Page 5 of Seducing the Sheriff (Charming Butte #2)
Chapter Three
Greg
I couldn’t believe I was stuck in a motel—especially since I had so much work to do in my new home.
Idle hands and whiling away the time with no particular goal made me twitchy.
Not that I couldn’t relax with a couple of beers and watch the game, or even the occasional movie.
But those times were for special occasions, like when I used to visit my dad.
These days, it was only when I was so beat I could barely stand.
Otherwise, solo recreation wasn’t that much fun.
A wave of melancholy washed over me, the vision of the shriveled-up corpse assailing me the way it had the night before when sleep wouldn’t find me.
What had happened to them? The idea that they might have been walled in under my stairs while they were still alive made me shudder.
What a gruesome fate. In essence, it made me the owner of a crypt.
Groaning at the morbid thought, I whipped the thin blanket aside and rolled out of bed. I then padded my way into the bathroom so I could get ready to face the day. Maintaining a schedule was my happy place, and this awful development had thrown a wrench in my plans.
When I stepped inside the bathroom that hadn’t been blessed with a remodel since some time before Armstrong set foot on the moon, I grabbed a face towel from the rack.
I squinted my eyes at the reflection staring back at me.
A turquoise-colored porcelain sink with hairline cracks stood beneath a medicine cabinet featuring a slightly warped mirror.
While I was certain that the weary person I saw was due to a lack of sleep, the old glass wasn’t doing me any favors either.
With a sigh, I finished washing my face and brushing my teeth before heading back into the small bedroom.
My eyes wandered to the tiny, single-cup coffee maker on a plastic tray adorned with saguaro cacti.
The Roadrunner motel’s logo was emblazoned on a diner-style mug, and a plastic packet containing sugar, powdered creamer, and a stirrer was conveniently tucked inside.
I picked up the cup, heavy in my hand, and pondered.
I gazed at the chip and realized why the officer I was supposed to follow into town had insisted I stay at the motel chain instead of this kitschy place.
When I’d driven to my new home the first time, I’d caught sight of the vintage motel, and it intrigued me.
I was such a sucker for anything historic.
Every time I passed it, the compulsion to stop and take a peek gripped me.
I set down the mug. Curiosity satisfied.
Now it was time to go into town and grab some real coffee.
After that? If I still wasn’t allowed back to the house, an exploration of the area would be excellent.
I’d been back and forth between my property and Charming several times, but I didn’t know much else about the locale.
Perhaps I could also find a source for fresh wool until I was ready to house sheep of my own.
After I finished getting ready for the day, I headed out, smiling and waving to the older man in the motel office as I passed.
While climbing into the truck, I racked my brain, trying to remember the guy’s name.
What the lodging lacked in charm, it made up for in how friendly and helpful the owner was.
I started up the engine, then snapped my fingers.
Bob. Taking off down the road toward town, I gave myself a mental pat on the back.
It shamed me to admit that I’d never been good with names.
My attitude was that I would only be around long enough to flip a house, then be moving on to parts unknown.
What was the point in developing attachments?
However, those days were gone. Everybody already seemed to know everyone in Charming, so it was on me to catch up.
My thoughts drifted to the rather attractive sheriff. He was new, too. Hmmm… I filed that morsel of info away for later. Baby steps. Working on my social skills was a positive development. However, bursting out of the gate at full speed wasn’t necessary.
I passed the turn-off to a town called Bobcat Stump. The first time I’d taken this road, the name had struck me as a place that might be interesting. As usual, my curiosity was piqued.
What I’d discovered about the town on Google had been limited to the population being shy of the five-hundred mark, a tiny local history museum open Thursday through Saturday from noon to four, and a diner that boasted it made the best homemade pies in all of New Mexico.
Suddenly, a piece of homemade pie sounded like it would really hit the spot. I pulled over in a small dirt turnout, checked for nonexistent traffic, then made a U-turn. If I were really lucky, they’d have Dutch apple.
As I traveled down the bumpy road featuring multiple potholes in the worn asphalt, I was treated to the sight of more than one decrepit roadside billboard.
