Borrowing Trouble (8 page)

When things got too hot, Brady always left.

 

Brady walked Sloane the three feet to her apartment again, stuck his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his feet. She got the distinct impression that he wanted to do more, but she wasn't about to throw herself at him, even though she wanted to. He was driving her crazy with all his surreptitious sultry glances . . . and the Southern accent. Whew, that Southern accent. Just the tenor of his voice made her hot. And the way he fed her constantly . . . didn't he know that was a freaking aphrodisiac?

“Thanks for dinner, Brady.”

“You're welcome, Sloane.” He grinned, and Sloane considered going up on tiptoes and placing a small peck on his lips. Nothing overt. Just,
hey
. Perhaps she'd rub up against him a little, you know, by accident.

Instead, she went inside and shut the door. She was just about to change into her pajamas when her phone vibrated with a text from Rhys. The Ponderosa had a 415. Shrugging into her warmest jacket and grabbing her badge, she ran to her vehicle, turned on the siren and flashing lights, and rocketed down Donner Road. By the time she got to the Ponderosa it was total mayhem. Bottles broken, chairs knocked down, and a frightened bartender cowering behind the bar. The cook—she thought his name was Tater—guarded the door to the kitchen with a broom. Two women and three men were going at it. Arms swinging and legs kicking. One of the men spun wildly, wielding a chair as a weapon.

Rhys was doing his best to defuse the situation, but there were too many moving parts for him to handle it on his own. Not without shooting someone.

He motioned for her to take the two women, who were both on the floor, clawing and tearing at each other's hair—probably why he'd called her instead of Jake or Wyatt. One's blouse had been ripped, exposing a good amount of flesh. The other was about to smash a plate over Ripped Blouse's head.

“Hold it right there,” Sloane said, drawing her weapon. The woman raised the plate a little higher. “Don't even think about it. Slowly, put the plate down.”

“Or what, you'll shoot me?”

“You really want to risk it?” It was difficult to sound authoritative in yoga pants. Sloane nudged the woman's arm with the toe of her tennis shoe. “Put the plate down, please.”

“Only because you said please.” The woman placed the plate on the floor next to her head and Sloane kicked it out of the way.

“Roll onto your stomach, place your hands on the back of your head, and spread your legs.
Please
.”

Both women complied. The other one looked the worse for wear. Besides the torn blouse, her lip was bleeding. Sloane pulled a handful of plasticuffs from her jacket pocket and restrained both women.

“You need some of these?” she called to Rhys, who had all three men down on the floor.

“Yeah, that would be good.” He darted a look her way to make sure she'd cuffed both her suspects. “I only brought the one pair.”

She helped him restrain the three men and said, “One of these women needs first aid. Should I call an ambulance?”

“I'll take care of it when I call for a sheriff's van,” he said. “Separate the two women, read 'em their rights, and try to find out what the hell was going on here.”

“Okay. I just want to get a blanket from my vehicle first.” When Rhys looked at her funny she said, “One of them has a torn blouse.”

“All right.”

Sloane had expected him to tell her to forget it. In her experience male officers didn't care too much about modesty, especially if it meant getting a peep show.

“How you doing back there, Floyd?” Rhys called to the bartender.

“Okay,” Floyd replied, and started cleaning up the broken glass. The cook also left his kitchen post and began righting tables and chairs.

As Sloane headed to her vehicle, one of the owners—she couldn't remember which one—met her at the door, looking panic-stricken.

“I can go in, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sloane said. “Just be careful of the glass.”

“Great.” The owner blew out an exasperated breath.

“It's not as bad as it looks, but take pictures,” Sloane called over her shoulder, and got the police-issued blanket from the back of her SUV.

Upon her return, she tucked the blanket around the woman with the ripped top, and like Rhys had requested, separated the two for questioning. Rhys had done the same with his three. A short time later, two paramedics came through the door and treated the woman with the bloody lip and checked the other four for injuries. By the time Sloane had gotten both women's statements, a sheriff's van had come to transport the five brawlers to the Plumas County jail in Quincy. Between the bartender, the cook, and the owner—Mariah, Rhys had called her—the place was almost back to normal.

“How much you think in damages?” Sloane asked her.

“It's mostly liquor and glassware,” Mariah said. “I'm just glad no one got badly hurt and the place wasn't completely trashed. Insurance will cover the rest.”

Sloane took in the dining room and bar. The Victorian millwork and vintage light fixtures looked original—and expensive. Thank goodness none of it had been destroyed.

