Page 2 of Protected By the Single Dad Sheriff

My radio crackles despite being turned down, and I instinctively reach for it before stopping myself. Cedar Falls will survive without its sheriff for one hour. The town hasn't had a major crime in months, mostly just neighborly disputes, teenagers being teenagers, and the occasional tourist getting lost on the hiking trails.

By the time practice ends, I've kept my promise. I watched every pitch, every hit, every base run. Emma trots over, sweaty and grinning.

"Did you see when I caught that pop fly?"

"With one hand," I confirm, high-fiving her. "Major league material right there."

She preens a little, then asks, "Where's Sophie?"

"Still at after-school. She has a tummy ache." I guide her toward the cruiser. "We'll pick her up now."

Emma's face falls. "But you said we could get ice cream after practice."

The promise I'd made yesterday crashes back into my consciousness. "Right. Ice cream." I glance at my watch. "Tell you what—quick scoop at Hank's, then we get Sophie?"

"Yes!" She pumps her fist victoriously, all disappointment forgotten.

Ten minutes later, we're seated at Hank's Creamery, Emma with a mountain of mint chocolate chip and me nursing a black coffee. I've managed to check in with Doris without Emma noticing, confirming there's nothing requiring my immediate attention.

"Dad?" Emma licks her spoon thoughtfully. "Is it okay that I still miss Mom sometimes?"

The question blindsides me. I set my coffee down, buying time. "Of course it is, Em. I miss her every day."

"But it's been four years." She stares into her ice cream. "Sophie doesn't even remember her."

"That doesn't mean you have to stop missing her." I reach across the table, covering her small hand with mine. "Grief doesn't have an expiration date."

"Mrs. Miller says maybe you should start dating again."

I choke on my coffee. "She said what?"

"At the class potluck. She told Mrs. Jenkins that you're too young to be alone forever and that me and Sophie need a mom."

Great. The elementary school teachers are discussing my love life.

"Emma, you and Sophie have me. We're doing okay, right?"

Her shrug devastates me. "I guess. But sometimes I forget stuff for school because you're busy, and Sophie cried last week because you missed bedtime stories three nights in a row."

Each word is a direct hit. I struggle to keep my expression neutral when I want to wince. "I'm trying my best, kiddo."

"I know." She pats my hand in a gesture so adult it makes my throat tight. "But maybe Mrs. Miller is right. Maybe we need help."

I want to argue, to tell her that no one could replace Claire, that our little family of three is complete just as it is. But the truth hammers in my chest: I'm drowning. Every day is a desperate juggling act that ends with me dropping at least one critical ball.

"Maybe," I concede, the word almost painful to voice. "But it would have to be someone pretty special."

Emma nods sagely. "Someone who likes softball and doesn't mind that Sophie still sleeps with her baby blanket."

"And someone who understands that sometimes the sheriff has to work at weird hours."

"And who makes good pancakes," Emma adds, completely serious.

I laugh despite myself. "That's a pretty specific list."

"I have standards, Dad."

We finish our ice cream, and I'm reaching for my wallet when my radio crackles to life.

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