Dolly studied me for a long moment, her red nails tapping against the counter. “Fine,” she echoed. “Go sit your fancy ass down in that booth and keep a lid on it.” Then she turned to Marcus, poking a red nail into his chest. “Make yourself useful and watch him.”
The sheriff opened his mouth to argue, but Dolly was already gone, storming off into the kitchen. I watched her go, then looked up at Sheriff Webb, who was still standing there with that half-smile on his face. Up close, he smelled like leather and something clean—soap maybe, or just fresh air. Either way, it was distracting.
“Well,” I said, sliding into the booth Dolly had pointed to. “I guess you’re babysitting me now.”
“Appears that way,” he said, and to my surprise, he sat down across from me instead of just hovering. He took off his hat and set it on the table, running a hand through his sandy hair. Itwas left slightly mussed, and I had to actively stop myself from staring.
“You didn’t have to sit,” I pointed out. “I’m sure you have important sheriff things to do. Crimes to solve, cattle rustlers to apprehend, stuff like that.”
“We don’t get a lot of cattle rustlers these days,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. His expression was so serious. “And right now, my most pressing duty is making sure you and Dolly don’t kill each other.”
“I wouldn’t kill her,” I said, leaning back in the booth. “I might critique her to death, but that’s different.”
Something flickered across his face—amusement, maybe? It was hard to tell with him. He had one of those faces that didn’t give much away, all stoic and controlled. It made me want to crack through it, see what was underneath all that careful composure.
“But Dollymightkill you,” he replied.
“Don’t let my good looks fool you,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I know how to handle myself with overgrown drag queens.”
I saw Marcus’s jaw flex as he clenched his teeth. Clearly, he was trying not to laugh.
“You’re Lucas’s friend,” he said after a moment. It wasn’t a question.
“Best friend,” I corrected. “Known him for years. And you are...?”
“I’ve known Beau since we were kids,” he said. “Grew up together.”
“Ah, so you’re one of the locals who doesn’t like city boys getting all up in your small town.” I said it lightly, but there was an edge to my voice I couldn’t quite hide.
His green eyes met mine, and I felt that flutter in my chest again. Damn it. “It’s not my place to judge,” he said quietly. “I’m just tryin’ to keep the peace.”
We sat there for a moment in silence, and I realized that half the diner was still watching us. Frank and Jack in their booth, a couple of older women by the window, even a guy at the counter had swiveled his stool to get a better view. Small town entertainment at its finest.
“Does everyone always stare like this, or am I just special?” I asked.
Sheriff Webb glanced around, and I watched a slight flush creep up his neck. “They’re just curious. We don’t get a lot of... visitors like you.”
“Visitors like me,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You mean devastatingly handsome and impeccably dressed?” I paused. “Or do you mean visitors with mesh shirts and their nipples out?”
He glanced down at my chest and the flush deepened, spreading to his cheeks. His eyes lingered there for longer than I expected, as if he was memorizing every detail. That was interesting.Veryinteresting.
“Uh,” he cleared his throat, his eyes snapping back up to my face. “We don’t get many folks dressed like that, no.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Does it bother you?”
“What you wear?” He shifted in his seat, and I noticed his hand came up to adjust his collar even though it didn’t need adjusting. “No. ‘Course not. You can wear whatever you want.”
“But?” I prompted, because I could hear the unspoken word hanging in the air.
“But nothin’,” he said firmly. “Just might want to bring a jacket if you’re plannin’ on spendin’ time at the ranch. Gets cold in the evenings.”
I studied him, trying to figure out what game we were playing here. He was giving me nothing but professional courtesy and careful neutrality. But his eyes had definitely lingered on my chest, and that flush was still coloring his neck. Sheriff Marcus Webb was either very uncomfortable around gay men, or he was uncomfortable for entirely different reasons.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said slowly. “Thanks for the fashion advice, Sheriff.”
“Marcus is fine.”
“Marcus,” I repeated, testing his name on my tongue. I liked the way it felt. Solid. Grounded. “So tell me,Marcus; what’s a guy supposed to do for fun around here? Besides antagonize diner owners and get babysat by handsome sheriffs?”
