Clucking his tongue, he snagged a chair and twisted it around, then sank into it, resting his forearms on the back of it.
“I heard a rumor that Michael and his girlfriend are sticking around.”
“Mmm,” I hummed, wondering where he was going with this.
“And I also heard that Liam’s got the all clear on his burns.”
“Well, that’s fantastic, Sheriff. Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”
“Oh, no reason. Just spreading the good word.”
Cheyenne snorted in amusement, burying her face in her hands to cover for her blunder.
“Sheriff, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m not interested in Liam Parker or any of his family.”
“No?”
“Not in the least.”
“Well, then I guess you wouldn’t be interested in knowing that his brother’s name has been cleared.”
That was interesting, but after my whole life had been splashed over the town, I wasn’t about to share in the spreading of gossip.
“Oh, look. Our food is here,” I said as Lizzy brought out our meals.
“Fish and chips for you,” she said, sliding my basket over.
“And fried chicken for you. Your order will be out in a few, sheriff.”
Lizzy winked at him before walking away.
Grimacing down at my fish and chips, I reluctantly opened the tartar sauce and dipped a bite of fish in.
“Not your usual,” Maverick said, eyeing the fish warily.
“Nope, but I wanted to try something new.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” I snapped, getting frustrated with his odd interrogation techniques that consisted of sitting here and annoying me until I finally gave in and spilled my guts to him.
“Interesting. And what sparked this adventurous nature?”
“Well, when you’ve eaten the same thing since third grade, it’s only inevitable that change is necessary.”
“I see,” he frowned.
“Yes, precisely. Fried chicken is great, but maybe I don’t want that kind of meat anymore. Maybe I want fish!”
“Fish is a good choice. I mean, if you get it locally. I wouldn’t touch anything that might wander into town.”
“Maybe I will,” I argued, slamming my fish down. “Maybe I’ll go out and find some fish in Colorado. Or maybe even New Mexico!”
His frown deepened at my declaration. “Not sure they have fresh fish in New Mexico.”
“Well, then I’ll go to California!”
“That’s just hippie fish. No true Montanan would dare get fish from California,” he argued, narrowing his eyes at me.
