Page 41 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

“What are you up to today?” Lydia singsongs as she pops around the corner of my cubicle at the precinct and leans casually over the top like she’s got a secret she can barely keep inside.

Her blonde hair is twisted up in a claw clip, messy in the way that says she absolutely meant it to be. Loose pieces fall around her heart-shaped face, and her bright eyes sparkle like she’s holding onto a surprise she can’t wait to blurt out.

“It’s a light day for me today,” I reply, stretching in my chair. “I did early patrol, nothing major going on, and none of my parolees need a check-in, so I figured I’d catch up on paperwork, maybe even sneak out a little early.”

She grins like that’s exactly what she was hoping I’d say. “Perfect because I’ve got something to show you.”

I raise a brow. “A good something?”

She lets out an easy laugh, that carefree, golden-girl sound. “Aren’t my surprises always good? Come on.”

Curiosity piqued, I follow her through the precinct—past desks and coffee rings, down a back hallway I’ve never had reason to wander.

We slip through the filing room, where she spends most of her time buried in paperwork and old case files, and then out a rarely used exit that leads to the lot where the smokers go on break behind the building.

The sun hits me square in the face, warm and sharp, as the door swings closed behind us.

It’s one of those early spring days that tricks you into thinking summer’s closer than it is—blue skies, birds chirping, and the scent of someone grilling faint in the breeze.

I take a deep breath and exhale the clean air.

But what really catches my eye is the vehicle parked just ahead, sunlight glinting off the freshly washed exterior like it’s been waiting for a moment like this.

Painted across the side in faded green: Whitewood Creek Sheriff’s Department.

I blink, confused. “Is that… the old sheriff’s patrol car?”

Lydia beams at me. “Yup. Found it back in the storage lot when I was looking for some old evidence. No one’s touched it since the last sheriff retired two months ago. Chief said he’s not even sure if we’ll replace him—still deciding after the mess he left behind.”

I nod slowly, eyeing the car like it’s some kind of ghost. “Okay… but why is it out here?”

She bounces on her toes, grin widening. “Okay, hear me out. Chief’s off today—took off for the mountains to fish. No one’s gonna miss this thing for a few hours.”

“Lydia…” I narrow my eyes, disbelief mingling with amusement. “Are you suggesting we take it for a spin?”

“More like a joyride,” she shrugs, like it’s the most natural idea in the world. “Just for fun.”

I burst out laughing, a short bark of surprise. “You’re insane. I didn’t think you liked to break the rules.”

“I don’t. This is causing me major anxiety,” she jokes. “But worth it.”

To everyone else, Lydia’s the reverend’s perfect daughter. But I’ve seen the fire behind her sunshine. I’ve known for a while that she’s been aching for a little rebellion—and this? This is her version of flipping the bird to the system that failed Colt and his family.

“I mean,” she adds, her voice softening, “he never got justice. The guy who tried to ruin the Marshalls got to retire in peace. That car used to be his throne, and he abused his power. Thought it might feel good to turn the tables a little.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, staring at the car. It’s risky. Reckless. But technically, I am an officer. And no one’s using it anymore anyways. I could justify it. Maybe.

And maybe—just maybe—I could do one better.

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “I have an even better idea.”

Fifteen minutes later, my paperwork filed, the keys jingling in my palm, I’m cruising down the gravel drive toward Colt’s place, the sheriff’s cruiser rumbling beneath me like a storm.

He’s shirtless, lounging near the firepit that hasn’t been lit, his skin golden in the sun, abs glistening like some kind of temptation made flesh. When he spots the vehicle, he stiffens, confusion crumpling his brow before realization hits and he starts walking toward me.

I park and hop out fast, leaning a hip against the door, trying to look casual.

“Molly,” he says, low and sharp, eyes locked on mine. “What the hell are you doing in that thing?”

I bite my lip, teasing. “Lydia broke it out while the chief’s out of town.”

He closes the distance between us, his expression unreadable. I see the way his jaw ticks, his eyes flicking to the car again, then back to me. And just like that, the teasing dies on my lips.

Shit.

Maybe I didn’t think this through. Maybe this car is more than just a vehicle to him—it’s the symbol of everything that broke him. The arrest. The trial. The silence of a town that didn’t fight harder for him.

My stomach twists. “Colt,” I say quietly, reaching for his hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He blinks, like I’ve pulled him from a memory he didn’t want to revisit. Then his fingers thread through mine, tight.

