Friendly Fire (4 page)

Logan pointed out the curfew, saying he and his deputies would be keeping a closer eye on the youths, and on Will’s place, just in case others decided that having a party way out there would be a great idea. He was pretty sure Stan and Johnny had gotten the message loud and clear. Logan was not a sheriff who could be walked over, bought, or treated like a fool. He may not have been the retired Sheriff Wilcox, whom everyone seemed to love, hate, and respect, but Logan Wilde had a unique way of doing things. People would figure out pretty quickly, that he was not a man to be trifled with.

As soon as the two Rhodes men left, Logan had pulled out his laptop and started searching out espresso machines to replace the one he’d destroyed. He remembered the model and make, which he had made note of while cleaning up the glass and wiping the spilled water. He had perused the photos and price tags, nearly choking when he realized they went up as high as twenty grand. Luckily, Julia’s model was a cheaper one—at just under five grand.

“Just great, Logan,” he had muttered, feeling lower than dung. He hoped Julia didn’t think he’d stick her with that kind of loss. When he left, she had kept saying it was all right, but he had seen her stress and worry. Today, he couldn’t get the image out of his mind.

Rose knocked on his open door, stirring his thoughts. “Sheriff, I called the distributor about that coffee machine like you asked, and they said the closest model they have will likely set you back about eighty-three hundred and change. The model you wanted, the one Julia had, it’s out of stock and won’t be available for two or three weeks,” she said.

Logan didn’t miss the wary look from Clinton, who came up behind her and paused outside the door.

“Why don’t you just call Reggie?” Clinton said. “He could most likely just fix it for Julia, and he wouldn’t even charge you that much.”

“No, I’m not calling anyone to fix it,” Logan said. He wasn’t about to have anyone else wondering what had happened. Anyone who knew guns would know what a bullet hole looked like. He didn’t need some local repairman running his mouth around town, confirming what people were already wondering. Had their sheriff, in fact, put a bullet through Julia’s machine? People would be wondering why, and one thing Logan wasn’t about to do was talk with anyone about what he’d been through over in Afghanistan. It was none of their damn business.

He couldn’t hide it from Clinton or Rose, though—and he didn’t quite know what to say. Clinton lingered behind Rose, and Logan wiped his chin, the stubble making a raspy sound in the air. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what happened. I feel bad for scaring Julia. This doesn’t happen often, and I’ve never done anything like that.”

What he wanted to say was that he couldn’t remember his flashbacks or even which goddamn triggers would bring them on. He didn’t want anyone looking too closely at that coffee machine, either—because then they would know that Julia had lied for him.

Clinton and Rose just stared at him. The last thing Logan wanted was anyone knowing his skeletons. They were private. He just didn’t know how to make sure they stayed locked away. He had even managed to hide them from his family until now; but here, in this town and with this job…it was something he’d have to work on.

“Sheriff, I understand,” Rose finally said, standing between him and Clinton. “I lost my son overseas in the service.”

“Where was he stationed?” Logan asked.

“Outside Pakistan, at Keating. They said he died a hero.” She blinked back tears, and Clinton set his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She patted him.

Logan wondered how much Rose really knew. The army had a way of whitewashing things; not telling citizens how bad war really was. He knew Keating had been one of the worst attacks: artillery, smoke, fire, explosions blowing off limbs, hands, and feet, bullets ripping flesh. It was bloody—gruesome. Very few knew, or understood, what those soldiers, that small number of people who served their country, had sacrificed for everyone—all so people back home could enjoy their tabloids, sports cars, and fancy coffees. Taking everything in life for granted.

“Sorry, Rose,” he offered, and even Clinton seemed to soften a bit.

“Don’t you apologize. We owe you a world of debt, so you don’t need to say anything. Julia won’t. As far as anyone in this office talking…” She hesitated and looked to Clinton, who took on a sheepish look. “Nothing happened, right, Clinton?” she said.

Logan watched how Clinton responded to Rose, as if she were his mother.

“I would never say anything,” he replied. “The town’s talking; but it’ll die down.”

Logan wondered, though. After all, there had been that old-timer eating lunch when he pulled out his gun and started shooting. The man had disappeared and probably told half the town by now. News traveled, especially something this dramatic.

“How much is the available machine, again?” he asked, thinking of Julia, with her green eyes and dark hair. That sensual woman should have been cowering from him, but instead she had looked at him with understanding and kindness.

Rose showed him the fax. The espresso machine was bigger than the one he had shot, but Logan couldn’t help feeling that Julia had earned it.

“Order it,” he said. “Tell them to put a rush on it, and I’ll pay extra.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Rose his credit card, realizing he was about to put a serious dent in his cash flow. But this seemed a small price to pay to make up for what he’d done.

Chapter
6

J
ulia dropped off her girls at school the next morning, but instead of driving away as she always did, she was dragged into the school to sign a permission slip for an upcoming field trip. Julia bumped into a redheaded man in tan slacks and a white dress shirt just inside the front door, and the dimples in both his cheeks popped when he smiled.

He touched her arm. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to run into you.”

“Hi, Mister Maloney,” Dawn said.

“Mister Maloney caught the snake Jason packed in his lunch box yesterday,” Trinity explained. Both girls wore an awed expression, looking from Julia to their math teacher.

“Snake?” Julia said. She wondered if her confusion showed, as she didn’t remember hearing about a snake. She actually found herself glancing over her shoulder at the floor and pulling a face.

“Remember, Mom? We told you yesterday,” Trinity said.

“Don’t worry, the snake’s gone,” the teacher said. “It was just a garter snake—harmless. Poor thing was more terrified of the kids than anything. I found it hiding in the corner.” He held out his hand to Julia. His skin was dotted with freckles, no ring. When she shook it, his hand was warm and soft. He was handsome, with an average height and build. He looked like he kept himself in shape. “Brent Maloney,” he said.

