Page 87 of The Worst Possible Plan

Anything.

“What happened to the animals?” The question burst out before I could stop it. Not Why did you ignore me? Not Are you angry? Not Did last night mean anything? Just the only thing that had mattered since this ridiculous day had started.

His eyes held mine for one long heartbeat, and I searched them desperately for something, anything—anger, frustration, understanding, any tiny hint that Captain Competent was still in there somewhere behind the badge.

His expression gave nothing away. It was like trying to read a locked door, solid, quiet, and completely impossible to see through. I’d seen him smile. I’d seen him laugh. I’d even seen him kiss me. Somehow this version of him felt like a stranger wearing the sheriff’s face.

Not anger or kindness. Nothing. Just professionalism. That sort of expression probably made people confess to parking violations without being asked. It also made my heart sink somewhere near my shoes.

Then, without answering, he turned and walked away.

And that hurt even more than the handcuffs had.

21

ERIC

Ishut the door to my office a little harder than I’d intended, walked over to my desk, and sat. The phone was ringing, but I didn’t pick it up. It could ring for another thirty seconds. The town probably wasn’t going to collapse because I let voicemail do its job for once.

Hartwell.

I let out a deep breath. She was killing me here. Which was impressive considering she’d only been the town’s event planner for approximately seventy-two hours. Most people took weeks before they complicated my life. Hartwell had decided to speed-run the process.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed both hands over my face. The office suddenly felt a whole lot smaller than it usually did. My desk sat exactly where it always had. The filing cabinet. The framed certificate on the wall. The coffee mug someone had given me five Christmases ago that read WORLD’S OKAYEST SHERIFF. Somehow, today, it felt less like a joke and more like a performance review. The mug had always made me laugh before. Now it seemed to be asking whether “okayest” included arresting women you’d kissed less than twelve hours earlier.

What the hell had just happened? Yesterday I’d been explaining road closures to a chaotic event planner. Today I’d processed her through booking.

No. I knew exactly what had happened. She’d stolen a truck. With livestock. Then led me on what was probably the slowest law enforcement chase in Maplewood Falls history. I was fairly certain one cyclist had actually passed us.

Forty-eight miles an hour tops.

I almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, I thought about the look on her face when I’d told her to turn around. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t defiance. It was something much worse. The kind of look that made you question whether doing the right thing always felt this lousy.

The surprise. Then confusion. Then hurt.

Like she hadn’t expected me to arrest her. Like some part of her had believed the man she’d kissed last night would somehow magically override the sheriff wearing the badge this morning. It wasn’t fair that she’d looked at me that way. It also wasn’t fair that I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What had she expected? That I’d smile, hand back the truck keys, and congratulate her on an emotionally motivated felony? “Excellent work, Hartwell. Next time perhaps steal two trucks.” The town would’ve loved that.

I frowned at my desk. The grain in the wood suddenly became fascinating. Mostly because it couldn’t look disappointed in me.

She broke the law. It wasn’t complicated. It couldn’t be complicated. I’d spent years making sure complicated never entered the equation. Facts. Evidence. Procedure. Those things kept everybody honest, including me.

I wore a badge.

She stole a truck.

That was the beginning and the end of it. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. The problem was my brain kept inserting several inconvenient chapters in the middle.

Except, it wasn’t.

Because she hadn’t stolen the truck for herself. There hadn’t been greed in her eyes. Or panic about getting caught. Just determination. Pure, reckless determination that somehow made perfect sense to her.

She hadn’t been trying to make money or hurt anyone. She’d done it because she’d believed those animals were in danger. Because somewhere along the way she’d decided that one little festival petting zoo wasn’t just another attraction anymore. It had become personal. Leave it to Hartwell to emotionally adopt an entire trailer full of livestock in under three days.

Because she’d looked at one little goat and somehow decided he was worth risking everything for.