Page 29 of The Claiming Series: Collection 1

Drayton

I park the car and reach for my police radio, clipping it to my belt.

The second I open the door, I’m blasted by a freezing cold wind and swirling flakes of snow.

Colorado winters can be brutal, and this one is no exception.

Bracing myself against the elements, I pull my hat down over my eyes and head for the warmth of The Hideout Bar.

Pushing open the heavy wood door with its antique glass window, I step into the dimly lit interior.

A sense of nostalgia washes over me at the familiar surroundings.

Rustic beams run across the ceiling, and pictures line the worn, red-brick walls, faded in their frames.

It’s midday, so there are only a few patrons seated at the bar, nursing their drinks.

“Sheriff! ”

I turn at the booming voice to look at the tall, burly man emerging through the doorway behind the bar.

“What have I told you about calling me that, Pa,” I glower, giving my dad the stink-eye.

“You’re the sheriff of this town, aren’t you?” he demands, raising a white eyebrow.

“Yeah, but?—”

“Then what’s the problem? Proud of my son and not ashamed who knows it,” he says with a grin.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” I ask, knowing it will distract him from his usual embarrassing speech about how glad he is to have me back.

“Nancy’s not my girlfriend,” Dad glowers, shaking his head. “You know no one will ever match up to your ma, but it’s still nice to have a little female company now and again.”

I pull a stool up at the bar. It’s bittersweet being back here, seeing him work the bar without Mom. They ran this place together for over thirty years. They raised me here, in the rambling house behind the bar. A lot of things have changed since then. I’ve changed.

“Nancy’s granddaughter, Julia, is a catch,” Dad says casually, placing a mug of coffee in front of me.

“You’d make cute babies together, what with your blue eyes and her blonde hair.

Don’t remember you ever bringing a woman home to meet your ma and me,” he grumbles.

His eyebrows draw together in a frown as he considers his next words.

“You know, I won’t think any less of you if you like men. ”

I nearly choke on my coffee. Dad is from another generation. Same-sex relationships are a foreign concept to him. He’s not against them. He doesn’t understand them.

“I’m not gay, Pa, but thanks for the reassurance,” I tell him, biting the inside of my cheek to stall my laughter at the look of relief he quickly conceals.

“Guess I want you to have what your ma and I had, Son. She brought me such joy. Memories are all I have now, but they’re happy ones.”

I want to tell him I’m happy as I am, but how can I? I’m not sure I know what happiness is anymore. Fuck, I’m not even sure I know what sadness is. The only thing I feel these days is numb.

I know the worry almost killed him when he got the news I was injured, especially coming so soon after Ma’s death. Getting that phone call saying I was unconscious and being rushed into surgery took years off his life. I don’t want to be a burden to him. It’s my turn to make sure he’s okay.

“I’m doing good, Pa,” I lie, summoning a smile. “Even if I was interested, which I’m not, I’m carrying too much baggage and too many scars for most women. Besides, I’ve got a small town to look after now, which doesn’t leave time for romance.”

“There’s always time for romance when it’s the right woman,” Pa says with a wink.

“Anyway, what did you want to see me about?” I ask, changing the subject and reminding him of the reason I stopped by.

“Ah, yes. I wanted you to meet my new member of staff. She’ll be here in a minute.”

I shake my head in exasperation. “Did you not hear anything I said? I’m working, Pa. You can’t call me over because you want me to meet some random woman.”

Dad frowns. “She’s not some random woman. It’s Daisy Jenkins.”

I look at him blankly. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Maybe not. She grew up here, but she’s a good eight or nine years younger than you. Lived in the house on the edge of town with her mother.”

I wrack my brains. “Chubby, with blonde hair and retainers?”

“When she was twelve, yeah,” he chuckles.

“Didn’t her father take off when she was a kid? Just up and left with some other woman?”

“He did,” Dad says, his mouth thinning in disapproval. “Left Chloe to raise Daisy alone. That’s not a real father, not in my book.”

“So, she’s working here now?”

“Yeah. Moved back from Houston to care for her mother.”

“What’s wrong with her mother?”

Dad shrugs. “Didn’t ask. But it’s the town’s worst kept secret that Chloe Jenkins is an alcoholic.”

Shit. That’s rough. I know plenty of good men who turned to alcohol and drugs after the things they saw and did in battle.

“Sounds like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” I sigh .

