in my life. That’s my mama and my baby sister Grace. I’m the oldest of six, which means I’ve had plenty of practice keeping everyone in line and failing spectacularly at it most days. Ethan’s twenty-five, a firefighter, dependable and steady, the one you call when the world is falling apart. Dex, twenty-three, owner of Midnight Rodeo, the local bar in town, and a walking storm of trouble, knows how to make every day interesting. His twin, Jude, prefers quiet: he bought a piece of land, works with horses, and watches the rest of us with that signature raised brow, as if we’re all part of some chaotic experiment. Jace, twenty-one and a professional bull rider, never went to college, never met a dare he didn’t like, and has charm for days. And then there’s our baby sister, Grace, just turned eighteen, still in high school, fierce, fearless, and capable of putting all of us in our place without even trying.
Almost every evening, we gather for dinner at my parents’ranch. Everyone but Jace, who’s usually somewhere out there living on adrenaline. But even with him gone, the laughter, teasing, and occasional chaos make everyone feel right at home.
These last four years, Chris has invited himself to dinner at my mama’s almost every night after our shift. And my mama, being the best southern hospitality woman there is, loves cooking for this douche. Sometimes Asher, Ethan’s best friend, comes over too.
You’d think my mama would tire of having a house full of people every night?Nope. Lily Hawthorne loves to cook and entertain. Running her Bed and Breakfast on the ranch is not enough socializing for her. If someone complains about the house always being full, she just shushes them and serves them another portion of food. My dad agrees, obviously, his wife’s happiness is his only real mission in life.
“Alright, let’s do another run and call it a day,” I say, turning the key and easing the patrol truck onto the highway. The engine hums under my hands; the sun is sliding down, setting the Wyoming sky on fire in wide bands of orange and gold. The air smells like sage and dust, clean and sharp.
Then I see it … a small car pulled over on the shoulder, one wheel sunk in gravel.
“Flat back tire,” Chris says, shaking his head.
I slow the truck and squint at the Honda. The driver’s seat looks empty from here. I kill the engine, swing my door open, and hop out with Chris. Gravel crunches under our boots.
“Over there,” Chris nods toward the front of the car.
At the base of the hood, a woman is sitting on the ground, red hair falling over her face as she leans her head on her knees. She’s hunched like she’s trying to fold herself small, like the world’s weight has settled on her shoulders.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” My voice is soft, the kind of voice that intends no surprise, but she startles anyway. Big whiskey-brown eyes snap up.Damn she’s gorgeous. She scrambles to her feet and steps back like she wants distance.
“Officer…” she says, voice small and warm, like a mug of hot chocolate on a cold night.
“It’s Sheriff, ma’am.” I correct her gently. Chris snorts behind me; I give him a side-eye that would bruise if it could.
I study her. She’s shaking. Fear radiates off her in hot, brittle waves. One eye is swollen and black, her lower lip split, fingers bruised; faint handprints ring her throat. My fists tighten.Who did this to her?The urge to pick her up and put her somewhere safe while hunting down that son of a bitch hits me like physical pain. Years on the job have taught me to stay measured. Caution first.
She looks from me to Chris and back again, like a deer caught in headlights. Her breath is shallow. Her clothes have dust on them; her shoes have road grit.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, forcing a smile that I hope she reads as harmless.“We’re not going to hurt you. We just want to help.” I take a small step forward. Relief blooms when she doesn’t bolt.
“I just… need to change my tire and I’ll be on my way… uh, Sheriff,” she murmurs, eyes fixed on her trembling hands.
“Okay. Let us help with that.” I motion to Chris.
“Oh no, I’m okay, thanks,” she manages a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Alright, but just so you know, some wolves like to come out at night around here.” I nod toward the tree line, the woods beyond the shoulder. The warning sits in the air between us.
Color drains from her face.“Oh, uh… well…” She wrings her hands, voice wobbling.“I was looking for my spare, but” she shakes her head, “my ex-boyfriend must have taken it without me knowing, and, well, I don’t have one.”
Ex-boyfriend.My jaw clamps. She’s not with him anymore. That should mean something. Relief fizzles into something darker.
“I’m sorry, miss…?” I trail off. I want her name pinned in my brain.
“Penelope Lawson.” she whispers.
“Okay, Penelope. I’m Sheriff Hawthorne, but you can call me Cas. And that’s Officer Barnes” I nod towards Chris “just call him Chris… or Idiot.” I grin, trying to lighten the mood.
She actually laughs, a small, warm sound, and her hand flies to her split lip with a wince, freckled skin flushing from the memory like heat. My chest tightens. I force the urge to wrap her in my arms down; instead I keep my hands loose, visible.
