Page 100 of The Worst Possible Plan

I should’ve listened. Really listened. Not as the sheriff evaluating a suspect. As the man she’d kissed the night before.

I should’ve let her explain. Even if it changed nothing legally, it would’ve changed something between us. Instead I’d skipped straight to procedure.

I should’ve answered the one question she’d actually asked. She hadn’t begged me to let her go. Hadn’t argued about the handcuffs. Hadn’t demanded special treatment.

Where are the animals?

Instead, I’d hidden behind the badge. What a convenient place to hide, respectable too. The trouble with hiding behind something long enough was eventually forgetting where you ended and it began.

I reached toward the console and pressed the hands-free phone button. If I couldn’t say it in person yet, maybe I could at least start somewhere.

“Call Sophie Hartwell.”

The system chimed.

Calling…

Her phone rang through the speakers. Each ring seemed longer than the last.

Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

Then her voicemail answered. “Hi, you’ve reached Sophie. Leave a message and…”

The beep sounded.

I opened my mouth… and nothing.

Not a single useful sentence. Plenty of thoughts. None of them fit together in a way that sounded like something worth hearing.

What exactly was I supposed to say? Sorry I arrested you? Sorry I ignored you afterward? Good news about the animals?

None of it sounded right. Every sentence stopped halfway because the words that mattered most refused to line up in the correct order. None of it sounded like enough. Maybe because it wasn’t. Some conversations deserved eye contact instead of speakerphones.

After several seconds of silence, I reached over and ended the call. The screen went dark.

I let out a long breath. I just hoped it wasn’t too late. Because I wasn’t driving toward a problem I needed to solve. I was driving toward a woman I genuinely didn’t want to lose.

I drove another few miles as town slowly disappeared behind me. The last stop sign gave way to open country, and the familiar rhythm of civilization slowly surrendered to fields, trees, and long stretches of empty road.

The road narrowed. Fresh asphalt gave way to older pavement patched here and there from harsh winters and heavy farm equipment. I eased off the gas automatically as the center line faded and the shoulders became little more than packed gravel. I’d driven these roads a thousand times. Today they somehow felt different.

Fields replaced storefronts. Fresh-cut hay lay drying in neat rows while cattle grazed lazily behind weathered fences, completely unconcerned with human complications. A rusted tractor sat abandoned beside an old red barn, looking like it’d been there since before I became sheriff. Farm life had its own pace. Nobody seemed in much of a hurry except me.

The farther I drove, the clearer everything became.

Funny how distance worked. Sometimes getting away from a problem was exactly what you needed to finally see it properly. Somewhere between town limits and Route Twelve, I’d stopped trying to convince myself this drive was about livestock.

Jenna had been right. That realization sat there without much argument now. I’d spent the better part of the morning defending myself to her. Turns out she’d needed about three minutes to undo what had taken me several hours to convince myself of.

I’d handled the arrest like the sheriff with procedure and professionalism, every step by the book. I’d done exactly what people expected of me, exactly what the badge required, and exactly what I’d sworn to do years ago.

I’d forgotten to handle the aftermath like me. Eric. Somewhere between putting the handcuffs away and finishing the paperwork, I’d let the uniform answer every question. I’d forgotten there was a man underneath it who actually cared whether Hartwell walked away hurting.

Hartwell deserved better than silence. Silence had protected me. It hadn’t protected her. If anything, it’d probably convinced her I regretted the kiss. That thought sat about as comfortably as gravel in a boot.

She deserved honesty. Not polished explanations. Not carefully measured sheriff answers. Just the truth. Simple enough in theory. Considerably harder once feelings entered the conversation.

The truth.