Giving his pen a few clicks, Cal returned to the spot where Jules Bailey waited, her arms folded over her chest. “If you’d rather, we can have our conversation inside the store,” he offered.
“What if I’d rather not have a conversation at all?” she asked, one eyebrow hiked over those mesmerizing green eyes.
“I’m afraid that’s not an option. You have information I need in order to figure out what happened here last night.”
“You make it sound like you think I did something wrong,” she said, dropping her hands to her sides and balling her hands into fists.
“Did you?” he asked, more to needle her and see her cheeks flame than because he believed she had.
She frowned in consternation. “No.”
He grinned. “Good. Then you don’t have anything to worry about. Shall we?” He waved a hand toward the gift shop and started in that direction.
She hesitated but finally fell in step behind him. As they neared the gift shop, she paused, and he shifted his gaze to see what had held her up.
Her attention was focused on something at the back of the shop.
“Problem?” he asked, moving closer to her to have a better angle to see what held her attention.
“I need a minute. Wait here.” She held up a hand, directing him to stay put, the way he directed his search-and-rescue cadaver dog, Pilot.
He gave a low chuckle. “And let you escape or destroy evidence?”
She snapped a startled look over her shoulder. “What? I’m not—”
“Just the same, I’m coming with you. What’s caught your attention back there?” He waved his pen toward the dirt lot and low scrub brush behind the store.
“Well, I guess you’ll see, if you insist on coming. But stay back,and be quiet! No sudden moves.”
He grinned to himself, rather liking the fact Jules had the temerity to order him around, seemingly unphased by his authority as sheriff. She had gumption.
He unsnapped the top strap over his service weapon and rested a hand on it, prepared for whatever—or whomever—might be behind the gift shop. What he found was not even in the top ten of what he’d expected.
Jules crept quietly up behind a black cat near the back door. The feline was eating something voraciously despite having the handle hole of a plastic bag stuck around its neck. As she neared the cat, it heard her and spooked. With a hiss, the cat tried to run, but Jules lunged for it and grabbed the animal’s scruff. Irate at being held, the small cat growled, spit and thrashed.
“Easy, baby,” Jules cooed as she dodged flailing paws and slashing claws. “I just have to— Ow!”
He moved forward, his hands spread. “Can I help?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she continued crooning gentle words in a kind voice, until she managed to remove the tangled grocery sack. She bent to release the cat, but the ungrateful feline chose to push off and leap away, leaving long scratches on her wrist.
Jules hissed in pain and clamped her opposite hand over the injured wrist. “Son of a biscuit!”
“More likely the son of a cougar or panther based on its temperament,” he teased as he reached for her arm. “May I have a look?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, pulling away.
Settling his hands on his hips, he watched her peek at the wound. “You’ll want to clean that. Disinfect it.”
“So now you’re a doctorandthe sheriff? Lucky me.” She pulled a face and strode to the back door of the building.
He followed, chuckling. “You’re only lucky because I don’t charge for my medical advice. That’s free of charge. A little something I learned from my father, whoisa doctor.”
“Hmm,” she grunted, clearly unimpressed. She marched into a small, sparse break room and searched the cabinets until she found a plastic box with a red cross on top. After opening the first-aid kit, she removed the items one at a time, checking labels.
Enough of her stubbornness. He closed the distance between them and gripped her forearm lightly. “You should wash it first. Come with me.”
To his surprise, she complied without a fuss as he led her to the sink and helped her wash the scratches with soap and water, then blotted the area dry with paper towels. She sat in a rickety chair by the small Formica table and allowed him to administer the disinfectant, then tape a large bandage over the wound before stepping back to admire his handiwork. His father, a surgeon at the local hospital, couldn’t have done any better, Cal decided.
