I shake my head. “He wouldn’t understand.”
I’ve always wanted to do my part to carry on the family legacy, but it’s never been my true calling—it’s Heath’s. He’s known what he’s wanted since the age of five. He’s built for the endurance, determination, and endless grind it takes to run a large cattle ranch, and he has devoted every ounce of himself to it, no matter the personal cost—not caring that his social life is practically nonexistent.
“He might be a one-man thundercloud, and a little intimidating, but he’s your brother,” Birdie reminds me. “I think you’re underestimating how much he cares about your happiness.”
I sprinkle some cinnamon on her latte and hand it to her.
“Maybe.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t talk to him about it,” she points out before taking a long sip of her drink.
I’ve always let Heath make his own assumptions about my intentions and figured that dealing with his grumpy moods was inevitable. But Birdie might be onto something. Heath is a hard-ass, but he’s not heartless or unreasonable. If I explained that my decision to become a deputy was about striking a balance between prioritizing my interests and my responsibilities, maybe he’d finally cut me some slack.
I arch a brow. “Never thought you’d end up as my therapist, did you?”
“It’s a perfectly fair trade for mind-blowing sex and world-class coffee.” She takes another drink from her mug, letting out a pleased sigh. “Seriously, you make the best lattes.”
“Glad you think so.” I grin. “Be sure to leave a Yelp review before you leave.”
She bites her lip. “You sure you want my honest rating? I won’t sugarcoat it.”
I come to stand in front of her again, resting my hands on her knees. “Lay it on me, pretty girl.”
She tilts her head to the side, thinking it over with a playful frown. “Last night’s performance was four stars at best. Three orgasms was a solid start, but I know you weren’t giving it your all.” She smirks over the rim of her mug. “But this morning’s excellent coffee and stellar service? That definitely bumps you up to four and a half stars.”
I click my tongue as I drop to my knees. “That won’t do.”
“Walker.” Birdie swallows hard as I move my hands to her thighs and spread them apart. “What are you doing?”
I hike up her T-shirt, giving me a clear view of her pussy. “I can’t send you home unsatisfied, now can I?”
Eavesdropping & Espionage
One Week Later
If I had it my way, I’d have spent the last few days holed up in my loft with Birdie. Instead, we’ve had to make do with frequent texts and late evenings together—me cooking for her, followed by hours of exploring every inch of her body and discovering what pleasures her most. I’m addicted to the sweet sound of her moans spilling from her lips when I’m inside her, and the way she gazes up at me—eyes heavy-lidded, mouth slightly parted—every time she gives herself over completely, crying out my name.
Unfortunately, I have to wait until later than usual to see her tonight. She’s working at the feed store and I’m pulling a double shift at the sheriff’s office stuck doing paperwork whichis painfully boring. Sheriff Matterson visited a neighboring town training a group of new deputies today and there haven’t been any calls that require attention.
My second shift overlapped with Mason’s by a couple of hours but luckily, aside from the occasional clipped question or sideways glance, he’s stayed out of my way. Now that he knows Birdie and I are together, he’s learned not to test me where she’s concerned—and he’s been smart not to bring up the missing video footage again or my impromptu chat with the sheriff the other day.
When the deputies are in the office, we sit in an area that has four desks arranged in two rows. Today, I’m seated in the back row on the left. Mason got here an hour after me and sat at the desk farthest from me. It’s a wise choice to keep his distance, though the space is small enough that it doesn’t offer much privacy.
“Deputies,” Margret, our night shift dispatcher, shouts from her desk at the front of the room. “I’ve got a lady on line two who’s looking to report some suspicious activity. I offered to take down her information, but she won’t hang up until she speaks to one of you.”
“I’ll handle it,” Mason rushes out. “Put her through to me.”
I shake my head, chuckling under my breath. Everything’s a competition with him. Glad he’s dealing with the call. It’s probably old man Grady reporting that his pigs have run away again. I’d pay good money to watch Mason chase them across the muddy pasture as they squeal in his ear.
“This is Deputy Thatcher speaking. Who am I speaking with?” Mason asks as he rummages through his desk drawer, pulling out a pen and paper. “Mrs. Bixby, it’s good to hear from you. What can I help you with today?”
My attention snaps from the document I’m reviewing when I realize he’s speaking with Birdie’s neighbor. The woman is aconstant nuisance for the sheriff’s department, always calling to complain about trivial things like dogs barking at night and tractors driving too fast down her road. Mrs. Bixby has even reported Birdie on multiple occasions for running what she calls an “unsanctioned animal circus.” That’s one battle she’s never going to win as long as Sheriff Matterson’s running the place.
Mason adjusts the phone against his ear and straightens in his chair. “Hold on—did you say Birdie Matterson?”
I stiffen at the sound of her name, instantly on edge.
He glances around, and I duck my head, pretending to be too absorbed in my paperback to pay attention to his conversation.
