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“Well, do my ears a favor and try to find it again. How’s grilled cheese and fruit sound for dinner?”
“And pickles?”
“Yes, and pickles.”
“Okay.”
“Go tell your dad to come in for dinner. And don’t you start painting, or you’ll be eating a cold cheese sandwich, and you won’t get a pickle.” He tapped her nose. “Got it?”
“Got it.” She took off running.
It would take Parker a good twenty minutes to clean his brushes unless Everly forgot to tell him dinner was ready and decided to paint. The two of them would forget to eat, and paint all night if he wasn’t around to make sure they got fed.
Before he got dinner ready, he took the bakery bag upstairs to his room to keep it out of Everly’s nosy little hands. He chuckled as he set it on his dresser.
“Let the games begin.”
Chapter Eight
Skye had come in early to work on next week’s assignments for her deputies. It was usually quiet during the early morning hours, and she was able to get paperwork done without interruptions. It was Mason’s turn for jail duty, and he wasn’t going to be happy. Too bad, so sad. He had to take a turn just like the other deputies.
Randal Parsons, her chief deputy sheriff, was retiring next month, and Mason was expecting to get his job. It wasn’t going to happen. She hoped that when he was passed over for the promotion, he’d get mad enough to resign. He probably wouldn’t, though. Out of spite, he’d stick around for the sole purpose of making her life miserable.
At some point she was going to have to deal with him, and she had started keeping a record of the problems he caused. The only reason she hadn’t fired him already was because he’d told another deputy that he’d file an age discrimination complaint if she did. The last thing she needed as a new sheriff was a legal battle with one of her deputies.
She was a year in now, more secure in her job, and Mason’s days were numbered, no matter his threats. He didn’t have any friends on the force, so if it came to that, every one of her deputies would support her.
Her stomach was growling by the time she finished the assignments for next week. She printed the schedule out for herself, then emailed a copy to Jackie, the sheriff’s office administrative coordinator, to post. Since it wasn’t a Monday, her omelet day at the Kitchen, yogurt it was.
Tristan and Fuzz, carrying his toy, walked into her office. “Good morning, Sheriff.”
She was going to have to have a serious talk with her heart about its fluttering whenever he made an appearance. “Chief, what can I do for you?” Was that a pastry from Sweet Tooth Bakery he was eating? Her stomach rumbled.
He grinned. “Now that’s a loaded question if there ever was one.”
Note to self: Don’t give him an opening like that. Also, he was just too damn adorable when he smiled and amusement danced in his eyes. She was not immune to his charms, and that aggravated her. “I’ll rephrase that. What brings you to my side of town this morning?”
“I have a teenager to deal with. Thought maybe you’d be agreeable to coming with me this afternoon to talk to her. You being a girl and all, she might listen to you better than me.”
She would not laugh, but she sure wanted to. “Me being a girl and all? You really have a way with words.” Her gaze narrowed on the white bag he held. Did he have more goodies in there?
“What can I say? I’m a silver-tongued devil.” He glanced down at the bag she was staring at. “Tell you what. I’ll give you my last pastry if you’ll come with me. And you should know I really wanted to eat it.”
“What are you talking to the girl about?”
After he explained the situation, she couldn’t refuse to help. “Deal.” She held her hand out. “Give me.”
He set the bag in her hand. “I’ll pick you up at three. By the time we get to Melissa’s house, she should be home from school.”
“I’ll meet you there.” Being in a car with him was not good for her resolve to avoid spending time with him.
“Negative, Sheriff. We need to plan our approach. We can do that on the way over.” He walked to the door, then glanced back at her. “Enjoy my pastry.”
She stared at the empty doorway for long moments after he was gone. What was that flash of mischief about that she’d seen in his eyes? She took out the pastry and studied it. Cream filled, one of her favorites. Yet... She flattened the bag, then set the pastry on it. Studied it some more. Her stomach said, “Eat it,” but he’d promised retribution for her spider joke. Could this be it? She couldn’t see anything wrong with it, though.
“Morning, Sheriff,” Bradley Burns said as he walked into her office. “All was quiet last night.” He was coming off the night shift and was in the habit of checking in with her before heading home to sleep.
“That’s always good.”
