Page 5

Felicity frowned, exhaling a lung full of smoke, watching as he led Sunny Jones, a friend of his teammate’s wife, around the makeshift dance floor. There were no lingering touches, no heated glances, no flirtatious smiles. No reason for the unfamiliar tightness settling low in her chest.

The dance ended, and the Marine and Sunny stepped out of the circle of lights.

Stubbing out the last of the cigarette, she tossed the remains into the nearby trashcan. She turned and stomped across the grass.

And caught a nearby conversation.

“Why don’t you go after her?” a man said.

“I’m not going to force myself on her,” another replied.

Recognizing the voices, and in the mood for stirring up trouble, she walked over. “Beau. Oliver.”

The men turned to her. “Felicity,” Oliver murmured.

Sheriff Beau Stirling, her boss, merely grunted.

Felicity sidled up to Oliver. “Come dance,” she said, pressing closer.

He stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was glaring into the distance. She followed his eyeline.

And inwardly sighed. Fucking hell. Arm-in-arm, the Marine and Sunny were walking toward the lake to join the rest of their group of friends.

Indignation for Oliver rose up in her. Sunny was his neighbor, and the whole town was rooting for the two of them. He was one of the few men she genuinely respected in this backwater place. Once a city cop like her, Oliver Armstrong had come to Nebraska to start over with his son and his father following his wife’s murder. What others mistook for her chasing after him was her way of keeping watch. The man had suffered enough.

She tugged gently at his arm. “Come,” she murmured.

He flinched, startled, his eyes locking onto hers. “Sure,” he muttered, letting her pull him toward the source of that sickly-sweet music thumping from poorly placed speakers.

Oliver’s attention kept drifting, eyes seeking her. Felicity tried her best, calling on the kind of easy charm that usually worked when needed. But he wasn’t biting. Not tonight. When the song finally ended, he stomped off without so much as a backward glance, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Then the stares hit her — sharp, silent. Condemning.

Of course. Deputy Delilah strikes again.

She could almost hear the whispers tightening like a noose.

Sunny had rescued a mutt and melted hearts in the process.

Felicity had stepped in to stop a man from unraveling, yet somehow ended up the villain.

Her jaw clenched. Let them talk.

But it hurt. They didn’t know her. Not really. No one cared to look past the badge or the sharp tongue, the way she kept her back straight and her emotions locked down. And that flicker of resentment twisted into something meaner. Something too familiar.

The old shame, oily and persistent, whispering that maybe they were right.

That she was broken.

Tainted.

Used.

But she held her ground. Let them stare. Let them talk. She’d survived worse than gossip.

And she wasn’t about to flinch now.

She turned to leave, head high despite the burn in her chest — only to find him blocking her path.