“Give it time, Son. You’ve only been back in Garland a few weeks,” he points out.

The town practically had a parade when I came back, treating me like some kind of golden boy returned from the war when I’d never felt less like it.

The sheriff's position fell into my lap when the previous sheriff retired.

I had no intention of running Garland with the same carelessness and disinterest he had.

Keeping my residents safe is a responsibility I take seriously.

“Did you interview other candidates or employ the first lost soul that came along?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. “Do I need to remind you that you caught the last person you hired with her fingers in the cash register?”

Dad glowers at me. “Which is why I got rid of her and hired Daisy. You may have forgotten, but this is a small town, and bar staff aren’t exactly thick on the ground. Daisy answered my ad, and I invited her here for an informal chat. She was perfect for the job, so I hired her on the spot.”

I sigh in exasperation. “Did you ask any questions relevant to the job? Get references?”

“It’s bar work, not guarding the holy grail, for God’s sake! The only references I needed were the eyes in my head and my good judgment,” Dad replies firmly.

“So, you hired the woman on the strength of a quick chat and no formal references,” I sum up.

Dad glowers at me. “Well, excuse me for not putting her through the Drayton Tactical Interview Technique, but I’ve spent almost sixty years on this earth, and I like to think I’m a pretty damned good judge of character. It’s not like she’s a complete stranger. Like I said, she grew up here.”

“Just trying to look out for you, Pa,” I point out.

“I know, Son, and I appreciate that, but I’d much rather you look out for yourself for once. I think you’ve earned that right.”

I laugh bitterly. “Have I? Maybe you should tell that to the men in my unit. Oh, wait, you can’t. They’re dead.”

“But you’re not, and they wouldn’t want you crawling into the grave with them,” Dad fires right back, unwilling to let me wallow in self-pity.

I lost all of my unit in an ambush in Yemen, along with a chunk of my right leg. I also lost a piece of myself that day that I don’t think I’ll ever get back .

I rub a weary hand over my face. “Sorry. Some days are worse than others.”

“Never apologize to me for protecting your country, Son. No father could be prouder than I am,” he says gruffly.

“Hey, Danny. Sorry, I’m late,” a soft voice says from behind me.

I turn to face the door, and my world comes screeching to a halt as my gaze collides with a pair of beautiful honey-brown eyes. The newcomer pulls off her woolly hat and unwraps the scarf from around her neck, her blonde curls spilling down her back in a riot of gold.

She looks to be in her early twenties, her skin flawless with a cute smattering of freckles across her nose.

Her lips are plump and red, and I wonder if they’re naturally that color or if the cold weather has given them their rosy glow.

Flakes of snow are melting on her flushed cheeks and eyelashes, and I’m hit by an overwhelming desire to lick those specks of water from her smooth skin.

“No worries, Daisy. Did you walk?” Dad asks with a frown.

Daisy? This is Daisy Jenkins? Holy shit, she’s grown into a fucking knockout. Perfection wrapped up in a curvy package.

“My legs are more reliable than my car in this weather,” Daisy replies with a wry smile, unzipping her padded jacket as she makes her way behind the bar. The sleeve of her sweater rides up a little as she pulls it off, and my eyes narrow on the red marks circling her wrist.

As if sensing my gaze, her honey-brown eyes fly to mine, and she quickly yanks her sleeve back down.

What the fuck? Is someone hurting her? The thought makes my blood boil and puts me in a bad mood. Okay, even more of a bad mood.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, more gruffly than I intended.

Daisy looks at me warily. “Um, with what?”

“The car,” I elaborate, softening my voice. She looks nervous, like one sudden move, and she’ll dart away.

Her expression clears. “Oh! Battery died. Plus, she’s old and temperamental. She doesn’t like the cold weather.”

“She? ”

Daisy laughs softly, and my cock twitches behind the seam of my pants. “I’m one of those weirdos who names their car. My little Chevy is called Henrietta.”

“Interesting choice of name,” I observe, utterly captivated by this beauty.

Not as interesting as the massive boner pitching a tent in my pants.

It’s been a long time since my cock got hard for a woman. Even then, it wasn’t the instant reaction this woman has brought about with only the sound of her laughter.

“It was my great-grandmother’s name,” Daisy explains, hanging her coat on the hook on the back of the door.

My eyes take in her pretty face framed by its tumble of golden curls. She looks like an angelic cherub. “So, tell me. Are you planning to steal from my dad, too?”