Page 34 of Secret Surrender (Harlow)

Sheriff Marlin jumped out. His gaze flicked between the kid and Dean before his stare hardened back on Dean, and he rested his hand over the gun in his hip holster. “Let the kid go.”

Dean let out a sigh but did what he was told, slowly uncurling his fingers from the kid’s shirt while mumbling, “See what I mean about life choices?”

The kid stumbled forward, both hands outstretched. “Sheriff Marlin, no.”

But the sheriff’s focus didn’t budge an inch from Dean. “Put your hands behind your head where I can see them.”

Again, Dean did as told. Clearly, the sheriff hadn’t formed a glowing opinion of him earlier in the day.

The sheriff stayed stock still, his hand remaining over his gun. “Step away from the boy.”

The boy stirred in Dean’s peripheral vision. “You’re making a mista—”

“Stop talking, Thom, get behind me.” The sheriff shuffled closer to Dean. “You might know from experience how this goes.”

“Sure I do.” Dean narrowed his eyes at Thom, challenging the little weasel to own up anytime now—all while pain radiated from Dean’s wounded bicep, the weight of holding his hands up not helping to stem the flow of blood.

“Good, then.” The sheriff toyed with a clip on his belt, a clip that held handcuffs. “Lay face down, hands behind your head.”

Dean knelt, extra slow.

“Sheriff.” The kid’s voice trembled now.

Dean turned to catch the kid’s shaky movements, his shoulders rounded in a cowering sort of stance. He looked about ready to faint or pee himself. Dean couldn’t decide.

“I said, get down.” The sheriff barked the order at Dean and took a quick step closer.

The kid screeched and stumbled forward. “Don’t shoot.”

Thom wrapped a hand around the sheriff’s forearm. Dean slammed his eyes shut, preparing to die, Thom’s sudden move a gateway to the sheriff taking an accidental shot.

When a bullet to the brain didn’t eventuate, Dean opened his eyes to the kid curled in a tight ball on the ground, his knees tucked to his chest, his hands pressed to his face while he screeched and sobbed. “Don’t shoot him. I did it. It was me. I broke into the nursery.”

The sheriff stepped away from Dean and removed his hand from his gun, his silent glare on Thom.

“My brothers and I, we thought it’d be a bit of stupid fun to break into the nursery. Then this guy came along.” Thom thrust a hand in Dean’s direction. “I was being a smart-ass and threw a bottle at him. That’s why he’s bleeding. It was me, not him. Don’t shoot. Please.”

Thom lifted his tear-streaked face to the sheriff, only for the sheriff to turn to Dean.

Dean shrugged his confirmation of the kid’s story. The sheriff stepped back even more, his entire expression relaxing before he hunched down next to Thom and mumbled a few things too low for Dean to hear.

The boy nodded along to what the sheriff said, seeming to find calm while Dean rose to his feet.

Soon, the sheriff hooked a hand under the kid’s arm, helping him stand and turning him toward Dean. “Thomas Chadley here would like to say something to you.”

The sheriff held on to Thom and waited.

“I’m sorry.” Thom blinked, sending his attention down before lifting it to Dean again. “I’m sorry for your injury there, and I shouldn’t have thrown anything. I’m sorry I got you in trouble with the sheriff just now too. My mom will cover the costs of a new shirt and whatever medical bills you get, and I’m sure she’ll see that my brothers and I pick up extra chores until we’re like ninety years old and can pay her back.”

Dean pressed his fingers to the back of his arm, the blood having slowed, but not altogether. “I hope you do get chores till you’re ninety, if that’s what it’ll take to keep you out of trouble. But I can take care of this wound myself, so don’t worry about any bills. I accept your apology, though.”

The sheriff gave Dean an unreadable prolonged stare. Maybe the man hadn’t expected him to be reasonable, much less the good guy in this whole mess. He turned Thom toward the patrol car and pressed him against the dusty exterior, the click of handcuffs coming next.

Dean frowned as a sniveling Thomas Chadley hunched into the patrol car’s caged-off backseat. “Is that necessary?”

The sheriff slammed the door shut with an overly dramatic thud. “Nope, but if we’re going to scare him and his brothers, we might as well do it right.”

The sheriff strolled around and opened the trunk of his car where he dug around for a while before producing a folded bandage, presumably from a first aid kit Dean couldn’t quite see.

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