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“Billy was moving cases of beer in the brewhouse,” Theo told her, though he was staring down at Briggs, daring him to move. “Mentioned someone must have come to help you finish decorating because he saw a car drive by. Wondered who in town had Pennsylvania plates.”
While Gretchen had shared her past with the Storms, they hadn’t thought to tell the other employees on the farm. Lucky for her, Billy was not only nosy but chatty. There was very little on the farm he didn’t see…and then report back to whomever was in hearing distance, simply for the pleasure of hearing his own voice.
Sam and Jace burst through the woods, as breathless as Theo.
“We called Sheriff Anderson,” Sam said as they reached them. He looked down at Briggs, sitting on the ground, and frowned.
As if on cue, Gretchen glanced down the gravel lane at the sound of a siren growing closer, echoing off the mountain.
Briggs heard it too. He rolled to his hands and knees, intent on standing up.
Sam, Jace, and Theo all shifted closer, and Briggs seemed to think better of it. Glancing around at the wall of men, he looked at her. “Gretchen. Please…”
She shook her head. “This is over, Briggs. I never want to see you again. Ever.”
For the first time, she got the sense that her words had finally sunk in. Every trace of anger in his face evaporated, morphing into deep-seated sadness and regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did,” she said quietly.
No one else spoke as the siren grew too loud, flashing lights illuminating the trees and side of the barn as Sheriff Anderson roared to a stop next to them. He hopped out of his car, moving more quickly than she’d have thought possible for the older, chubby lawman.
He pulled up short when he spotted Briggs on the ground, surrounded by three Storm men.
“This him?” the sheriff asked her.
Gretchen nodded. “Briggs Howard, former police officer.”
Theo’s face lifted to her, when he heard the word former.
“He got fired,” she explained.
“Good.” Sam crossed his arms. “A man like him shouldn’t be wearing a uniform. He deserves to be behind bars.”
Briggs tried to rise again, stumbling as he did so.
“You drive up here?” Sheriff Anderson asked him.
Briggs was too intoxicated to understand he was walking into a trap. “Yeah. I was just leaving.”
He took two steps toward his car, but Sheriff Anderson stopped him with a hand on his chest, shaking his head. “You’re not driving anywhere. You and I are taking a trip to the station after I give you a breathalyzer.”
Whatever fight Briggs had left was completely gone now, as he lifted one shoulder, shrugging.
Sheriff Anderson looked at her. “He hurt you?”
Theo looked at her closely, his gaze taking in her face, her arms, with genuine concern. Any damage Briggs did—and she knew there would be bruises—was hidden by her clothing.
“Yes,” Gretchen answered, as she looked at Theo. “He grabbed my arm, pulled my hair, shook me, choked me.”
As she listed her injuries, Theo’s eyes traveled to those areas as if he could see the bruises beneath her sweater and hair. He looked crestfallen, guilty.
“Don’t,” she whispered, stepping closer to him. “None of this is your fault.”
“I promised to protect you,” he murmured.
“You can’t guard me twenty-four-seven,” she said, even though it sure looked like Theo intended to give that a try. “You showed up when I needed you. What happened here is no one’s fault except his.” She pointed to Briggs, who withered under everyone’s scrutiny.
“You want to press charges?” the sheriff asked.