Page 8 of Seducing the Sheriff (Charming Butte #2)

“I think, Mom. I might have made a new friend,” I said into the silence of the car.

MindMom was very smug.

Liam Sandell, the mayor of Charming Butte, leaned back in his huge leather chair and grinned at me over the desk, his deep brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “So what did I hear about you having breakfast with our handsome murder suspect?”

I scowled at him. “The diner was full. I had a seat at my table, and he’s not a murder suspect.”

I wasn’t going near the handsome comment. Nowhere near!

“It was unlikely,” Liam agreed, “as he hadn’t been born when our Jane Doe died.”

I sighed and he chuckled.

“Come on, sheriff, this is Charming. You know the news travels fast here.”

En route to the meeting, I’d gotten a call from the coroner’s office to tell me the body had died at least ninety years ago.

They didn’t need to date the bones. The young woman had been holding a scrap of newspaper dated January 9, 1936 in her clenched hand.

They didn’t know how she’d died yet. I was still waiting on the autopsy results, but I appreciated the Bureau keeping me in the loop.

“You get the news before I do.”

“Probably,” he agreed, not even trying to deny it.

I held back a sigh.

Charming’s current mayor was a dynamic man who’d turned a shabby small town barely remembered on the map as the highway bypassed it, to a thriving tourist town, open for hikers, horseback riders, and alien enthusiasts.

In the process, he’d ruffled more than a few feathers, but even his detractors admitted he was good for Charming.

I knew he was a city boy, and I couldn’t understand why he’d relocated here with his wife a few years back, until he told me she was from Charming and had moved back to be with her parents.

I liked him, even when we were arguing about the law enforcement budget.

“Greg’s had a rough start to his life in Charming,” I muttered over another cup of coffee.

Liam nodded. “I did some investigating this morning.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to know who was in my town. I looked at his Yelp reviews.”

“You looked at his Yelp reviews?” I stared at the mayor, not sure I could believe what I was hearing, and I certainly wasn’t sure I appreciated the mayor’s interference in this case.

“And I talked to the sheriffs in a couple of towns where he flipped houses.”

“You did what?”

Liam didn’t look remotely apologetic. “Stand down, sheriff. I asked about him and if he’d turned up on any of the jail rosters. Turns out Mr. Harding is squeaky clean. Not even a parking ticket. The guy gets his permits and keeps everyone happy.”

I grunted. It was good to hear, and I couldn’t help a warm and fuzzy feeling that my instincts were right about Greg.

“Stay away from investigating Greg, Liam. Law enforcement tends to get annoyed when civilians poke their nose into an active case. And it’s not my case,” I added, when Liam opened his mouth to interrupt.

He subsided into his chair. “Understood.”

“You do?” I regarded him warily. From what I knew of Charming’s mayor, he didn’t back down so easily. His wife told me more than once he was like a terrier with a bone when he got his teeth into something.

Liam shrugged, then smirked at me. “I’ve gotten the information I need.”

Of course he had.

I knuckled my eyes and sighed. It had been a long day, and it was only lunchtime. I had three more meetings before the end of my shift.

“Top up?” Liam asked, waving a hand at the coffee pot.

I shook my head. “I’ve drunk so much coffee today; my bloodstream is ninety per cent caffeine.”

“That low,” he mocked. “See you tomorrow night for dinner?”

I grunted agreement as I got to my feet and rolled my shoulders, then I fixed Liam with a stare. “No more unauthorized investigations, okay?”

He gave me a bland stare. “You don’t want me to lie to you, do you? I’m the mayor.”

I sighed. This was Liam Sandell. He was a politician. He’d always stick his nose in if it suited him. Then he’d smoothly talk his way out of any complaint on my part.

My last meeting ended at eight-thirty that night. I hadn’t intended to stay that long, but we’d gotten into long discussions about zoning and permits, then pizza had arrived, and well, here I was driving home at eight forty-five and I’d had a fourteen-hour day—again.

In all honesty, I didn’t mind the long days.

Otherwise, I was going back to an empty home, crack a beer, and watch the rerun of a game I’d missed.

But I was aware other people had families and lives, and it wasn’t fair to expect them to give up their evenings just because I was a single man with no life outside of work.

As I drove past the old Jenkins’ ranch I wondered if Greg was back yet or if he’d decided to stay another night in the motel until he’d cleared up.

Before I could think about what I was doing, I swung the cruiser around and turned into his drive.

I could see lights in the building ahead, so I guessed that answered the question.

I had my answer, I could go home. But it was only right I checked on Greg to make sure he was okay.

Why was I trying to justify a friendly visit to someone? Anyone else I wouldn’t be thinking about it.

Anyone else and you wouldn’t be visiting them at nearly nine at night.

I ignored MindMom’s dig—seriously, did anyone else have their mother living rent-free in their head?—and pulled up alongside Greg’s truck.

I hesitated for one second, then got out of the cruiser and jogged up the stoop to knock on the door. I waited, then I heard footsteps heading toward the door. There was a pause, the sound of a key unlocking, and the door opened.

Greg blinked at me, the long lashes sweeping over his cheeks. “Hey, sheriff…Cash. Is everything all right?”

“Uh…yeah.” I stumbled a bit, noticing he was in a t-shirt that molded his muscles and pajama bottoms that clung…no, I was not going there. I dragged my gaze up but didn’t meet his gaze. “I was driving past and thought I’d check you were okay.”

I winced inwardly. Now I sounded like a worried schoolteacher.

“Late night?” he asked.

“Long day.” I grimaced. “I’ve just finished my last meeting.”

“That is a long day.” Greg sounded sympathetic. “I came back this afternoon and cleared away the mess. It wasn’t too bad, although the closet will have to be rebuilt. I’m not sure what I want to do with it just yet.”

I nodded, finally meeting Greg’s eyes. “I can understand that.”

“Do you want to come in,” he asked. “Do you want coffee?”

“Do you have anything else? I won’t sleep if I drink more caffeine.”

“I think I’ve got chamomile tea in the pantry. Aunt Bonnie gave it to me. I’m not sure how old it is,” he confessed.

God bless Aunt Bonnie.

“That’s perfect. I like chamomile, however old it is,” I assured him, and he stepped back to allow me into the house.

I stood for a moment on the doorstop, allowing myself time to absorb the old place. Sometimes, I could be attuned to the atmosphere of a place, old houses specifically. For one that had undergone such a trauma, it seemed remarkably calm. Maybe it was glad to have given up its secret.

I didn’t say anything to Greg. Not everything would like their sheriff coming out with nonsense. But the house was content and that was good enough for me.

Then I realized Greg watched me intently.

“You too, huh?” His smile was cryptic.

Me too, what?