Page 12 of Midnight & Mavericks

“I said I respect it,” he repeated, stepping closer, and she hated how her breath hitched at his proximity. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to change the way I do things, but I get it.”

She frowned, her brain struggling to reconcile the Beau who had just insulted her intelligence with the one now standing in front of her, looking almost sincere. “Well, good,” she said, her voice still tinged with defiance. “Because you’re going to have to deal with my involvement in this case until you can prove to me this wasn’t intentional.”

Beau’s lips curved into a small smile—not the cocky smirk she saw before, but something softer, something that made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t like. “Nothing would please me more than to have you involved with me.”

“In this case,” she added.

“Yes, of course. In this case.” His voice was low and questioning with a hint of something she couldn’t explain.

The way he said it, like he meant it, like he actually admired her for standing her ground, made her stomach twist. She didn’t know what to do with that, so she did what she always did—she pushed back.

“Good,” she said again, stepping around him to head toward the firefighters still packing up their equipment.

As she walked away, she could feel Beau’s eyes on her, and she hated the way it made her skin tingle, the way her heart raced despite her best efforts to ignore him. She didn’t look back, didn’t give him the satisfaction, but she knew—deep down in a place she wasn’t ready to admit existed—that this wasn’t the end of their sparring. Not by a long shot.

And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want it to be.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, Beau sat at his desk in the small-town police station, nursing a cup of coffee that was as bitter as his mood. The events of the previous day were still fresh in his mind—especially his fiery encounter with Abbie Carter. He couldn’t quite decide if the tension between them was maddening or addictive. Maybe a little bit of both.

Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the case files scattered across his desk. The ones he was reacquainting with the alphabet. And he couldn’t get the fire at the Carter ranch out of his mind either. He had no proof but his instincts were telling him that fire wasn’t just an accident.

The way the fire spread so fast in one area. He wasn’t an expert in fire investigations. His expertise was more about drug trafficking, assaults and murder, but there were too many coincidences piling up. And then there was Sheriff McMasters’s previous reports from the Carter ranch. The cut fences, the misplaced tools, the strange behavior of some of the ranch’s workers—it all pointed to something deliberate. But for him, the real distraction wasn’t the case.

It was Mr. Carter’s granddaughter.

Every time he thought about her—storming up to him, jabbing a finger in his chest, her eyes blazing with anger—he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from tugging upward in a smirk. She was a handful, that was for sure. But, damn, if he didn’t like a challenge. And she was a challenge wrapped in sharp words, a take-charge attitude, and curves that could bring a man to his knees.

Beau shook his head, trying to shove the thoughts aside. He had a job to do, and mooning over this woman shouldn’t be part of it. Still, the memory of her stood out against the monotonous backdrop of his work like a splash of red in a gray-scaled world.

The sound of the station door opening snapped him out of his thoughts. Sheriff McMasters was out for the morning, so it was just Beau in the office to handle any emergencies that came alone. He looked up, hopeful expectations of another encounter with Abigail Carter again. Instead, in walked a man Beau hadn’t seen before. It took Beau two seconds to decide he wasn’t gonna like him either. “Can I help you?”

The guy had an air of self-importance, dressed in a tailored suit that screamed money and polished shoes that didn’t belong anywhere near the dusty streets of this town. His smile was smug, his posture confident in a way that set off all of Beau’s internal alarms.

“Detective Elliott, I presume,” the man said, stepping forward and extending a hand. Beau hesitated for a few seconds before he extended his hand to shake it.

“Yep. How can I help you?” Beau repeated.

“Ted Van Meter,” the man replied, his smile widening as if the name should mean something to Beau. “I understand you’re looking into the fire at the Carter ranch.”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “I’m not at liberty to confirm or deny that fact. What’s your interest in it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well,” Teddy said, sitting down uninvited and leaning back in the chair across from Beau’s desk, “None really. I mean I’ve known Mr. Carter since I was a kid, and Abbie and I used to be close, if you know what I mean.”

Beau’s jaw tightened at the implication between him and Abbie. Unless Abbie had changed a great deal since back then, that statement did not compute, but he kept his expression neutral. “That so?”

“Yep,” Teddy said, leaning forward slightly. “She was a firecracker even then. Always so determined, so passionate about everything she did.” He chuckled as if sharing some inside joke. “She’s a lot to handle, if you know what I mean.”

Beau didn’t respond, his instincts as a detective kicking into high gear. Something about this Van Meter guy rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t just reminiscing about an old flame with a stranger which was highly inappropriate to start with, he was posturing, trying to establish some kind of status. And Beau wasn’t buying it one bit.

“What brings you to town, Mr. Van Meter?” Beau asked, his tone clipped.

“Oh, just checking in on things,” Teddy said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve been talking to Mr. Carter about the ranch, actually. Made him a very generous offer. Above market value. Figured he’d appreciate the chance to offload some of the burden. I mean, let’s be honest, that ranch is a money pit and Mr. Carter isn’t exactly in his prime anymore.”

Beau’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you make an offer like that on a failing ranch, Mr. Van Meter? You don’t look like the rancher type.”

“No, I’m not a rancher. I’m a real estate broker,” Teddy said, his smile never wavering. “And a damn good one, if I do say so myself. I have a client who is interested in buying land and then reselling it for a profit. Land is always a great investment, but Idoubt someone like you would know anything about that sort of thing.”

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