“Hey, old man.” Darby pushed out of the car.
“Hey, shorty.”
He sauntered over, a new swagger I’d never seen in the kid. “How’s the back?”
“What do you have behind yours?”
A grin crossed his face as he pulled a God-awful gold cane with an eagle head hand mount from behind his back. “Picked you up a cane.”
“Thanks.” I plucked it from his hand and hurled it intothe woods, the sunlight glinting off the gold as it faded out of sight.
“Hey!That cost me seven dollars.”
“More than those shoes, I’m guessing.”
Darby kicked out the professional black loafers that had replaced his millennial white kicks. “At least they don’t have holes anymore. And you’re not exactly who should be criticizing fashion.”
The kid had a point.
“How’s the shoulder?” I asked.
He rolled his arm in a circle. “Good as new. Except when it rains. For some reason it aches when it rains.”
“It’ll keep you tough.” I looked him over. Darby’s blue button-up and khakis were freshly pressed with not a drip of syrup, ketchup or chocolate milk on them. Starched too, best I could tell. The kid had gained seventeen pounds of solid muscle since fully recovering from being shot three times. The added weight and ability to defy death gave him instant respect at the station. The scars from taking three rounds to the torso gave him a solid reputation. Tommy Darby had become the most unexpected ladies’ man in Berry Springs. I saw more than that, though. I saw confidence. And it looked damn good on him.
I lingered on the shiny badge on his hip for a moment, memories flooding me.
Times had changed. In eight months, my life had taken me down paths I’d never expected.
“Come on,” I grabbed my bags from the back and nodded to the trail through the woods that had been carved out of foot traffic over the last few months. Darby fell into step next to me.
“You know,” he said, “That cane really would have gone with this new caveman look you’ve got on.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, catching on a snag. I couldn’t remember a time that my hair was so long that it tangled. It went with the beard, though.
It felt good, believe it or not. The beard, the graying shaggy hair that curled just below my ears. Another inch and I’d be able to pull it back. I’d spent my life sporting crew cuts and smooth chins. Not anymore.
“So,” Darby started, redirecting the conversation to the purpose of the announced visit. “I wanted to get your thoughts on this case I was just handed…”
Our conversation seamlessly switched to homicide, to me listening to Darby and doing my best to guide him in the right direction. I didn’t know why he trusted me so much, but because he did, I wasn’t going to let him down. He wasn’t going to be the nextDog,he was going to be the nextPit Bull.
I was proud of him. He was the youngest cop to ever be promoted to detective.
As we took a curve in the woods, the sounds of nature faded to shouts, curse words, tools banging, saws and drills. The fresh smell of lumber perked my senses—but that was nothing compared to seeing the woman standing at the edge of the woods.
Wearing a pair of khaki pants, a pair of workman boots—although she’d kick my butt for calling them workmanboots instead of workwomanboots—and a T-shirt that readGoal Digger, Sunny Harper stood with her hands fisted on her hips, her focus zeroed in on the project ahead of her. Her hair was down, flowing in the wind, just the way I liked it. The tool belt around her waist had my pants tightening, the dirt smudged on her cheek had my heart kicking. Over the last eight months, I learned Sunny’s loyalty and hard-working nature had no bounds.
She was the perfect woman.
And she was mine.
As if sensing me, she turned, a breeze catching those long curls as she met my gaze and smiled.
New beginnings.
Her attention dropped to the bags in my hands. Her eyes lit as we walked up.
“A picnic lunch?”