“You mind getting Tater's statement while I get Floyd's?” Rhys asked.

“No problem.” She headed toward the cook, who looked like a cross between a Hells Angel and a farmer. Railroad overalls, steel-toed boots, a red bandana holding his long hair back, and a few tattoos.

“I don't think we've formally met. I'm Officer Sloane McBride. I have to take your statement,” she told him, and he nodded. “Did you witness what started the fight?”

“Yep.”

Sloane waited for him to say more, but he just stood there.

“You want to sit at one of the tables?” She thought it would be less formal that way and would hopefully make him feel more comfortable.

He led her to one of the booths and waited for her to scoot in before taking a seat.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The lady in the short skirt accused the dude she was with of paying too much attention to the one in the jeans. He told her to shut her pie hole and continued to stare at the other one's table. The one in the skirt got up, went to the other table where the lady with the jeans sat, and told the two men with her that they were being disrespected by the guy at the other table.”

Sloane stopped him. “You heard and saw all this from the kitchen.”

“No. The kitchen had closed for the night. I'd come out to sit with Floyd for a bit, help him clean up, since he's new.”

“Show me where you were when you heard all this.” So far, Tater's account seemed the most plausible. The other two women's stories were so convoluted that Sloane hadn't been able to follow them.

“Right there.” Tater pointed to the corner of the bar. “Short Skirt and Jackoff were sitting there.” Just a few feet away.

“Okay. So what happened when Short Skirt went over to the other table?”

“The two guys flipped Jackoff the bird and one of them put his hand on Short Skirt's rear end. She laughed and sat on his lap. Jackoff didn't like that, so he got up and pulled the chair out from under them. That's when the shit went down.”

“You mean they started fighting?”

“At first, it was just Jackoff, Short Skirt and the guy whose lap she'd been sitting on. The other two just stood there kind of shocked. But then Short Skirt pushed the lady in the jeans and ripped her shirt and the other guy got involved. Before Floyd and I could step in, all five of them started going at it. I went in the kitchen to call 9-1-1. That's when Jackoff vaulted himself over the bar, started grabbing bottles and throwing them at the others.”

“Were there other customers in the restaurant?”

“Nope. Those two tables were the last ones.”

“Tater, can you describe which guy stood there before Short Skirt pushed the jeans lady?”

“He was the one with the beanie hat on. As far as I can tell he and the jeans lady were just protecting themselves. The other three”—he shook his head—“troublemakers.”

“You see them in here before?”

“Never. I don't think they're from around here. Were probably up for the car show in Clio.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You've been very helpful. And good work calling 9-1-1.”

He got up and started to walk toward Mariah, but stopped and said, “You handled yourself real well.”

She doubted he would've said that to Rhys, Jake, or Wyatt. The corners of her mouth turned up. “I appreciate it.”

“You ready to go next door and do some paperwork?” Rhys came up alongside her while a deputy started loading the brawlers into a van.

“According to Tater's description of what happened, we may want to cut two of them loose.”

“The one with the beanie and the lady you wrapped in a blanket?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“I already let them go.” He looked at his watch. “I've gotta call my wife. I'll meet you over at the station.”

Sloane went to say goodbye to Mariah. They didn't know each other, but getting called away in the middle of the night because a bunch of rowdies decided to toss your restaurant had to stink. Tater and Floyd were helping her sort through the liquor shelves.

“Looks like we're done here,” Sloane said. “Sorry you guys had to deal with that.”

“I'm just glad you and Rhys came as fast as you did,” Mariah said, eyeing Sloane's athletic wear. Not the most professional, but she'd been off duty. “Tater says you both got here in record time.”

“The chief must've still been at the station. I was home and got here as fast as I could. Luckily you didn't have any other diners.”

“Thank goodness it was late for our regulars. Usually that time of night it's mostly truckers coming through town to gas up. They're never a problem.” Mariah came from around the bar. “Thanks for breaking it up. We're just really lucky to have you guys.”

Sloane couldn't remember the last time someone thanked her for doing her job. “That's what we're here for. The chief is waiting for me, so I better get going.”

She walked to the police station. Rhys was inside making a pot of coffee, his phone cradled to his ear. At her desk, she turned on the computer and started on her report while hearing snippets of Rhys's conversation. Something about going away for a couple of days and leaving the baby with someone's mother. Sloane couldn't tell. She knew Rhys and Maddy had a little girl named Emma, but that was about it.

