Ridge shakes his head. “I…”
“It’s easier said than done,” Walker cuts in. “You’ll get there.”
“Thanks.” Ridge sighs, then trudges straight to the desk next to me.
The exchange between Walker and Ridge lasts less than thirty seconds, but in those brief moments, it's clear to me how and why Walker has held the position of sheriff for so long.
He may be gruff, but he's also patient and knows how to teach without shaming.
Bear wanders over to Ridge, sniffing curiously at the evidence bag before I quietly snap my fingers.
“Leave it.”
Bear sighs dramatically and returns to my side.
Walker brings out a teenage boy actively biting their nails, who is accompanied by a woman sporting what I would call aresting bitch face. If that were my mother, I would probably be biting my nails too. Walker brings out an extra chair for the woman and guides them toward me.
He gives me a nod, and I take that as his mark of approval. The glee that lifts my chest is almost inebriating.
I get to work asking questions and drawing with my charcoal pencils. When I'm just about done, my attention catches on a familiar face strolling in and out of a room next to where Walker interrogated me.
He's carrying boxes of files, piling them next to a foldable table in front of Walker's office that wasn't there yesterday.
Grant, one of Daddy’s best friends, sits beside a woman I vaguely recognize. She’s somewhere around my age with chestnut-brown hair twisted into a practical bun and oversized tortoiseshell glasses sliding down her nose every few minutes. She types with impressive speed, barely looking at the keyboard as the scanner hums beside her.
Bear's head lifts, and his ears prick forward. A low rumble vibrates in his chest.
I glance down. “Bear.”
His eyes never leave the pair across the room. Another growl.
Nora startles slightly, looking over her shoulder.
“Oh.” I gently touch Bear's neck. “It’s okay.”
Bear calms, but not before one last hard stare.
Poor Nora.
I return to my sketch, adding the finishing touches. When I’m done, the mother and her teen return to Walker’s office. I remain in my chair, adding bits of shadow and highlight to bring the portrait to life.
My light is blocked when I hear a voice state, “Jelly Bean, I didn’t know you were an artist.”
Peering up, I’m met with Grant's disarming smile. “Something like that,” I answer with a shrug. A quick glanceinforms me that everyone has left. Jolene and Ridge’s desks are vacant, and even the woman who was sitting with Grant is gone.
Maybe it’s lunchtime?
Grant lifts his brows a fraction, nodding his head like he is impressed. “Looks good. Who is it?”
Before I can answer, movement catches my eye. Walker steps out of his office carrying another file. His gaze lands on Grant. Grant notices at the exact same moment. Neither of them says a word.
They simply stare.
It lasts barely two seconds before Walker keeps walking, and Grant returns his attention to me.
Maybe I'm imagining things, but the air suddenly feels tighter.
I turn my sketchbook toward him, allowing him to get a better look. “Someone involved in a hit and run.” When he nods again, I return the sketchbook to my lap. “What’re you doing here?”
