Page 2 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
I bite back a snort.Keeping the peace— easy to say when you’re not the one watching your hometown get carved into oil rigs.
We reach the low beige block of the Golden Heights Sheriff’s Department faster than I’d like. The place smells of desert dust and burnt coffee even from the garage.
“You know,” I tell him as he opens my door, “this isn’t exactly the welcoming committee I pictured for the new sheriff.”
“Next time don’t trespass.” His expression stays cool, unreadable as he guides me inside.
The booking room is all gray paint and fluorescent buzz. He steers me to a line on the wall; I lift my chin for the mug shot camera, toss my hair like I’m at a photo shoot. Petty victory: his jaw ticks once.
“It’s five-five, in case you were wondering,” I say.
“I wasn’t.”
Cold. So cold. And somehow… fascinating.
Fingerprints. Paperwork. Keys clattering. Then the clang of a cell door sliding open.
“Seriously?” I glance at the bare bench and metal toilet. “Not exactly the cupcake treatment.”
“Phone call’s in a minute,” he says.
“Does the A stand forAlways a Gentleman?” I toss out as I step inside.
No answer. Just one last unreadable look before he shuts the door.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know someone’s calling, “Hey!”
I jolt awake, stiff neck, the imprint of the bench on my cheek. A pounding headache from a dream already fading — running, trees, something chasing me. Great. Jail nightmares.
“You’re free to go,” Sheriff Vaughn says, standing just outside the bars like he didn’t just ruin my afternoon.
“Already?” Relief whooshes through me. “Wow. Fast.”
“You can thank your friend,” he replies, unlocking the door.
Of course. Riley.
He escorts me to the counter where a deputy hands back my phone and bag. As Vaughn signs my release, I catch his full name on the form: Asher Vaughn.
I can’t help the tiny smile.Asher.Fitting.
He notices. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, tucking the smile away.
We step into the lobby. Riley’s there — pink top, dark jeans, expression halfway between worry and exasperation. At her side sits Ms. Rainbow, her massive rottweiler, tail thumping against the tile.
“You like?” I spread my cuff-free wrists and grin.
“Jasmine Wallace,” Riley hisses, marching over. “What did I tell you about getting yourself arrested?”
Ms. Rainbow surges forward, snuffling at my hands until I drop to scratch her velvet ears. People in the waiting area scatter like she’s a dragon.
“Take the dog outside before I write you up for nuisance,” Asher calls dryly.
I glance back at him, sweet smile loaded with sass. “I know what the A stands for now.”
He just shakes his head and turns away.
