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Mouthing, 'help' and discreetly thumbing backward, I looked from the man on my porch to the door concealing unlucky bachelor number one.
Keith's shoes squeaked across the tile. He came to stand at my back still toting my checkered throw. I could almost feel him bristle as he took stock of the sheriff. “Who's this guy?”
“Important,” I informed Keith, gesturing at the badge.
On cue, Sheriff Harlowe squared his shoulders. He studied Keith with a condescending lift to his chin, not intimidating, but watchful in the way of a hound having detected a lupine shadow trailing the flock. “’Evening, Sir.”
“No one has ever knocked on my door this late except for trouble and those chasing it,” I continued. “And maybe me sometimes when I misplace my keys. This is...”
“Sheriff Caelan Harlowe,” the man supplied, hand outstretched.
“Allow me to introduce my date, Accountant Keith.” As Keith laid his sweaty palm on the sheriff's, I reached around and snagged his coat off the hook.
“And by 'date' you mean—?”
“First.” Beaming, I tugged the throw free of Keith’s loose, unsuspecting grip and replaced it with his coat. “Don’t bring this outside; there are spiders.”
Sheriff Harlowe tapped his notebook, passing on an apologetic, “Well now, if the world were kinder to its lovers, I’d leave you doves to nest, but I need to speak with Miss Davins.”
“My grandmother again?” I was lying through my teeth, but the sheriff had knocked for a reason as yet undisclosed. Gram could very well be the issue. Two years in the ground and I was still fending off various inquiries into her unfinished business.
Without missing a beat, the sheriff nodded. “Afraid so.”
An honest answer, or was he running with my lie? I couldn’t read him. Picking at the throw’s ‘dry-clean’ tag, I turned. “Keith, I’m so sorry, but you need to leave.”
Keith followed my stoic expression to its equal match in Harlowe's. “What’s happened?”
“The particulars of this here case and Miss Davins’ involvement ain’t available for civilian discussion.” The sheriff’s eyes landed on mine. “Unless she chooses to disclose it.”
I shook my head and, solely to earn brownie points when word got back to his mother, rubbed Keith’s shoulder. “Harlowe’s presence more or less confirms what I’ve been thinking – why I acted so hesitant, earlier – Keith, you’re out of my league.”
He balked. “That’s not true.”
“We’ve got a saying back where I come from, don’t start a history with a woman of some mystery.” Harlowe removed my hand from Keith’s shoulder. “Miss Davins kicked a hornets’ nest. Take my word as a defacto beekeeper of the peace, you don’t want this swarm chasing you."
Keith, cuing in on the mood, allowed himself to be walked down the stairs. “But we didn't finish our movie?”
“Another time,” I lied, lingering appropriately cold-footed at the edge of my paved stone walkway.
Smiling, the sheriff clasped Keith’s shoulder. “Aw, don't worry, Ace. Ain’t a real first date without a hiccup. Although, were I you, I wouldn’t be expecting the phone to ring and wouldn’t answer if it did. Forget Miss Davins. Spend your nights with another pretty girl.” He whispered further to his charge, whose gaping mouth made me step after them, curious. “Go on and bid the lady a fair night.”
Keith, bless his boring, clean-shaven soul, wasn't the sort of man to stand up to a mall security guard, let alone a sheriff. I dodged his kiss and settled for an awkward peck on the forehead, after which an impassive Sheriff Harlowe and I waved as Keith backed his Porsche around the sheriff's truck.
“Great night to own a convertible,” I said, drawing in a breath of sweet night air.
“Second thoughts, Miss Davins?”
“And third and fourth, but it’s the right choice.” The right choice tonight. Come dawn, I’d be eating a heaping side of regret alongside my scrambled eggs and toast.
As I thanked him, the sheriff climbed the steps after me, pausing to snag his hat. “That boy deserve such a sour sendoff?”
I tossed my blanket at the cat-clawed banister leading upstairs and missed. “My housemate and her fiancé ditched, but I shouldn’t have agreed to a cozy movie at home in the first place. Can’t exactly have my ‘landlord’ interrupt an unwanted kiss with a call about a flooded basement.”
Concern tightened his focus from the entryway at large to my messy hair and clothes. His attention lingered at my neck and arms. Searching for bruises, no doubt. “Was there an incident?”
“He didn’t hurt me,” I said, rubbing my knee before I realized what I was doing and straightened. “But that last glass of wine may have.”
He nodded. “I’ve noted his plate. One call and my officers will collar him.”
