Page 4 of Protect and Serve

Damn.

It had been fuel for his teenaged fantasies for years. And, if he was being truthful, he still thought about it on occasion.

Like daily.

When he’d moved back to Snake Gully, the town he’d grown up in, the thought had been there, hovering in the back of his mind, that he might meet her again. And, tangled with it, the hope she was still single.

It was a scrawny hope, because Claire was a catch. Any guy would be damn lucky to have her. Surely, in the years he’d been away, serving as an MP in the army, someone would have snagged her.

Someone should have.

But here, now, evidence that she wasn’t married. Or, at the very least, went by her maiden name. That was something. And—not that he’d memorized her license, but he did—she still lived in the big ranch house outside of town.

He tried to ignore that flicker of exhilaration, but failed.

Ten years was a long time. A lot could have happened to change her. He was certainly a different man. It would be foolish to jump to any conclusions about her. If he wanted to see what might be possible between them, he had to take this thing one step at a time.

But damn it all. If he had a chance with Claire Silver, he was going to grab it with both hands.

He watched her pull back onto the road and he chuckled when she did so with excruciating caution. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t be careful for long. So he started up his engine and followed her. Just as a reminder.

It was almost a disappointment when she pulled into the ranch where she lived. Charlie slowed down as he passed, and he blinked because the sign had changed. Instead of the rustic old Double S brand, it now said Double Stud and had cutouts of buff male bodies.

What the hell?

Yeah, maybe he’d been gone too long.

Once he passed the Double Stud—and Claire’s car disappeared—there was no reason to keep heading south, so he made a U-ie and headed back to town. His stomach was grumbling and it was time for lunch.

He pulled in at Bubba’s Bar and Grill, radioed Gladys that he was taking his break and sauntered into his old haunt. How surreal that it hadn’t changed one iota. The old moose head still held a place of prominence over the hallway to the bathroom, the bar side of the establishment was still as murky as it always had been and—swear to God—toothless old Willie McAnders was sitting on the same damn stool. With the same glass of whiskey in his hand.

It was like stepping back in time.

Once, that stagnant nature of this dusty old town would have annoyed him. But now, after everything he’d been through, it was like a warm blanket. Not that life had kicked him in the balls, but it kind of had. Serving two tours in Iraq could do that to a man. Make him crave the dull monotony of Snake Fucking Gully.

He removed his hat, sidled up to the bar and lifted a finger to the bartender, who was at the far end, chatting with a customer. The guy looked vaguely familiar, but then, everyone he’d seen since his return did.

“What can I getcha for, Officer? You look like a beer man,” he said with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

Charlie was used to such reserve. A lot of people were uncomfortable around a uniform. “Just water,” he said. “I’m on duty.”

“Right.” He quickly filled a glass and set it on the counter.

“And do you have a menu?”

The barkeep laughed and handed him a sticky, laminated card. “Sure.” He paused and eyed Charlie contemplatively. “You new here?”

Charlie lifted his glass in a salute. “First day.”

“Yeah, I was wondering who was replacing Frank.” The previous sheriff had retired and moved to Las Vegas. “Welcome to town.”

“Thanks.”

The bartender continued to study him. Charlie responded with a look that wasn’t challenging, but just barely. He disliked being stared at. The guy lowered his eyes and murmured, “You from around here? You look familiar.”

Charlie sipped his water. Something about this interaction made him ill at ease. Surely it wasn’t the PTSD that made him so paranoid. But it probably was. “Grew up here.”

“No way.”