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“He did,” Dad says, his mouth thinning in disapproval. “Left Chloe to raise Daisy alone. That’s not a real father, not in my book.”
“So, she’s working here now?”
“Yeah. Moved back from Houston to care for her mother.”
“What’s wrong with her mother?”
Dad shrugs. “Didn’t ask. But it’s the town’s worst kept secret that Chloe Jenkins is an alcoholic.”
Shit. That’s rough. I know plenty of good men who turned to alcohol and drugs after the things they saw and did in battle.
“Sounds like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” I sigh.
“Give it time, Son. You’ve only been back in Garland a few weeks,” he points out.
The town practically had a parade when I came back, treating me like some kind of golden boy returned from the war when I’d never felt less like it. The sheriff's position fell into my lap when the previous sheriff retired. I had no intention of running Garland with the same carelessness and disinterest he had. Keeping my residents safe is a responsibility I take seriously.
“Did you interview other candidates or just employ the first lost soul that came along?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. “Do I need to remind you that you caught the last person you hired with her fingers in the cash register?”
Dad glowers at me. “Which is why I got rid of her and hired Daisy. You may have forgotten, but this is a small town, and bar staff aren’t exactly thick on the ground. Daisy answered my ad, and I invited her here for an informal chat. She was perfect for the job, so I hired her on the spot.”
I sigh in exasperation. “Did you ask any questions that were relevant to the job? Get references?”
“It’s bar work, not guarding the holy grail, for God’s sake! The only references I needed were the eyes in my head and my good judgment,” Dad replies firmly.
“So, you hired the woman on the strength of a quick chat and no formal references,” I sum up.
Dad glowers at me. “Well, excuse me for not putting her through the Drayton Tactical Interview Technique, but I’ve spent almost sixty years on this earth, and I like to think I’m a pretty damned good judge of character. It’s not like she’s a complete stranger. Like I said, she grew up here.”
“Just trying to look out for you, Pa,” I point out.
“I know, Son, and I appreciate that, but I’d much rather you look out for yourself for once. I think you’ve earned that right.”
I laugh bitterly. “Have I? Maybe you should tell that to the men in my unit. Oh, wait, you can’t. They’re dead!”
“But you’re not, and they wouldn’t want you crawling into the grave with them!” Dad fires right back, unwilling to let me wallow in self-pity.
I lost all of my unit in an ambush in Yemen, along with a chunk of my right leg. I also lost a piece of myself that day that I don’t think I’ll ever get back.
I rub a weary hand over my face. “Sorry. Some days are worse than others.”
“Don’t ever apologize to me for protecting your country, Son. No father could be prouder than I am,” he says gruffly.
“Hey, Danny. Sorry, I’m late,” a soft voice says from behind me.
I turn to face the door, and my world comes screeching to a halt as my gaze collides with a pair of beautiful honey-brown eyes. The newcomer pulls off her woolly hat and unwraps the scarf from around her neck, her blond curls spilling down her back in a riot of gold.
She looks to be in her early twenties, her skin flawless with a cute smattering of freckles across her nose. Her lips are plump and red, and I wonder if they’re naturally that color or if the cold weather has given them their rosy glow. Flakes of snow are melting on her flushed cheeks and eyelashes, and I’m hit by an overwhelming desire to lick those specks of water from her smooth skin.
“No worries, Daisy. Did you walk?” Dad asks with a frown.
Daisy? This is Daisy Jenkins? Holy shit, she’s grown into a fucking knockout! Perfection wrapped up in a curvy package.
“My legs are more reliable than my car in this weather,” Daisy replies with a wry smile, unzipping her padded jacket as she makes her way behind the bar. The sleeve of her sweater rides up a little as she pulls it off, and my eyes narrow on the red marks circling her wrist.
As if sensing my gaze, her honey-brown eyes fly to mine, and she quickly yanks her sleeve back down.
What the fuck? Is someone hurting her? The thought makes my blood boil and puts me in a bad mood. Okay, even more of a bad mood.