“No,” he says, voice rough. “You didn’t upset me. Just caught me off guard. That car… it’s the last thing I expected to see you roll up in.”

“I was…” I hesitate, my boot kicking a small cloud of dust between us. “I don’t know. I got this crazy idea in my head as sort of a fuck you to Sheriff Davenport. I thought maybe we could…” I glance up through my lashes, nervous now that he’s this close, heat radiating off him. “I don’t know.”

“What was your idea, Molly?” he asks like he already suspects where this is going.

When I meet his gaze, there’s a flicker of something at the corner of his mouth. A twitch. A ghost of a smile. It’s enough to let my breath go.

“I was thinking…” I shift my weight. “Maybe we could fuck in it.”

A low chuckle rumbles out of him, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, with a gentleness that melts me, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering against my chin.

“You do nothing but surprise me,” he murmurs. “I thought I knew my best friend growing up, but clearly, I didn’t know a damn thing about you and the fire that’s inside of you.”

My lips tug upward as I lean my hip against the car, letting my eyes take a slow, deliberate stroll over him—bare chest glistening with sweat, those thin, low-hanging shorts clinging to his hips like they were made to be peeled off.

He dips his head, pressing a kiss to my neck, slow and deliberate.

“You’re under arrest, Officer Patrick,” he growls playfully before spinning me gently and guiding my hips to rest against the car door.

“Though,” he continues, voice gravel rough, “I was thinking back seat. But seeing this view?” His hand slides down my back to my belt. “I’ll take it right here.”

He unbuckles me with practiced ease, slipping my gun from its holster and setting it carefully on the ground. I should probably be more concerned about all this—but all I feel is heat.

He tugs my pants down slowly, helping me step out of them one foot at a time until I’m completely bare from the waist down, the warm air brushing between my legs, already slick with need. Then he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and off, tossing it somewhere behind us.

I gasp as my nipples press against the hot, sun-soaked glass of the cruiser. The contrast sends a jolt through me, and he pins me there with one hand flat on the window, the other sliding between my cheeks, fingers teasing until he pushes two inside me, slow and deep.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes into my ear, voice dark and hungry. “You were getting turned on just thinking about this, weren’t you? Me. You. This car.”

“Yes,” I whisper on a moan.

He bites down gently on my ear, groaning. “I love that the first thing you thought of when you saw this car wasme fucking you against it.”

His shorts drop with a quick flick, landing in a heap by his feet. I feel the hot, heavy weight of him as he lines himself up, dragging his cock through my folds, teasing me with what I want—what we both need.

But right before he pushes in, I stop him.

“Wait.”

He stills, confused, but lets me turn. I push him back until he’s the one leaning against the cruiser now, arms bracing behind him. Then I drop to my knees, the gravel biting into my skin, but I don’t care.

I look up at him, soaking him in. This man—this fierce, broken, loyal man who’s survived more than most. My fingers wrap around the base of his cock, thick and hard in my grip. I stroke him once, slowly, before lowering my mouth and sucking in the swollen head.

He hisses, hands fisting in my hair. “Shit, Molly…”

I open wider, tongue flat along his underside, savoring the salt and skin of him. He’s so big I can barely manage him, but I want it— all of it. His control. His surrender. His release.

I hum around him, letting the vibrations travel through him, and he groans as I start to take more, gagging slightly as my throat tightens around him.

Tears prick my eyes and spill over, and he wipes them gently away even as he holds me right where he wants me. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “On your knees for me.”

I suck him harder, bobbing my head, feeling his thighs tighten beneath my grip. He’s close. I can feel it.

He pants, fingers tightening. “Let me fuck you, baby.”

But I shake my head, eyes locked on his. This moment isn’t about giving— it’s about reclaiming. About doing this our way. About everything this car used to mean—and doesn’t anymore.

“Let me swallow you,” I murmur when I come up for air, lips slick with him. And then I take him all the way down again, my nose pressing into his stomach, my throat stretched to its limit.

He groans, deep and guttural, and I feel him tense, the shudder running through him as he spills into me with a harsh curse, cock pulsing against my tongue as warmth fills my mouth.

I swallow everything. Every broken promise. Every bitter memory. Every fuck you to the people who tried to break him.

And when I finally rise, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, he grabs me and kisses me hard—desperate, grateful, proud—pinning me against the cruiser like he never wants to let go. His forehead presses to mine, breath still ragged.

“Thank you, Molly,” he whispers.

And I know exactly what he means.