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“I did.” I take a seat in the chair in front of his desk. “Doolittle’s people were busy overnight.”
“Rumor is he’s getting worried and has urged his campaign team to start pushing harder.” He eyes me thoughtfully. “I know you’re not interested in the political aspect of this job, but it would be wise to start stepping up, getting your face out there at town halls and around town.”
“I didn’t sign up for politics. I’m not good at hand shaking. I just want to do my job.”
“And that’s exactly why you should be sheriff, but you’re not going to win by just showing up for work and hoping folks remember your name. Not when you’re up against Joe, who’s got people with money backing him.”
I fight the urge to clench my jaw. I enjoy my job, and I care about the people in this town, but I’ve never had any ambition to do more because politics makes my skin crawl. The speeches, fundraising, dinners, and handshakes all feel fake. This job isn’t about the glory, and I’ve seen what can happen when the law forgets who it’s supposed to protect. That’s why when Mike told me that he was retiring, and I saw that Doolittle was tossing his hat into the ring, I decided to run. I can’t sit by and watch Joe Doolittle twist this county into something no one recognizes, a place where we end up on the news every few months because some elected official or person with a little bit of money gets special treatment. And I don’t want the men I work with, the men I consider friends, placed in a situation where they have no choice but to ignore the law because their boss is telling them if they don’t, they will be out of a job. And I know that most of the folks in Gooseberry feel the same. Sure, there are a few hangers-on who like the idea of Joe because he talks a good game about efficiency, progress, and faster response times, which all sound good on paper, but the reality is it’s difficult to do all those things without cutting corners.
“Julie asked me to sit down with her,” I tell him, and he starts to nod.
“That’s a good place to start. As mayor, she has the ear of the people, and I know that she wants what is best for this town, and you know, Wyatt, it would probably be good to rub shoulders with her and the rest of the people on the city council.”
“I’ll do that.”
“It might also be smart to find someone to help you with your campaign.” I start to open my mouth, but he cuts in before I can. “Elsie Fenwick might be good at that.”
“She’s in real estate.”
“Yep, and she knows everyone in this area and is a marketing pro. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her and see if she has any advice.”
“I’ll think about it,” I mutter, not sure I want to open that door to Elsie. Knowing her, she won’t be happy just offering me advice—no, she’ll take over, and next thing I know, I’ll be standing onstage during the fall festival doing a Q and A with the residents of Gooseberry.
When I moved to town years ago, Elsie was one of the first people I met. She had gotten into a small fender bender, and I was the deputy who arrived to take the report. By the time I left the scene of that accident, she’d found out that I was new to town with no family in the area, gotten my phone number, and made me promise to be at her table for Sunday dinner. And since then, I’ve spent a lot of time with her and her family, and Sunday dinner is a part of my regular rotation. Or it was. I’m not sure that I’ll be sitting at her table anytime soon, not with Genevieve around.
My hands ball into fists as an image of Genevieve sitting on the counter in my kitchen this morning with her long blond hair tied up in a high ponytail and wearing spandex that clung to each and every one of her curves, fills my mind, pissing me off.
Genevieve Fenwick is the kind of beautiful that could fuck up your life, the kind of beautiful that you could get lost in and forget your way. And she is definitely the kind of problem I don’t need at the moment, not with everything else I have going on with work and running for sheriff.
“How’s the business with the house going?” Mike asks, dragging me from my thoughts, and I sit forward in my chair.
“Still waiting for a response to my counteroffer. Hopefully I’ll know something today.”
“I told Maggie about the house last night,” he says, referring to his wife, who is a regular at the sheriff’s office and is always showing up with lunch or treats for the guys. “She’s wondering if you have plans to plant a wife and a few kids in that big house.”
“Don’t even start with me.” I get up and walk to the door as he starts to laugh.
“You know my granddaughter will be here at Christmas, and she’s single,” he calls out, and I close the door behind me, cutting off his laughter.
“Everything okay?” Bryan asks when I get to my desk a minute later.
“Just campaign bullshit. Mike wants me to start doing more.”
“If you need help getting your name out there, me and the guys could have shirts made and start wearing them around town,” Russell says from where he’s standing next to the coffeepot.
“Jenny is really into bedazzling; she’d help with that project,” Cole says, and I shake my head, picturing the guys all wearing campaign shirts that are covered in tiny gems, like the ones Jenny glued to his uniform without him knowing a few weeks ago.
“I’ll think about it.” I grab my gun from the locked top drawer of my desk.
“Just let us know what you need from us,” Bryan says, patting my arm as he walks past me.
Looking at the men I’ve worked side by side with for the last four plus years, I place my gun in my holster. None of them have said it, but I know they’re all depending on me to make sure Doolittle doesn’t win and worried about what will happen if I can’t stop him.
Like me, they know every dirt road and every person behind every porch light and are loyal to the people of this town. And it’s for that reason I need to put my reservations aside and call Elsie and see if she has any advice, even if that means I end up on a stage somewhere answering questions.
Chapter 6:
Stupid Tingles