Rhys said goodbye to whoever he was talking to and asked Sloane if she wanted a cup of coffee.

“I'll get it,” she said.

“I'm right here.” He filled her mug and walked it over. “Thanks for getting here so fast. I know you weren't on call. But Wyatt lives a ways out of town and I know Jake was doing wedding stuff tonight.”

“No problem.” She just wanted to file her report and get out as quickly as possible. It was weird being alone here with her boss.

“Were you at yoga or something? I know Pam holds late classes.”

The truth was she'd signed up and had yet to go. Something always seemed to come up. “No. I was home.”

“How's that working out . . . the duplex, I mean.” He was quite the Chatty Cathy tonight.

“Uh, great.”

“Brady's a good neighbor, right? I tell you, the man can cook. Nearly every night he sends my wife home with dinner.” So apparently she wasn't the only person Brady cooked for.

“He's a nice guy,” she agreed, and wanted to say
Don't you have a report to file?
Of course she didn't.

“You're doing a good job, Sloane. You're an asset to the department and we're really happy to have you.”

Uh-oh
.

Next thing he'd want to know is if they could have dinner together one night to talk more about her
future
with the department. She knew how this went. “Thanks.”

“Maddy and I are thinking about going away for a few days—our first time since we had Emma. Maddy's mom's in town and can babysit. Ordinarily Jake takes over when I'm on vacation or out sick . . . but his head is on that wedding in two weeks. How would you feel about being in charge?”

She straightened in her chair. He was pulling out all the stops. “Wouldn't that upset Wyatt, since he has more seniority at Nugget PD than I do?”

Rhys shrugged. “He knows you have a lot more experience than he does. Wyatt has come a long way, but this is the only police department he's ever worked for. You don't have to make a decision right now. Think about it. And just know that the future of my marriage—and happiness—rides on your decision. But no pressure.”

He went inside his office while she sat there feeling a great deal of pressure.

B
rady had heard Sloane haul ass out of the driveway shortly after he'd walked her home the previous night. She'd returned sometime in the wee hours of the morning. He wondered if it had something to do with her John or Jane Doe, but by the time he got to the Lumber Baron everyone was talking about a big bar fight at the Ponderosa.

According to Donna, Tater had had to guard the kitchen from the marauding crowd with a broken beer bottle, and when Mariah had seen the damage, she'd broken down in the middle of the restaurant and cried. Brady wasn't buying any of it. So after breakfast, he went over to the Ponderosa himself.

The place looked the way it always did and Mariah stood behind the bar, putting away glassware.

“Something happen here last night?” he asked.

“You didn't hear about it?”

He glanced around to make sure he hadn't missed anything during his first inspection. “That World War Three broke out and Tater had to smash heads.”

She cracked a smile. “Not exactly. Two tables of people got into it with each other. Rhys and that new officer broke it up.”

“Anyone we know?”

“I wasn't here. But neither Tater nor Floyd recognized them and they know everyone. Tater thinks they may have been up in the Sierra for that car show.”

“No one was hurt?”

“Thank goodness, no,” Mariah said. “They did manage to bust up a lot of dishes and premium bottles of booze.”

“Ah, that sucks. I'm sorry, Mariah.”

“Hey, it could've been much worse. According to Tater, the new cop was amazing. She took his statement afterward. I think he has a crush on her now.”

Well, that explained where Sloane had rushed off to. Today, she was probably back to investigating the mystery skeleton. He'd left before she did this morning.

Rhys came in. “How y'all doin' today?”

“We're good,” Mariah said. “Pretty much back to normal.”

“Good. Just wanted to let you know that the three we arrested bailed out today and have agreed to pay restitution.”

“Seriously? That's great.” Mariah made room on the shelf for pilsner glasses.

“You need to come up with a figure in the next couple of days so we can submit it to the court. Pictures would be good too.”

“I'm glad Officer McBride told us to take them. I never would've thought of it in all the excitement.” She bobbed her head at both men. “You guys want something to eat before the lunch crowd gets here?”

“I'm fine,” Rhys said, and turned to Brady. “How's it going?”

“Good. I hear your mother-in-law's in town and that you and Maddy are planning to go away for a few days.”

“Yeah, if we can swing it. We're thinking Nate's hotel, the Theodore, in San Francisco.” Brady supposed they didn't get too much alone time with a seventeen-month-old.

“Sam, Andy, and I have the inn covered.”

Rhys nodded. “I'm a little worried that it's bad timing with Jake's wedding around the corner. But Maddy's mom is leaving in a week.”

