Page 107 of The Worst Possible Plan

“I handled today badly,” I continued. The words felt strange coming out of my mouth. Sheriffs apologized all the time, usually on behalf of paperwork delays, road closures, power outages, and things outside our control.

This? This was different. This one belonged entirely to me.

“I had to arrest you.” My voice stayed calm. “I don’t regret doing my job.”

I looked out toward the pasture. The larger alpaca had already found the hay with the miniature donkey. The smaller female alpaca appeared to be supervising everyone from a respectful distance.

“But I regret everything after,” I added finally.

Her head snapped up, and our eyes met.

I sighed through my nose. “I should’ve listened.” I shoved both hands into my jeans pockets. “I should’ve let you explain.” My jaw tightened. “I’ve spent a lot of years putting this badge first.” Long enough that admitting it out loud felt strangely uncomfortable. Long enough that it had become habit instead of a decision. “Most days, it has to come first. But not every time.”

There were some people, some moments, when doing the job right also meant remembering a person was standing in front of the badge.

And I’d forgotten that.

My eyes found hers again. “Not when it costs the people that matter.”

I let the words sit between us for a second.

“They teach you in this job to stay objective. Don’t get too close. Don’t let emotions make your decisions for you.” I glanced down at the grass before looking back at her. “Most of the time, that’s good advice.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “But somewhere along the way…” I exhaled quietly. “I got too comfortable letting the badge make every decision.”

The admission didn’t come easily.

“It was simpler that way. Cleaner.” I shrugged once. “If I treated every situation exactly the same, I never had to wonder if I’d made the right call.” I looked out across the pasture, watching Theo lazily nose through a pile of hay. “The problem is... people aren’t all the same.” My jaw tightened. “I’ve made that mistake before. There’ve been people in my life who deserved more from me than a sheriff.” I stared toward the fence I’d spent the afternoon repairing. “People who needed me to put the badge down for five minutes and just listen.” I swallowed. “I didn’t.”

The breeze stirred through the trees, filling the silence again.

Sophie lifted the back of her hand and quickly brushed at one eye before returning her attention to Bandit.

“I told myself I was doing the right thing. That the job came first.” I shook my head once. “Maybe it did.” I looked back at her. “But not every single time. Sometimes the job isn’t what people remember. They remember whether you showed up for them.”

My eyes drifted to Bandit, who was leaning so hard into Sophie’s hand that he looked in danger of falling over.

“I’ve spent a lot of years trying to be a good sheriff.” I met her eyes. “But I don’t want that to come at the cost of being a good man.”

Silence settled between us again, stretching out in that strange way silence sometimes did when it wasn’t awkward anymore, just full of things neither person quite knew how to say.

Sophie sniffed, still petting the goat, her fingers absently scratching behind his ears like she’d forgotten anyone else was standing there.

But still saying nothing.

I smiled just a little. It happened before I could stop it. “Does he have a name?”

“Bandit,” she said finally. “He steals things.”

I glanced toward the goat, who looked suspiciously innocent for someone with an established criminal record. Bandit chose that exact second to steal the sleeve of Hartwell’s sweater, confirming the charges without even attempting a defense.

I cocked a brow. “Makes sense.”

A tiny laugh escaped her, almost like it surprised her as much as it did me. It was barely there, but it was something.

“And the alpacas?” I asked, hoping to keep her going. “Do they have names too?”

“Theo is the big male.”

“The other one?”