Page 4 of Wildest Forever (Lovelock Bay #3)

The kitchen units are worn, slightly yellow tinge to them, the lino floor tiles are starting to peel at the corners and the walls could really do with a lick of paint to freshen the room up.

Glancing down at my boot when I hear the floor peel away from the sole, my lip curls and I try and hide the disgust on my face because I don’t want to be that person.

I'm not like that.

Everyone is fighting a battle that you know nothing about.

Some are big, some are small, and I have no right to judge anyone.

“Please,” I answer his question as he pops a kettle on his open topped stove before igniting the gas.

I drag one of the wooden chairs across the floor and sit down at the worn table, my eyes watching him, his hands trembling as he reaches for the tea bags, popping them into the mugs and then spins to look at me, eyes burning into my soul.

“Camomile, okay?” he asks.

I nod.

More of a coffee man myself but I am being polite.

“How are you finding being sheriff?” he asks as his fingers curl around the edge of the chipped veneer work surface, his breaths rattling as he inhales and exhales.

“It's been okay, a little quiet at the moment but I am not complaining,” I snort a soft laugh and sit further back in my seat.

“Have you managed to find out who set the explosion off in the mine?” his eyes not moving from mine and I just shake my head in response.

“Make sure you check on the ones that are closest to you.

.. it's not always the ones who you think it would be,” and I give a nod, I know I can trust everyone around me. I have no worries about that.

“Will do,” I murmur just as the kettle begins to whistle and that has him turning around, his shaky hands lifting it and pouring it over the teabag.

A clamber of a bang echoes as he places it back on the stove then picks up the teaspoon and stirs the teabag before straining it and dumping it on the work-surface.

He picks one of the mugs up and I can see it slipping from his hands so I dart up, walking across the small space and scooping it from him, thanking him as I do.

I then reach for his own as I walk back towards the table and place it down but then search for a coaster, mindful that it'll burn a ring into the untreated table.

“Don't worry about that, I'll just sand it out,” and now it makes sense on why the table looks so worn.

He sands any imperfection out of it.

I watch with intent as he sits down slowly, grunting as he does.

His eyes narrow on me before they drop to the mug then back to me.

I smile softly, curling my fingers around the handle and bring the mug to my lips, blowing softly before I take a small mouthful and give him an approving nod.

“So,” I say softly as I place the cup back on the table, “what do you need me for?” there is no point beating around the bush.

I watch as he inhales heavily, the crackle of his chest evident.

He looks over my shoulder to make sure the coast is clear before his eyes land on mine.

“I'm dying,” he says those two words so matter of fact. I mean, I am not sure how you're meant to tell someone that you're dying, but I never imagined it to be like that.

There was no emotion to his voice.

It was cold. Hard. Like stainless steel touching my skin and it caused a shiver to dance up and down my spine.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” because what am I meant to say when he tells me he is dying.

“Don’t be, glad to be out of this hell hole if I am honest,” he grunts as he takes his own mouthful of tea then turns his lips down in disgust. “This tastes awful.”

I take another mouthful and lift a shoulder, “I think it's okay.”I mean I have had better, but I am not about to tell a dying man that.

“This place is only going to get worse,” he scowls as he places his mug back down.

“Blossom Cove?”

He shakes his head.“All of it, son, it’s all fucked and I dread it for the generations to come.”

I nod.

Because what he is saying is not a complete lie, but I don't want to deter from the conversation, I want to know what he wants.

There is a reason that he called me here.

“What did you need me for?” I ask him the question again and wait for him to answer me this time with an actual answer.

“I need you to do something for me.”

I nod, rolling my lips as I twist my mug around trying to keep my hands busy.

Nervousness blooms in my chest and it's making me antsy. My stomach is knotting and coiling and nausea threatens to ripple through.

I'm no good at being nervous.

Hate it.

I end up blurting shit out that I really don't need to, and I have caused some major issues because of my anxiety but I'm not about to rip that band aid off.

I wait for him to continue, his breaths growing ragged.

“This is all I have,” he holds his hand out, palm side up as he moves it around the room.

I nod again.

“I need it kept safe, need you to get these suits off my fucking back. They're like damn backpacks and it doesn't matter how much I shrug those bastards off, they tighten around my shoulders.”

“I can do that,” I smile, “I am fighting them for my land too so one more ranch won't hurt,” and his eyes flit away before they're back on me.

“Then there is the matter of my Morgan,” and I swallow down the lump that has presented itself in my throat.

