“Ms. Carpenter,” he said, “nice to see you. I’m on patrol so this has to be quick.”
“Oh, fine, fine, fine,” she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, spitting the words out rapid-fire. “It will be. I just wanted to tell you I had a chance to meet with Sadie Miller today.”
“You what?” he asked.
“Sadie came by the Chamber with a list of ideas for community events hosted on the ranch.”
“She did what?” he asked, the words coming out a bit terse.
Lydia didn’t shrink under his terseness. She didn’t react at all. Her petite frame was unshaken, her smile firmly in place. She was young to be in the position she was in, possibly a bit younger than he was. And when he thought about it, he had to concede that the woman must be almost entirely composed of efficiency and stubbornness to achieve what she had, even in a town so small.
Her smile broadened, which he would have thought was impossible. And he had to admit that she was actually very pretty. But it didn’t make this less annoying.
“She stopped by and we had a lovely chat, Eli.” Suddenly he was Eli and not Deputy Garrett. “Her ideas for the Independence Day community barbecue are so good. She’s talking about canvassing all of Logan County with flyers. I suggested we get it listed on the nightly news Community Chalkboard and on the Chamber’s website. I think it’s the kind of thing that could really benefit Copper Ridge. The coastal fireworks on the Fourth are already such a big draw, adding events that extend tourists’ stays will only be good for everyone.”
He was afraid, honest to God, that a blood vessel in his eye was going to burst. Sadie’d circumvented him and Connor, and now he was effectively roped around the balls by the president of the Chamber of Commerce.
If he tugged too far the other way, he could find himself neutered. And if not anything half that dramatic, he could at least find himself out of the running for sheriff.
“Thank you, Eli, so much for allowing this to happen on the ranch. I can’t think of a better place, or a better man to host. All things considered, I mean. I’d love to help with anything I can,” she said, looking at him with large eyes. “I can help plan games. I could come by your place and look at different areas that might be of use for the event.”
He cleared his throat, hoping it would help dislodge the rage ball that was blocking his ability to breathe. “I’ll get in touch with you, Ms. Carpenter,” he said, very purposefully not using her first name, because for some reason he just had a feeling that was asking for trouble. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get on with my day.”
He turned around to face his patrol car, which was parked against the curb, to see Sadie two blocks down, exiting one of the little shops on the corner, a small paper bag in one hand and a coffee in the other.
Before he could even think through his next move, his feet were propelling him toward her. And he was pissed.
She lifted her head and froze when she saw him walking toward her, her eyes widening, before she schooled her expression into an easy smile. “Why, hello, Officer Garrett,” she said.
“Deputy,” he bit out. “And do not give me that overly innocent face, Sadie. I know what you did.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I spoke to Lydia just now,” he said.
“Ah,” she said, nodding, “Yes. Lydia. She was so excited about the ideas that I had. And very keen to come over and help me get everything in order. And very, very excited to talk to you about it.”
“What does that have to do with anything? What does it have to do with the fact that you have, yet again, overstepped?”
“Nothing. I was just making an observation that you have a big fan there.”
“What?”
“She likes you,” Sadie said, taking a sip of her coffee. “A lot. And I’m not really sure why, but I sort of assumed you have to possess something that looks like a personality when you’re not around me, or you wouldn’t have half the people in your life that you do. Which leads me to the conclusion that you just don’t like me. But back to Lydia... Yeah, she likes you.”
“What the hell do you mean she likes me? Who says that anymore?”
“Fine. She wants your body. Do you approve of that assessment?”
“No,” he said, frowning. “No, I don’t. She’s just friendly because she’s president of the Chamber of Commerce, and it’s her job to be friendly.”
Tourism was an emerging industry in Copper Ridge, and it was quickly becoming the heart and soul of the town, which was, in his opinion, the jewel of this section of Oregon coastline. The coastal Old Town section had been totally revamped half a decade earlier, and what had once been dilapidated was now made charming.
With that had come vacation rentals, small motels and a smattering of bed-and-breakfasts, similar to Sadie’s.
In addition there were now candy stores, boutiques and shops specializing in crap made of salvaged flotsam that were destined to collect dust on mantelpieces up and down the West Coast.
The rest was mill and timber towns, run-down fishing communities, all banded together under the header Logan County, so named for its surplus of loganberries that lined the highways and tangled around the trees in the forest. All his responsibility. A responsibility that was starting to feel a little more burdensome just at the moment.
“Sure. I’m not going to argue the point with you,” Sadie said. “But...you’re a little oblivious.”
“I find that ironic coming from a woman who seems oblivious to the fact that I don’t want to host a community barbecue...picnic...pie eating contest or whatever the hell it is you’re—”
“Oh! Pie eating! That would be great!”
“Sadie,” he said, his tone warning.
“What? You’re being a stubborn cuss,” she said. “I am working hard to establish my B and B as something special. Yes, there are several in town, but they’re just that—in town. Which, I grant you, provides the ocean view, but if you want solitude, a chance to be surrounded by the mountains. To just...be on a ranch? Well, that’s what I provide. I want people to come and see it. I want people to want to be there.”
“And you’re going to accomplish that with pie eating.”
“Argh! I genuinely don’t understand what your issue is.”
“Because I didn’t tell you what it is,” he said. And he didn’t plan on it. The bottom line was, he was uncomfortable opening the ranch up to the public, and that was all she needed to know.
“Well, maybe you should.”
“Do you want me to talk about my fucking feelings?” he asked, the language, in this context and while in uniform, not something he would normally use. But the woman was standing on his last nerve and grinding it beneath the heel of her impractical sandals—and yes, he’d noticed them, since the top of her head was now just above his shoulders, rather than at the middle of his chest. “Because we’re not in your office, and I would not pay for that level of torture.”
