Page 28 of Seducing the Sheriff
“I needed a bottle of Jack after that,” I admitted.
“Instead, you helped deliver a baby.”
“I did the handholding. Someone else was down the business end.”
“I’ll buy you the Jack for being an all-round hero.”
I scoffed, bristling as it sounded like a jibe. “I was just doing my job.”
“From wrangling old Buttercup to comforting a woman in labor. I think you’re a hero.”
I regarded Greg for a moment. His voice was soft and his expression kind. I’d been accused of having a hero complex before and that hadn’t been a compliment. This was different. He seemed genuine.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling embarrassed at my initial reaction. “Make it a good malt whisky and you’re on.”
“Top shelf, huh?”
“Only the best.”
Greg chuckled and that seemed to ease the awkward tension between us. I shifted in my seat and our legs brushed again. For a second I was tempted to leave my leg pressed up against his, but then someone walked past our table and Greg sat up, breaking the contact.
I sighed inwardly.
This isn’t meant to be, Cash. Quit projecting your feelings on him.
“So who won the bourbon?” I asked when the silence started to get awkward.
“He did.” Greg grinned ruefully. “I was taken down by a feral cat being chased by a stray dog. Paolo said he won by default.”
I squinted at him. “Did that really happen?” That sounded like a shaggy dog story.
Greg pushed up the sleeve on his left arm and pointed to two short, barely visible white lines breaking up the tan. “I have the scars to prove it. Paolo was a good guy. He doctored me up and split the Jack. It was a good night.” His eyes unfocused for a moment, lost in his memories.
Our enchiladas arrived, sizzling in the dish, and Greg tugged down his sleeve.
I focused on my food, trying not to think how envious I was of the man who’d had his hands on Greg.
I called Jim Brannigan before we left the diner, but his phone went straight to voicemail and when I tried Lindy’s number, hers did too.
I grimaced when I disconnected the call. “That stymies our plans for the afternoon.”
“No worries. Why don’t we look round the historical society here? Unless you want to get back to Charming.” His tone was light, like it didn’t matter what I decided, but I noticed him watching me again.
Playing hooky from Charming sounded like a great idea. I knew from experience that if anyone saw me out and about, someone would want me to cancel their parking tickets or find their lost cat.
I nodded, not hiding my enthusiasm for the idea. “You know, I’ve lived in this county for years, but I still don’t know much about the area.”
He grinned at me. “Let’s go.”
It turned out the museum was for the county, not just the city, and was housed in the old courthouse, not far from City Hall. If that building had looked early twentieth century, the Old Courthouse could have come straight out of an old western. It was larger than I expected, a single-story building with whitewashed stucco walls and a red-tiled roof. I admired the imposing, ornately carved wooden doors.
“I’d kill for those doors,” Greg murmured, jogging forward to study them in more detail.
“So, if the doors are stolen, I’ll know where to look,” I assured him as I joined him at a slower pace.
“Well, I know where to hide the bodies now.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
