Hopping inside my Dodge Ram, I look down at the sheriff’s badge I left in the cup holder. It’s more than just a piece of metal.
It’s both my chain and my freedom.
When I was first elected for this job, I didn’t realize what would be asked of me—what I would have to compromise to keep the people of Evergreen Falls safe.
A static voice comes through my department radio on the dashboard. “Walk, you there?”
The sigh that leaves me carries the weight of things I don’t want to think about.
“Walk, pick up the damn receiver,” Jolene commands.
Jolene Thatcher has been with the police department longer than I have. That woman would just as soon smack me upside the head as she would bake me a batch of chocolate chip cookies.
I do as she says and answer. “I’m here.”
“A 911 call just came in. A man said he saw a fire in a field off County Road 15.”
My mind goes over the map of the town. “Isn’t that Taylor Morrison’s land?”
“Sure is,” Jolene confirms.
Not wanting to move my body just yet, I respond, “Have Tessa and Ridge check it out.”
“They’re over at the Dixon Ranch, remember? Investigating his missing cattle,” she reminds me.
“Alright. I’ll head out there and see what’s what.” I return my radio to the stand and head toward the west end of town.
I haven’t even reached Morrison’s property line when I spot a pillar of black smoke in the sky, growing too quickly.
I step on the gas and flip on my emergency lights and siren. Snagging my receiver, I radio to Jolene, “Send the fire department out this way.” My eyes glance to the right, finding what I’m looking for. “Mile marker one twenty-five.”
“On it,” she replies.
Dropping the radio, I make a sharp left turn onto a gravel road, snow mixed with dirt kicking up in my wake. The fire seems to be somewhat contained by the surrounding snow. A good thing considering all the trees less than a hundred yards away.
I watch as someone stands in front of the building fire, and my mouth tightens into a line.
It looks like this may turn out to be an open-and-shut case. Criminals truly are among the dumbest people. Only adimwitted jackass would stick around at the scene of their own crime.
I come to a stop next to a deep green Jeep Wrangler. Jumping down from the cab, I head straight for the culprit.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I bark.
The person—No, woman—spins to face me, and I’d swear on every single bullet in my gun that all the air in my lungs evaporates, stopping me just a foot away from her. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the ribs with steel-toed boots.
There’s no mistaking who this woman is.
Blake Jennings.
The last time I saw her, she told me to go to hell, then drove off in her beat-up Chevy. She left town right then and there. That was the day after she graduated from high school.
She looks nothing like she did that day.
Her onyx hair is shorter, her hips are fuller, and her eyes are sharper. Her hair catches the sunlight like dark silk, and her eyes are an inferno of spirit.
I want to run my hands over every curve of her body.
My dick twitches in my Wrangler jeans, and a small spark of something light—lighter than I’ve felt in decades—ignites in my chest.