“What about Lina?” Brady asked.

“The spring semester just started at Nevada. We'll see.” Rhys called to Mariah, “Don't forget to get me those numbers. I'll see y'all later.”

Brady also left. On his way to the inn, he scanned the square. Sloane's police rig was parked in front of the station.

At lunch she wandered into the Lumber Baron kitchen in her uniform. Brady suspected she must be done searching the area around the Meet Up.

“Did you hear about last night?” she asked in a soft voice.

“About the fight at the Ponderosa? Yeah, the whole town is talking about it. Word is you and Rhys broke it up.”

“I got called out as soon as I got home from your place. You probably heard my siren.” She grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” He started heating her a plate of the leftover baked omelet soufflé with a side of grits, and threw together a small fruit salad. “You want coffee, iced tea, or juice?”

“Juice would be good.” She smiled at him and grabbed a stool at the island. “Shouldn't I be paying for my food and drinks here?”

“Nope. If I took your money I'd get the Lumber Baron into big trouble.”

“How's that?” she asked, her expression dubious.

“We're only licensed as a B and B. If we serve food to non-guests and accept money, we're acting as a restaurant. The Addisons hear about it and they'll raise holy hell.”

“Harlee told me about them. The Beary Quaint owners, right?”

“Yep.” Brady put silverware and a cloth napkin down for Sloane. “They're Nugget's official gadflies. Every small town has to have a few.”

She laughed. “This place is bizarre. What's up with that Tater guy over at the Ponderosa?”

“I don't know much about him. Why, you interested? I hear he has a thing for you.”

“He saw the fight last night and I took his statement. I thought he'd be difficult . . . inarticulate . . . but he turned out to be a great witness.”

“That'll teach you to judge a book by its cover.”

“You're right. As a cop you make snap judgments all the time—sometimes it's a necessity to stay alive. But I certainly don't like it when people think I'm less effective as a police officer because I'm a woman—or overly sensitive, or hysterical, and all the other labels that go with being female.”

“See,” he said, and leaned over so that their noses were nearly touching. “And I bet it doesn't help when you also happen to be extraordinarily attractive.”

A flush crept up her face. “I don't know about that.”

He pulled her plate out of the warmer and poured her a glass of juice. “Eat.”

“Let me ask you something.” Sloane picked up her fork. “Rhys asked me to oversee the office while he and his wife go away for a few days. Ordinarily he has Jake do it. But being in charge of a small department is a twenty-four-seven job, and Jake needs to focus on his wedding right now. What do you think I ought to do?”

To Brady it was a no-brainer. “Why wouldn't you want to do it?”

“You think the others will resent me, being the new kid on the block?” She started on the soufflé, making good work of it.

“I don't know a lot about the dynamics in a police department,” he said. “But I do know some of the players there, and they don't seem like the types to be resentful. A: You're helping out Jake. B: You came from a big department. I think Wyatt was in the military before joining Nugget PD. Not really the same thing. And it would buy a lot of love with Rhys. He is jonesing to have some time alone with his wife. And Maddy's mother is here to watch the kid.”

She smiled up at him, those big blue eyes of hers twinkling. “You're a very rational person, aren't you?”

“I try to be.” Although his thoughts at this very moment weren't too rational. He was thinking about kissing her in the middle of his kitchen. She did that to him. Made him feel like he had all the answers. Like he was a he-man. And the physical chemistry . . . he'd never felt anything like it.

And of course that's when Tawny chose to walk in. “Uh . . . you look busy . . . I'll come back.”

Sloane turned around to see who it was.

“I'm not busy.” Brady waved her in. “Come meet my new neighbor, Officer Sloane McBride. Sloane, this is Tawny Wade, boot maker to the stars.”

“Hi,” Tawny said. “I've been dying to meet you. Jake has such nice things to say about you.”

Sloane looked flustered, then gazed down at Tawny's Day of the Dead boots. Hard to miss, as they were hand stitched in about ten different colors. “Do you really make boots for the stars?”

“Brady exaggerates.”

“No I don't,” Brady said. “Country-western singers, major-league baseball players, rodeo stars, you name it, Tawny has made them boots. Remind me to show you the ones she made me.”

“Did you make those?” Sloane pointed at Tawny's feet.

“I did.”

“Wow. They're amazing.” Sloane smiled but Brady thought she seemed uncomfortable, which struck him as odd, since she was usually very at-home with people. “I've got to get back. It was nice meeting you, Tawny. Thanks for lunch, Brady.”

