He seldom gives praise, and when he does, it comes off stiff. So even though this doesn’t erase the underlying tension between us, I consider it a small step toward him seeing that I’m fully committed to the ranch’s success.
I guide Ranger to a slow stop at the pasture where the cows will graze for the evening. My phone buzzes in my shirt pocket, and I shift the reins to my other hand to fish it out.
Sheriff Matterson: I’m back in town.
Sheriff Matterson: Can you come to the station? We need to talk.
Shit.
I wipe the sweat from my brow, my eyes glued to the screen. There’s only one thing he could want to talk about, and I’m not ready to face him about dating his daughter. Not only did I not ask for his permission, but we also made it official while he was out of town. There’s no chance he’ll let that slide.
“Why do you look like you just spotted a rattlesnake?” Heath asks.
“Sheriff Matterson wants me to come down to the station,” I mutter.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, this is going to be great. Mind if I tag along?”
Of course the smug bastard finds it hilarious that I’m about to get my ass handed to me by a man twice my age.
“No, you’re not coming.”
My phone buzzes again.
Sheriff Matterson: Don’t keep me waiting, son.
Heath eases his horse closer, leaning carefully to catch a glimpse of my screen, and gives me a clap on the back. “You’d better get to the station, or things are only going to get worse for you.”
I give him a sharp look. “Aren’t you the one constantly complaining about me not pitching in enough around the ranch? Yet you’re telling me to leave when I’m here working?”
He shrugs. “We were just about finished anyway.”
“You’re no help,” I huff, running a hand over my jaw.
The way I see it, there’s no avoiding this. Resigned to my fate, I type out a quick response and hit send before I change my mind.
Walker: Yes, sir. I’ll be there in 30.
Sheriff Matterson: Make it 25.
If this were for anyone else, I’d bail on our arrangement to avoid this impending talk. But I’d do just about anything for Birdie—even face down her dad, who very well might shoot me.
Heading into the sheriff’s office feels like I’m walking into my own funeral. The place is buzzing with activity—from the office clerk typing up a report to the receptionist fielding calls. Every head turns as I pass, probably all wishing they could sit in on judgment day.
Mason flashes me a smug grin, donut powder clinging to his lips. “Well, well, Halstead. Guess you overestimated your standing with the sheriff.”
I narrow my eyes in his direction. “We’ll see.”
Unwilling to waste another second with him, I stride toward Sheriff Matterson’s office. The door swings open as I approach, and Birdie steps out.
She’s wearing a blue sundress paired with cowgirl boots. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, leaving her neck exposed, and it makes me want to lean in and kiss the column until she’s left breathless.
“Howdy, sweetheart,” I drawl.
A smile tugs at her lips when she sees me. “Walker, what are you doing here? I thought you were working on the ranch today?”
“Your dad asked to talk to me, so I came straight from there,” I explain.
Her gaze shifts to my dusty Wranglers and sweat-stained shirt. “Oh, I’m sorry he did that. He should have waited until you were on shift.”
