“Brinley Taylor,” he says. “You have family here?”
“No.”
He studies my face a beat too long.
“No extended family nearby?” he asks.
The question feels strange, but I answer it anyway.
“No,” I say again, a little firmer. “All my family’s back in Kentucky.”
A small smile pulls at his mouth.
“I’m not talking about that side.”
I glance at his chest without thinking and see “Dawson” printed on the gold badge.
It takes me a second to process it, then it clicks.
I look up at him, and he must see the moment it hits me. “Yeah,” he says softly, like he’s confirming what I’m thinking.
My throat feels tight.
“You’ve been around town for a while,” he says. “Working over at Broken Saddle.”
I don’t ask him how he knows.
“I thought I heard you were leaving town, though,” he adds.
The words “leaving town” make my stomach turn.
“I’m not,” I say quietly.
He steps closer to me, and I stiffen in response.
“Small towns are protective,” he says, “especially when outsiders come around, stirring up drama and secrets that were meant to stay buried.”
I don’t answer.
My car door is still open behind me with my phone sitting on the seat.
Please still be there, Cooper. Please still be listening.
“I don’t know what you think I’m involved in, but I’m not here to cause drama,” I say.
He tilts his head.
“Maybe it would be easier if you left,” he says, “before things start to get any more complicated.”
My chest feels tight, but I don’t move.
“Will you be writing me a ticket, or am I free to go?” I ask.
He studies me one more time, then hands my license back.
“For now.”
He walks back to his cruiser like this was nothing. I stand there for a second longer than I should, then climb into my car and pick up my phone.
