He glances over. “I’d like that. I just …”
Here it comes. He never wanted a woman partner and now he’s stuck with me for four weeks.
“... People make fun of me.”
Oh.
“I’m the brunt of a lot of jokes around here.” He exhales a heavy breath. “I didn’t do myself any favors.”
My hand practically itches to reach out and settle on his forearm in a gesture of comfort. I ball my fist in my lap.
“You might have been doing Lexi and Trevor a huge favor—if I had been a carjacker.”
I can’t help it. A snicker escapes at the memory of his serious face, the ridiculous sobriety check, and that deflated Santa slapping the windshield. My laughter bubbles up until it bursts free and takes over completely.
Jesse chuffs out a laugh. Slowly, his mouth breaks into a wide grin. His eyes crinkle. And then he’s laughing as hard as I am. Our laughter overlaps until we’re both leaning forward, gasping for breath.
“I can’t believe I had you recite the reindeer,” he says, his broad smile filling his face.
“Creative addition.”
He shakes his head. I feel the warmth in his eyes when he glances over at me—like a sip of cocoa chasing away the chill.
“Thanks for rolling with it.” His tone is sincere.
“That’s what partners are for. I’ve got your back.”
“You won’t officially be my partner after four weeks,” he reminds me. “We run one-man shifts and take turns being on call for the rare emergency. Though, I guess they might pair us up occasionally if we’re both on at the same time.”
“Well, I’m your partner for now.”
“Yeah” he agrees, softly. “You are.”
Our ride out to the Whites’ property is filled with a different kind of silence—comfortable and easy. I like this side of him. Not that I mind him when he’s commanding, but this softer side is unexpected—and I get the feeling not too many people have the privilege of seeing it.
We’re not the only ones who showed up to the Whites’. A bunch of neighboring ranchers and farmers came too. We get the job done before the sun starts to drop, then we drive to another ranch to follow up on the goat complaint.
We’re back on the road when Jeanie calls us about an hour later. “Sorry, you two. Seems we’ve got a feud going on between Mrs. Hawthorne and Mr. Dobbs. Electricity sputtered at the Hawthorne home. She’s blaming the light-up decorations on the Dobbs’ property. Her exact words were, ‘That man’s going to blow the grid!’ Can you go check it out and see if you can’t help them sort things out?”
“On it,” Jesse answers.
“Décor wars,” he mutters after Jeanie disconnects.
“Really? They’re competing over holiday decorations?”
“Worse than Christmas with the Kranks. Bet they didn’t train you for this in the academy,” he jokes.
“Well, we did some hostage negotiation training and protocol for basic resolution of domestic disputes. De-escalation tactics. You know.”
Jesse nods. “Consider all of those to be locked and loaded for this situation.”
I almost laugh, but his face is dead serious. Okay, then.
We arrive to find a middle-aged woman shouting at her neighbor across the driveway—both of them hands-on-hips, leaning in like a showdown between the Grinch and Scrooge.
Jesse exits the patrol car; I follow, a step behind. These people know Jesse. They don’t know me—though I’m guessing my reputation for family van heists and Santa abduction precedes me.
“You stole my reindeer!” the man shouts, his voice echoing off the siding.
