Page 20 of A Deceitful Pact

My head is still spinning from how fast all this is happening. I promised myself I’d have the Gendrys dealt with before I even thought about moving forward with the baby plan, and I’m not even close to taking those bastards down. But Sawyer’s like a hurricane, and he’s very hard to say no to, and the most scary thing about it is the fact he was right when he said that I like him taking control.

There were even a few moments last night when I considered telling Sawyer about my past and what brought me here. I get the impression he’s the kinda guy who would understand, maybe he could even help me. The Gendrys have a long history with this town, and they have plans to build a road straight through Jace Sullivan’s ranch, and that road would cut this town off from any travelers passing through. I’m surprised Jace and his uncle haven’t acted on it yet. I knew before I came here that they deal with situations as if they are above the law, and despite what they might believe, I didn’t come here to interfere with that. If something ain’t broke, I don’t see the use in trying to fix it. I’m happy to be like every other sheriff this town has had and use it to my advantage. Part of the reason I came here was to slow down and start enjoying life, and if my only priority turns out to be keeping Mrs. Walsh’s front lawn foul-free it means I can focus all my attention on raising my child.

But when it comes to the Gendrys, things will be different. Those brothers will go throughmyjustice system, not Jamie Sullivan’s, and now that my baby plan seems to be in full motion, I need to hurry up and get the Gendrys put down.

* * *

It’s just past noon when I rest back in my chair and start to feel hungry. Despite my thoughts constantly distracting me, I’ve managed to have a productive morning. I called Mrs. Walsh back and took an ‘official’ statement. It seems she’s done some investigating of her own and has already narrowed it down to three suspects. A Doberman named Lucifer, a golden retriever whose owner wears a yellow baseball cap, and a Maltese called Penny. She had her grandson send me a picture of the offense via email, and judging from the size of the evidence, I think it’s safe to rule out Penny.

After giving Mrs. Walsh my full assurance that I would be looking further into the matter, I did some research on solicitors and sent an email to a firm in the city explaining the kind of contract I needed drawn up.

My stomach is rumbling, and being here in my office by myself is giving me far too much opportunity to think about Sawyer. I decide to head over to the diner to grab myself some lunch and, of course, to tell Jean that her brownies are luncheon-worthy.

The bell above the door has barely rung before Jean abandons the old couple she’s serving and rushes toward me.

“Sheriff Hale, how did you like the hamper?” She takes my arm and ushers me to a booth, forcing me to sit with a very firm hand on my shoulder.

“The hamper was lovely, Jean, and very full. I had to invite Iso–”

“Yes, yes, I heard all about it,” she cuts me off. “Now, while Isabel was there, did she pass any comment at all on my lemon drizzle?”

“I don’t recall her trying the lemon,” I tell her apologetically.

“Okay,” she sighs, and I have to applaud the woman for her talent of making a person feel utterly useless.

“How about you, did you like it? And the brownies…? Cade tells me they’re a little too gooey in the middle, but I can never tell if he’s teasing. Organizing this luncheon is making me lose sleep. You are coming, aren’t you?” My brain struggles to keep up with her voice as I feel the pressure from her pupils pin me to my seat.

“When is it?” I ask.

“Have you not seen the flyers all over town? It’s this Friday.” She points toward the poster that’s up in the window.

“Oh no, I’ll be working Friday afternoon.” I at least make it sound as if I’m disappointed.

“Oh, come on, Sheriff, it’s a Clearwater Creek tradition, not to mention part of your role. A wise man once told me that a good sheriff will center themselves right in the heart of the community. Also…” She leans over me and lowers her voice. “I hear that Isabel’s very nervous; this will be her first one. You're her friend, you should be there.”

“I don’t know if I would say we’re friends.” I smile nervously when I notice Sawyer's truck pull up outside his bar on the other side of the street. He’s chewing on a toothpick like he was the first night I met him, as he hops out of the driver's seat and starts unloading supplies onto a sack truck from the back of his truck. He’s wearing a T-shirt that’s tight enough for me to appreciate every muscle beneath it, and I can’t help wondering how often he has to work out to keep in such good shape.

“Sheriff…Sheriff Hale.” Jean clicks her fingers in front of my face to snap me out of the trance I’ve fallen into.

“Sorry.” I shake my head and look back up at her.

“We seemed to have lost you there for a while.” She smiles and lets me know she’s aware of what distracted me when she looks across the street at him, too. “But I’m so glad you’ve decided to be here for Isabel on her big day.” She quickly taps my shoulder before going back to her business.

“Wait… Did I–”

“Will you be wanting your usual?” she interrupts before I can make any kind of protest, not that it would be any use, anyway.

“Sure.” I shrug, not even sure of what myusualis, but Jean has clearly decided.

“Eat in or take out?” Jean smiles.

“I guess I’ll eat in.” I watch her walk back toward the couple she was serving, before giving in to temptation and looking back across the street toward the bar. Sawyer isn’t there anymore, and the tailgate of the truck is back up. So, while I sit patiently waiting for my order, I decide to check my emails. There's one from the solicitors I messaged earlier, inviting me to go into the office for a consultation. I use the automated appointment system to book for Thursday, as that’s my day off this week, then head for the restroom before my order comes. I’m cursing Sawyer Anderson with each step I take as I move through the door beside the kitchen onto the corridor where the restrooms are, and when the back door that leads out to the alley opens, I freeze when I see him pushing a sack truck full of crates up towards it.

“Mornin’.” He pulls to a stop and lowers his load, then leans on the handles, rolling on that toothpick round his tongue while looking me up and down.

If it were possible for a man to impregnate you with a look, this would be the one.

“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out weak. I’m caught off guard, and suddenly all flustered. It’s such a pathetic reaction, yet one he always manages to cause.

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