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The disturbance being her.

“Coach Kerrigan is makin’ excuses, Sheriff,” she rebukes through pursed, deep red lipstick that doesn’t match her skin tone. “He said he ain’t no good.”

I glance over at Briggs, the man in question, also the man who isn’t the softest thing around when it comes to telling it straight, and he shrugs.

Straight pain in the ass like his sister.

Clearing my throat, I’ve seen Mrs. McLowen’s son play, and I’d have to agree with Briggs.

He blows.

The kid can’t catch a ball. It catches him.

In the face.

The hand.

He jammed his finger last week, and Mrs. McLowen walked around town like he caught the most magnificent catch on the face of the planet.

“Have ya thought about him getting into soccer or—” She glares at me because, apparently, I’m not helping with manners. “What would ya have me do, Mrs. McLowen? Arrest him for not allowin’ Junior to play?”

“Yes.”

She spent no time thinking about that question.

“Can’t,” I retort evenly. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.” She opens her mouth to argue, but I’ve had enough of this insignificant temper tantrum. “And, if ya have a problem with it, Mrs. McLowen, you’d need to take it up with the school. I can’t enforce who plays and who doesn’t.”

“Then what good are ya, Sheriff?” she grinds out furiously.

“I’m here for public safety and enforcement. Not kids’ baseball, Mrs. McLowen.” Her face reddens a deeper shade of pink, and her nostrils flare, which I’m hoping is her giving up on the argument part, so I tip my hat. “Have a good day.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

I’m rolling my eyes as I turn on my feet to find Briggs.

And I find him alright.

With a pretty brunette in light blue short overalls and a white, lacy crop underneath.

She’s fit, sexy, and freaking Adeline when my gaze stops eye-fucking the newest addition to the field.

She’s got a light brown baseball hat on as she bounces around on her toes, saying something to her brother that I can’t hear, but it doesn’t stop me from handling my business.

Briggs needs to relax with how he talks to the parents, or I’m not going to stop getting calls up here. He’s only the half-ass assistant coach when Micah—the head coach—needs the help.

And every time Briggs is in charge, I hear a parent bitching about him.

“Everythin’ all set, Dodger?” he asks me when he finds me approaching, causing Adeline to turn around—all smiles, sunshine, and my constant hard-on—to look at me, too.

“Ya need to think before you speak,” I lightly chide him. “You’re givin’ me more work than I need.”

“Then tell Paxton to get off his ass and help,” Briggs retorts unapologetically. “I can’t help if these kids suck.”

Adeline smacks his chest lightly. “Briggs, stop. Don’t talk about the kids like that.”

“I don’t. I tell their parents.”

We both stare at him because I don’t know what’s worse. All I know is that he needs to shut up.