She took her plate to the sink, rinsed it, and stuck it in the dishwasher. As she walked out of the kitchen, Tawny turned to Brady and mouthed
Oh my God
. When Sloane was out of earshot, Tawny said, “She looks like Reese Witherspoon. Brady, you've been holding out on me.”

“I haven't been holding out on you. She's a nice woman—that's all.”

“What do you mean, that's all? Jake said as far as he knew, she was single.”

“I told you, I'm not in the market.”

“That's ridiculous. You can't swear off women because of one bad experience,” Tawny said, and Brady shot her a look.
Bad experience
was the understatement of the year. “Okay, granted, Sandra should be in a mental institution, but—”

Brady cut her off. “Let's drop it. What's going on with Cecilia and Jake's wedding?”

She shook her head at him. “Everything is going as planned. Back to Sloane. It looked like you guys were getting cozy when I walked in.”

“I remember not too long ago someone saying that about us.” Brady laughed, remembering how Lucky's ex-girlfriend had spread it all over town that he and Tawny were an item.

“Come on,” she said. “This is me you're talking to. You like her, don't you?”

He shrugged. “It's not a good time to get involved.”

Tawny's expression grew concerned. “Did Sandra post more stuff . . . send more emails?”

“Not since the other day. But who knows with her? She strikes when you least expect it.” Brady poured her a cup of coffee and got the one-percent milk out of the refrigerator.

Tawny fixed it the way she liked it and sipped from the mug. “What did the police say about the latest batch you sent them?”

“Same old. Nothing they can do.”

“Brady, maybe you should talk to Rhys.”

“It's not his jurisdiction. She'll go away eventually.” He didn't want to talk about this anymore. “You and Lucky starting on your wedding plans yet?”

“There's not that much to do. We're having it at the lodge at the cowboy camp. Since it'll be summer we may do a few tents outside. I've already got my caterer.” She winked. “So other than finding a dress, what more is there to do? Katie has already picked out twenty for herself.”

She glared at him over her cup. “What are you grinning about?”

“I'm just happy for you.”

“Well, I want something to happen for you.”

“Yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“I don't know. Maybe something blond in a police uniform.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don't you have boots to make?”

Tawny let out a sigh. “Always.” She leaned over the center island and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I'll see you later. And, Brady, can't you just get to know her?”

Oh, if she only knew all the different ways he wanted to get to know Sloane McBride. “We'll see.”

“I have a nine-year-old. I know what that means.”

He just shot her a smile.

 

That must've been who kept Brady out on the nights he didn't come home until late, Sloane thought as she walked back to the police station. She was certainly beautiful. At least Sloane now knew why Brady hadn't made a move, not that she thought she was irresistible or anything. It's just that after he'd brought her lunch—and made her dinner twice—she'd gotten the impression that he might be interested. Her mistake. No big deal.

In the office, Jake sat at his desk, Connie and Wyatt staring over his shoulder at the computer screen. Sloane couldn't help herself and went over to see what they were looking at.

“He's trying to decide which boutonniere to pick,” Connie volunteered. “Tell him the one on the right is ugly, will ya? He won't take our word for it.”

Sloane wrinkled her nose. “Uh, Jake, the one on the right . . . not good. It kind of looks like a flower shop threw up.”

“Right?” Connie reached over his shoulder, moved the cursor to the other boutonniere, and hit the Buy button. “There, you're done.”

Jake glared at her, but before he could say anything Rhys came out of his office.

“It's one,” he said to Jake. “Aren't you supposed to be meeting with the reverend?”

“Crap.” Jake jumped out of his chair. “I'll be back in an hour.”

Once he'd left, Connie said, “Good. We can talk about the shower now.”

“What shower?” Rhys asked.

“The one we're throwing him tomorrow. So we can do it before you and Maddy go on your trip.”

“I didn't say we were definitely going.” Rhys glanced at Sloane.

“I thought we could do a potluck, decorate the place, and chip in for a gift—maybe a certificate for a restaurant or the spa in Glory Junction,” Connie continued.

“I could bring my famous chicken wings,” Wyatt volunteered.

“All right,” Rhys said. “I'll bring the drinks.”

“I'll do the decorations and something to go with the wings. Probably veggies or a salad,” Connie said.

They all looked at Sloane. “I'll bring a cake.” There was probably a bakery around somewhere where she could buy one. Have them write something on it.