“Like...put your picture on the posters and the signs. I feel like you have the looks to really grab voters.”

“Is that...a thing?” he asked.

She smiled. “It’s always a thing. I mean, when you’re as kind and dedicated as you are, handsomeness shouldn’t matter. But it certainly enhances things. It’s part of charisma.”

He was so rarely accused of having that.

“Well, the other guy running certainly has a lot of good qualities, and has years more experience than I do.”

“He isn’t from Copper Ridge, though. And since this is the largest town in the county, that matters. They just work here. It’s different.”

It was in his mind, too. Man, it would be so much easier if he found Lydia attractive. Ferret-like levels of energy aside, she was pretty amazing. They could work together on his campaign, and hell, in spite of his gut opposition to a wife and family, he could eventually settle down with someone like her and they could be the unofficial king and queen of Logan County.

Too bad a stick in the eye sounded more appealing.

He looked away from Lydia, across the street, and saw a messy blond bun bobbing on the far side of the cars parked against the curb. And he knew, instantly, who the bun belonged to.

He’d avoided her for three days. Three days without seeing her and kissing her, or putting her up against the wall and banging her.

It had been a successful, if not entirely fun, three days.

The identity of his visual target was confirmed when she appeared through a gap in the parked cars, turning away from the street and facing the wall of one of the shops. She set a stack of papers on the ground and held a staple gun up. Pressing one sheet of paper to a bulletin board and holding the gun against it, she efficiently shot a staple into each corner, before bending and picking up the flyers again and moving on to the next shop.

They were maybe fifteen feet apart, but that didn’t stop her from adding a flyer to that board, too.

“Sorry,” he said to Lydia. “I have to...law enforcement business.”

He walked to the end of the sidewalk, to the crosswalk, and moved quickly across to where Sadie was.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She turned, her expression fierce as she pressed the trigger on the gun and shot a staple through the paper and cork board. “Posting posters,” she said.

She lowered her hand to her side and lifted her eyebrow, the staple gun menacing in her dainty hold.

“I can see that.”

He looked behind her head and read the words.

Logan County Community Barbecue

Independence Day

Come to the Garrett Ranch for food, fun and games.

Horseshoes, pie eating contest, live music

and a barbecue battle.

“Well, this is...firming up.”

She looked down below his belt pointedly, raising her arm, and the staple gun with it. “Is it?”

He frowned. “Sadie...”

“Give the guy a little sex and suddenly he gets the dick jokes.”

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“Did you expect me to be super thrilled with you?”

“I expected you to do the socially acceptable thing and pretend nothing happened while you brooded silently. That was my plan.”

“Too bad for you, I’ve never excelled at the socially acceptable.”

“Look, let’s talk about this,” he said, indicating the poster. “Not...the other thing. This is good. The other is bad.”

“The other was actually quite good, if I say so myself. I am apparently not only good in bed, but good against the wall. Adding it to my résumé.”

“Why are you so difficult?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Character flaw? Asset? You be the judge.”

“And I’m trying to be nice.”

“Not doing a very good job.” She propped her chin on the staple gun handle.

“So why don’t you try to play nice for two seconds. Why don’t you go ahead and not keep bringing up what I think is sort of an awkward moment for both of us.”

“I don’t think awkward is the word I would use,” she said, frowning.

“It’s not?”

“It was actually really athletic. I thought we were kind of awesome.”

“Yeah, I guess we were,” he said, taking a sip of his latte as an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Ah, the male ego,” she said, giving him the squinty eye. “So susceptible to praise. Now suddenly The Sex exists.”

“I know it exists. I just don’t see the point of doing a postmortem on something that we both know can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because. Because it can’t,” he said, feeling the conviction leak out of his words as he spoke them.

“Because why?”

“Because we don’t get along. And I’m busy running for sheriff.”