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Jason blinked, confused as if it was the first time anyone had ever asked him. I’m sure I’d asked him that. Right? After all, I was a good uncle. He loved me, I loved him, and I’m sure I would have talked to him about colleges. Guilt twinged. Maybe I hadn’t been the best uncle with everything happening with Dad.
“I like games,” Jason said slowly, as if testing the waters. “I mean, not just playing them. I like using Unity and messing around with C# to create stuff.” He glanced at me then, a bit uncertain. “Although, maybe I’ll besheriff? I mean, Grandpa would like me to do it,” Jason said, his voice a bit smaller now. “He keeps saying?—”
“You have to do what you want,” I interrupted, hating that I agreed with Connor but knowing it was true. Much to Bessie’s dismay, Dad was all over Jason to study law or criminology or skip college altogether—anything to get him into the sheriff’s office.
Jason glanced between us, shy and embarrassed before mumbling about getting home to study and hurrying off before I could impart words of wisdom. I watched him go, unsure what to say, the awkwardness lingering like a sour taste.
When I turned around, Connor was already back in his superhero pose, with his arms crossed, looking like he was ready to take on the world.
“Did you always want to be sheriff?” he asked me out of nowhere.
“Since I was five,” I said, not missing a beat. “Did you always want to be in the Navy?”
“Since I was five,” he said.
“Okay then.”
“Okay then.”
And with that weird but simple exchange of information, he strode off, leaving me more confused than ever. He was frustrating and irritating, and now, with that small piece of personal insight, Connor had somehow managed to unsettle me even more.
I shook my head, trying to clear it as I headed into the office. I’d already had Abraham changing his story about the rifle incident, claiming Connor was a hero, and who knew what was true anymore. I had Lewis way too closeto retiring. Despite desperately searching for funding to keep Wyatt, I had to write references for him, as he applied to other small-town offices. Worse, I had a list of places for Dad to go for care that needed researching. Mom wanted me to check out every single one for criminal activity—just another thing for her to create worry in her head about. Today had already started messy; it didn’t look as if it would get any easier, and having to deal with Connor wasn’t making it any simpler.
“Sheriff,” Solomon greeted me. I gave him a quick smile, then headed for coffee.
Anything to get me through the day.
There was no way I’d consciously used the alley to the back entrance to have a moment with Connor.
No. Way.
The day continued as expected,a steady stream of the usual headaches and paperwork that never seemed to end. I was stuck balancing the budget, hands-down the worst part of the job. Funding for the sheriff’s office came from a mix of county allocations and state grants, but it was never enough to cover everything we needed. Deputy salaries were the most significant chunk of the budget, and while the county was responsible for paying them, I was the one who had to stretch those dollars to cover training, equipment, and overtime. It was a constant juggling act, ensuring we had the resources to keep the town safe without bankrupting the department. It was a closer call in some months than I liked to admit.
But I wanted to keep Wyatt. With Lewis and Solomonso close to retiring, I was desperate to get Wyatt to stay and be the next generation in the sheriff’s office alongside me.
I didn’t want him to move off now, not when he was getting to know the town and was such a good deputy.
I was three hours deep into wrangling numbers when Solomon came in. I was trying to figure out how to make everything work without cutting corners, and I had to shut down the instant flare of irritation as I lost count again.
“There’s an issue at the diner, sheriff,” he said. “You might wanna get over there.”
“Can Lewis or Wyatt handle it?”
“Lewis is with his wife at the doctor’s. Wyatt isn’t on for another thirty, and I think this is a you thing.”
I sighed, already feeling the headache forming behind my eyes. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Phil Monroe,” Solomon said, and I didn’t need to hear more. What was he doing now? “And Connor.”
Connor? For fuck’s sake.
“What.” I wasn’t asking. I was already up and out of my office, yanking my jacket from the hook and shaking it before putting it on. It still had that faint dampness from the storms, and I winced at the cold against my skin.
“Mark me out,” I called back to Solomon, who sketched a salute.
I jogged the short distance, and there was Phil’s truck, parked squarely in the handicapped space again, and Connor was stopping him from leaving, leaning against the beaten-up Buick as if he had all the time in the world.Phil was a good ten feet away, pacing, angry at Connor but too nervous to get any closer.
I could feel the tension, and the ridiculousness of this hit me. Connor glanced at me, a slight smirk playing on his lips as if daring me to say something about him leaning on someone else’s property.
