Like he did me, the sheriff waves Jo back. I'm watching her approach, her blonde, light pink tipped hair brushing her collarbone, so I see it the moment she spots me. Her shoulders stiffen, her eyes turn to steel. I don't know what I did, but Jo hates me. She glances down at Shelby as she passes. Shelby shrugs quickly, shaking her head back and forth as if to say she doesn't know why Jo's been called in.
"Come on in, Jo," the sheriff directs. He motions for her to sit at the chair in front of his desk. "You too, Wyatt."
We both take a seat, and we both do it reluctantly. It's the closest we've been to each other since that weekend a big group of us went down to the valley for a couple days away. I sat next to her at dinner one night, and I remember liking the way she smelled. Like citrus and flowers. Kind of how she smells right now.
I spare her a quick glance. Her entire body is rigid, her back perfectly in line with her seat. She's beautiful, no man would disagree. My eyes linger for just one extra second, roving over her defined cheekbones. I'm hit with a feeling that doesn’t make sense… her skin under my touch, my fingertips trailing over her cheek.
I'm thrust from this moment, from this office, and into a place I don't comprehend. What I just felt was my imagination, I know it. So why is it that it feels more like a memory?
"Wyatt, are you with us?" Sheriff's irritation slams into my consternation, breaking apart my thoughts and delivering me back to the present.
"Here," I answer, tearing my eyes from Jo's profile. She still has not spared me a single glance.
"This"—the sheriff picks up today's paper—"was interesting today." He opens it and looks at me over the top. "Did you know that Jo here has purchased the Circle B?"
I shake my head. "I did not know that." Why would anybody want that place?
Sheriff Monroe smirks. "Did you know she's hiring?"
Jo frowns. "I'm not hiring yet. I'm not doinganythingyet. It's only been final for two days and I'm figuring out the next steps."
Sheriff turns his attention to her. "What would you say is your first next step?"
"Clean up. Demo. Figuring out what's salvageable."
Sheriff nods. "And do you have people to help you with that?"
Jo looks like she's about as tired of this conversation already as I am. "Not at the moment."
"I have your first helper. Unpaid, of course." His gaze flickers over to me.
Wherever the sheriff is mentally, I haven't yet joined him. He may as well be talking in riddles. Apparently Jo isn't quite there either, because she says, "What are you getting at?"
Sheriff Monroe doesn't even try to hide his shit-eating grin. "It just so happens Wyatt here is in need of some community service."
"I am?" I was really hoping my last name worked in my favor and the whole situation had been dropped.
He nods. "You are." His words are followed by a look that tells me in no uncertain terms am I to even think about challenging him. I get the message. I have the feeling he wouldn't hesitate to lay my shit bare right here in front of Jo, and I don't particularly want that occurring.
"Crook," I say under my breath.
He chortles. "Takes one to know one."
He has me there.
"Excuse me," Jo cuts in, her voice tight and her volume higher than it was before. "Do I get a say in this?"
"Sure," the sheriff answers.
"Good. Because I don't want Wyatt serving his community service at my ranch."
I glare at her profile. "What's your problem with me?"
Finally, for the first time since we both arrived in this office, she turns her gaze on me. And I'm hit again, another figment of my imagination masquerading as a memory.She is small underneath me, allowing me to push her back against the wall, running my hands through her hair.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
Jo's in the middle of a sentence. "…and you're unreliable. And you're not even listening to me now!"