Other than the one advertising the coffee shop, the others were the type I’d become familiar with as a lifetime resident of the Southwest. Wooden, low to the ground, with peeling paint from back in the day.
When I pulled into Bobcat, the diner—aptly named after the town—was the first building to my right. The freshly painted peach-colored stucco stood in contrast to the more faded look of the rest of Main Street.
Peach. Sounded even better than apple, but it would be a while before they were in season.
For such a small town, the dirt gravel parking lot was rather full, so I had to park next to a large boulder that edged the lot. If I’d had a passenger with me, they would’ve had to land on top of it to exit my vehicle. Although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a passenger with me.
My chest tightened. I was pretty sure it was when I took my dad to his final doctor's appointment. I sighed as I made my way across the lot. I still wasn’t used to the idea that I wouldn’t be going to visit him in Cheyenne anymore.
An impressive array of barrel cacti planted in a tidy row of snow-white rocks lined the walkway to the front door. I was still undecided about which direction to take when I reached the landscaping part of my renovations. I mentally added the diner’s arrangement to my list of desert gardens.
When I rounded the corner, reaching for the handle of one side of the glass panel doors, I spotted the sheriff’s cruiser.
I paused, startled by how my heart skipped a beat.
Pressing my lips together, I soldiered forward.
All I needed was to add a crush to my never-ending inventory of new activities.
Forming a friendship of any kind would be a big enough challenge for now.
I waited by the host station and ‘Please Wait to be Seated’ sign, hands loosely tucked in my pockets.
The layout of the restaurant was reminiscent of the average diner.
A row of stools at the counter was to my left, as well as a glass bakery case loaded with racks of pies, donuts, conchas, cinnamon orejas, and fruit empanadas.
A central area with tables and booths lined the perimeter—the majority of them featuring windows that looked out onto the desert landscape.
The décor was simple, with roadrunners and cacti being the main theme, all set against a pale teal and peachy background.
I was back to salivating over peach pie.
“Good morning, sir.”
I tore my gaze from the main dining area to meet the eyes of the smiling, middle-aged woman greeting me. I straightened, the bizarre urge to assure her that I wasn’t searching for the infuriatingly handsome Sheriff Cash Lawson flashing through my mind.
“Morning.” I smiled back.
The hostess glanced around the busy dining area before turning back to me. “Just one?”
I held in another pointless, poor, pitiful me sigh. “Yes. I’m alone.”
Embarrassed, I cleared my throat. Had it been necessary to announce my status like that?
She placed her hands on her hips, brow furrowing. “It doesn’t look like I have any tables available.” She turned back to me with another smile. “But if you don’t mind the counter, there’s one spot at the end.”
Mind? Counters and I were on a first-name basis. “That would be fine.”
She gestured past the row of already seated customers. “Menu is in the condiment holder. Enjoy your meal.”
I thanked her and made my way down the aisle. Right as I reached the lone seat, I glanced up and met the steel grey eyes of the sheriff. He dipped his chin, one side of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.
I paused my forward motion, my eyes darting to the empty seat before making a daring, split-second decision.
Trying to convey the confidence I didn’t feel in the slightest, I wove through the full tables, dodging servers and trays overloaded with plates of eggs and bacon.
My journey took all of ten seconds, but it could’ve been a lifetime.
“Hello, sheriff.” That’s me, a master of scintillating repartee. I hooked a thumb in my belt, balancing on one hip as if I were super chill. “Eat here often?”
The instant the ridiculous phrase left my mouth, I was fantasizing about putting my home on the market and leaving town forever. Of course, that would probably make me a murder suspect, so there was that.
Cash tilted his head a bit. “On occasion. Want to join me?” He gestured to the chair across from him. “You arrived during the morning rush, so I think I’m your best shot.”
“Sure. Thanks.” I pulled out the well-worn wooden chair and took a seat. “I came to Bobcat out of curiosity. I keep seeing the sign off the road and wondered what it was all about.”