“Morgan?” and I know who she is.

The pretty blonde cowgirl that rode into Rivera Ranch like a princess.

She has plagued my thoughts for a while but not for reasons you may think.

“Yes,” he sucks in a deeper breath.

“What about her?” my tone is curt, but I don't mean for it to be.

I'm tired.

“I need you to look after her too,” he leans across the table so I match him, leaning into the middle, elbows resting on the surface.

“Okay, so watch the house, watch Morgan,” I nod, making a mental note.

“It's not just looking after her Sheriff Rivera,” his throat bobs and I see the tears line his bottom lid and my heart twists in my chest.

“No?” I breathe, brows raising in my head as I gaze at him now, too scared to lift them from his empty, blue eyes.

“I need you to take her hand... keep her safe... give her your name so they can't come after her, the house deeds will go to you too... Can you do that for me Rivera? Can you give this dying man his last wish?”

And I feel like I have been sucker punched straight in the gut, the air being snatched from my lungs.

His eyes burn into mine and I see the glisten of a tear coating his cheek.

“Please,” he begs, the crack in his voice breaking my own damn heart. “Can you do that for me, Sheriff Rivera?”

I have no idea what the fuck I was thinking, but I nod, swallowing down my own tears that are threatening.

“Yes sir, I can do that.”

“Can do what?” I hear the front door shut before her voice floats around the spacious hallway, drifting into the kitchen where me and her grandfather are sitting.

I stay facing forward, not quite ready to look at her as I gaze at the man who has just laid down my future.

“Pacey is going to help me out, help me keep this place safe... and you,” his hands are trembling as he pushes from the seat, the sound of the wooden legs scraping across the floor and I watch cautiously, making sure he doesn't fall.

Not sure why all of a sudden I am feeling protective of him.

“Oh,” her voice pitches slightly higher, the sound of her boots dusting across the worn-out floor make my ears prick and only when she has walked past me do I lift my head to look at her.

But her sights aren't on me.

They're on her grandfather who reaches his hand out and holds onto hers, tightening his grip.

My eyes scope over the back of her.

Long, wavy blonde hair, high waisted Levi jeans that are tucked into tan cowboy boots and an off-white tee that is tucked into the waistband of her jeans.

“What is he going to do to help you out?” I see as she lets her eyes skate over her shoulder, looking me up and down before she is back focused on the man in front of her.

He glances at me momentarily before his blue eyes settle on his granddaughter.

“What have you done?” and I can hear the sharpness in her tone as she drops his hand then spins with her hands on her hips as she turns to face me, head tilted to the side.“Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?” she glares at me, her boot stamping on the floor.

I sigh heavily, rubbing my hands together as I eye Mr Wheeler.

“You're getting married,” he just rolls it off the tongue like it's nothing.

Her eyes widen as she glares me down as if it was my idea.

“Sorry?” her brow raises before she turns around and now puts her dagger eyes on the old man in front of her.

“I've made a decision,” he nods.

“Pops...” and I can hear the panic that claws in her throat.

“It's done.” He nods and then sits himself down back at the table and reaches for the now cold camomile tea and takes a mouthful, his lips turning down and he shakes his head and pushes the mug into the center of the table.

“Please...” her voice cracks but her grandfather doesn't even look at her. Just stares at me, drinking his cup of tea.

I sigh and take that as my cue to leave.

“I'll speak to my lawyer tomorrow and get the contract drafted up ready for you to sign,”he speaks directly to me.

I nod, giving her one last look before I walk out of the door and climb into my truck.

Once I am sat in there, I stare at the house in front of me and let the last twenty minutes of information sink in.

Scrubbing my face, what the hell was I going to say to my mom?

I had only ever loved one woman, unfortunately, she never loved me back.

And now she is my sister-in-law.

I knew she loved Riggs. Always loved him and I knew it would never be more than what it was.

Friendship.

But if that's all I could have, then I would take it with both hands.

Starting the engine, I put the truck into reverse before swinging it into the turning point and boot it down the long, winding drive like a bat out of hell.

Times like this I would have gone to The Boot, but I couldn’t do that, so I head for my office in the lazy town of Lovelock Bay and sink a glass of whiskey to calm my nerves.

I had agreed to marry a girl so her grandfather knew she would be safe, so he knew his ranch would live on, his legacy somehow.

But the fear soon crept in, swallowed by anxiety.

What if I had made a huge mistake?

What if I couldn't keep her safe?

What if I lost it all?

What if...