Page 86 of Delicate Escape

“My favorite hobby,” I said as I slid a plate in front of him.

Trace eyed the creation. “You sure it’s not cooking? This looks incredible.”

“That’s high praise from Trace. He’s a pretty incredible chef himself,” Shep said as he pulled out my chair.

I glanced at Trace, curiosity piqued.

He sent me an easy smile. “I didn’t come by it naturally. Had to learn from the ground up. But I developed a love of it over the years. There’s something about the process of creating something new.”

Something about the gruff sheriff liking to spend time in the kitchen relaxed me even more. “It’s meditative,” I said softly.

Trace nodded. “That’s a good word for it. And if I win over my six-year-old, I feel like I’ve won a prize.”

I laughed at that. “Picky eater?”

“The pickiest,” Trace said with a groan.

We were quiet for a moment, all of us taking time to eat a few bites. It was Shep who finally spoke. “You gonna tell us what you’re here for or what?”

Trace sat back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Russ Wheeler came in at about six this morning, wanting to make a report about an assault.”

The few bites of food I’d taken turned to lead in my stomach.

Shep’s spine snapped straight. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. He grabbed Thea. He?—”

Trace held up a hand. “I know. I’ve already talked to John and the bartender who was on at The Sagebrush last night. They told me what happened. I’ll get corroborating statements from patrons. This won’t go anywhere.”

Shep ground his jaw. “He could press civil charges.”

“He could,” Trace agreed. “But those won’t go anywhere either.”

But a court case would be costly and public. My name would be out there, easy to search, to find. My stomach roiled. But it was more than that. It could do the same to Shep just by association. My presence could mess with Shep’s life and livelihood.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, the three words barely audible.

Shep turned to me instantly, his body almost cocooning me. “This is not on you. Don’t you dare take it on your shoulders.”

“If I hadn’t?—”

“No,” he snapped. “This is on Russ. And honestly, it probably has more to do with me. He has always hated me. Never knew why.”

“Jealousy,” Trace said. “You know his home life wasn’t great growing up. His dad is just as much of an asshole as he is. Hard on him. He knew you had it good with the Colsons. And let’s be honest, Shep, you’ve always excelled at things he struggled with.”

Shep let out a long breath. “There’s just something bad in him.”

I didn’t disagree. Russ Wheeler didn’t have any redeeming qualities that I could see. But Trace wasn’t so quick to go there.

“You know bad is rarely born that way. It’s made. Through trauma, abuse, hardship. But once it takes root, it’s hard to dig out. I keep hoping that I’ll be able to stick something on Russ and wake him up.” Trace’s gaze cut to me, and I stiffened.

“I-I can’t. I’m sorry. I just…I can’t press charges.”

I knew that was what Trace wanted. But I couldn’t give it to him. For many reasons.

Trace sighed, lifting his mug of coffee to his lips.

“Don’t guilt her,” Shep growled.

Trace held up a hand, waving his brother off. “I’m not. I just…I want to put him away for a spell. Want to give Raina a chance to know what life can be like without being under his thumb.”

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