Page 3 of An Unfinished Memory

But the dance?

I resigned myself to missing the damn thing. I shouldn’t have tried to plan on leaving town. “I’ll follow you over there and help unload it.”

“Are you sure?” When I nodded, she patted my arm like I was one of her pupils. “What would we do without you, Deputy?”

Her appreciation was a thin bandage against my disappointment. “That’s what I’m here for.”

She laughed. “Deputy Wilder, your job does not include loading lawn mowers.”

It did. I had big plans, and if I wanted to become sheriff one day, this grassroots assistance would go a long way in my campaign. I’d been working toward that goal for years. Almost since the beginning of my career.

I followed Annie and her son and unloaded the mower. Another tissue wipe down later, I was back in my vehicle and heading home. Looked like it was another beer-and-ESPN night.

I maneuvered to the other side of the road to avoid Carla Bosworth, jogging in shorts short enough todisappear in the crack of her ass. She had on a yellow sports bra, and I knew her front was as impressive as her back.

There were no sidewalks on this stretch of town, and the road led past my house, which Carla knew. My disappointment at how predictable the night turned out morphed into irritation. All summer, if I was on duty, she was out for a run. She’d been through two husbands, got the cars and the houses to show for it, and was on patrol for a third.

She looked over her shoulder, her expertly dyed blonde hair swinging in a ponytail. She slowed to a walk, a sultry grin spreading across her face.

Was she wearing lipstick? Wasn’t she catching gnats in the stuff?

Walking across the road, she flagged me down. I stifled a groan. My job was to protect and serve. Not sit and flirt. I rolled down the passenger window after making sure the door was firmly locked.

“Heya, Wilder,” she purred.

“Evenin’, Carla.”

She draped an arm on the edge of the window. “Done with work?”

Yes, but I’d rather she didn’t know. She was becoming more forward in her flirtations. “Not yet.”

Her pout was expert level. “You work too much.”

Acid churned in my gut. I was acutely aware of how much I worked and what it’d cost me. “You know me.”

She propped her chin in her hand, her brown eyes dancing. “Do I?” She dropped her arm, somehow invading the interior of the car with the door closed. Her floral perfume billowed into the cab, but it registered as wrong in my brain. It wasn’t the smell of coconut-pineapple lotion—for a hit of summer every day when our winters were so long.

Fuck. Would there be a day I’d get overher?

“I’d like to get to know you,” she said playfully.

My phone buzzed again. Her gaze darted around the computer and radio equipment that made up my console, searching for where the sound came from. Taking advantage of the interruption, I eased off the brake. My personal phone had been vibrating with missed texts since I was at the McCormicks’, but the newest call was on my work phone. “Duty calls. Have a good night.”

She slowly pulled back, like she was doing me a favor. I didn’t speed away, but I was tempted. I’d been single for a year and a half. A woman like Carla should be exactly who I was cuffing to my bedpost. My dick nodded, tired as hell of my hand.

I glanced in the rearview. Was I sure I didn’t want to interview for husband number three? Yes. I had no desire to be left by another woman, but fuck, my ex had even taken the dog.

My hours weren’t stable enough, and if shit went down in the county, I could be gone all night. It had made sense for Oreo to go withher.

I was tired of shit making sense.

Was Carla being extra bouncy? Whatever husband paid for her tits wasn’t getting to enjoy them.

Hell, maybe he was. Maybe other divorced couples didn’t force smiles and make sure to stay on the other side of the room if they happened to occupy the same space.

Frustrated with my lack of interest and my growing pity party, I returned the call from my boss.

“Hey, Ray.”

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