“Julia Cooper,” she replied.

“So these two troublemakers are yours,” he teased, setting his hands on the backs of their heads playfully. The girls giggled.

“They’re mine,” she added, smiling. “How long’ve you been teaching here?” she asked. MacKay was a small town, and everyone knew everyone, but she didn’t recognize Brent. She herself had only moved here two years before, after divorcing her lying, cheating bastard of a husband.

“Just transferred here this year from Boise. I liked the idea of a small-town school, and a small-town life.” He crossed his arms. He seemed so stable; so nice. She liked that. “So I hear you run that cafe on Main Street. I’ll stop in some time for a coffee and some lunch.” His smile lingered, and Julia would have to have been a fool to miss his interest.

“Sure, any time,” she said.

He started to turn away. Trinity and Dawn were staring at him, and then their mother. He shot them a friendly glance and said, “Hey, you two, off to class before you’re late. I’ll be right in.”

The girls glanced back once more before disappearing down the hall into their classroom.

“I heard you had some trouble yesterday—that the new sheriff shot his gun in your cafe. You all right?” he said. He sounded concerned, sincere.

For some reason, Julia stopped herself before confirming anything. No matter what she thought of Logan, she knew he carried damage that wasn’t of his making. She just couldn’t allow this town to malign his character. She was bothered that Brent was bringing the incident up.

“Don’t know who told you that,” she said—though she did, of course. It had to have been Vern, a retired foreman and regular at her cafe. He came in every day and always asked her out; even though he was forty years her senior. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she’d date him, even if he had all the money in the world. He was overweight and balding, and he was a little too free with his hands—touching her ass at the most inopportune times. “Just had an accident with the espresso machine. It blew up and made a huge mess, is all,” she replied. She couldn’t believe she had said it with a straight face. “The sheriff just happened to be there. Don’t go spreading things that aren’t true, now.”

He took on a puzzled expression. “Guess you can’t believe everything you hear.”

“No, you certainly can’t,” she added just as the bell rang.

He offered her a dimpled smile and touched her arm. “Pleasure to meet you, Julia. I’ll definitely stop in to that cafe everyone is talking about,” he said, and he walked away.

He was nice, handsome, charming; just the sort of man she should have been interested in—so why couldn’t her heart get on board? Maybe her heart ruling her head was exactly the problem.

Chapter 7

W
hen Julia parked behind the cafe the next morning, she wondered how many people would stop in and ask about the coffee machine that day. It was ridiculous. In a town this size, everyone was focused on the sheriff and the preferred story of him shooting up her place. Her jaw ached from how tightly she had held it the day before, finally snapping at the last person to ask, ordering her to tell everyone the machine had malfunctioned and blown up. She hoped that would be the end of it, but somehow she doubted it; especially with the way Marion, the older, graying librarian, had clucked her tongue—her expression saying she didn’t believe Julia’s story.

Julia yanked open the door of her compact white Honda. She wore blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, pretty much what she wore every day. She slung her cloth purse over her shoulder and clutched at her keys, pulling her sweater closed in the morning chill. She heard a car door shut, then footsteps in the gravel.

“Julia!”

It was Logan. He called to her in a voice that had her heart stopping; as if a magical cord had yanked at her. It was all chemistry—and she didn’t want it, not with him. She turned and faced him: tall, dark, and handsome. She reminded herself that he was dangerous, though she still took in his build. There was something solid about him, something no man could compare to. Then she imagined his gun, holstered and strapped to his faded blue jeans under the heavy dark coat he wore.

She couldn’t find her voice as he walked toward her, stopping just in front of her;so close she wondered whether he could hear her heart hammering. She licked her lips out of pure instinct, and she didn’t miss the way his gaze went right there. For a second, she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by a man like Logan, to be in his arms, to be loved by him. She had to stop and remind herself how unstable he was. Having that in her life—the unpredictability that could tear her heart to shreds—it wasn’t going to happen. She and her daughters could get killed if something happened to trigger him. No, she never wanted to be that vulnerable again.

“You shouldn’t be lying for me,” he said.

She expected a thank-you or something along those lines, but not this. She firmed her lips, wondering if Logan was a masochist or something.

“Why are you saying your fancy machine malfunctioned?” He actually brushed back his jacket, setting his hands on his hips, looking down on her. Something about his energy made her want to stay near him.

“Because you don’t deserve to have people talking like that,” she said, glancing away and then back at him. His expression was disconcerting, the way he focused on her. He was giving her all of himself, or so it seemed.

He said nothing.

“Look, it was an accident—nobody’s business,” she said. “You don’t deserve to have your reputation trashed, and that’s exactly what would happen. These people are nice, but I know small towns. When you do something, everyone knows about it. If you make a mistake, you’re judged. Everything even the slightest bit wrong or abnormal is put under a microscope, dissected and scrutinized and…” She stopped talking when he frowned, his gaze not wavering from her. It was so intimate.

“Julia, you shouldn’t put yourself out for me, not after what I did,” he said. Was he just being an ass—and an ungrateful ass, at that? What was with him? Maybe he felt he had to go it alone.

“That’s about the worst 'thank-you' I’ve ever received,” Julia replied. She gave him her back and started toward the door, keys in hand.

“Wait, we’re not finished talking yet,” he called.

“Seriously?” She turned, wanting to stomp back over and set both her hands on his chest to shove him. What was it about this man that pushed all her buttons? Maybe he noticed her annoyance, as a hint of a smile touched his lips.

“Thank you, Julia.”

Her arms fell to her sides. His gratitude had taken all the anger out of her. “Oh,” she said, then swallowed. “You’re welcome.”

“Listen, I bought you a new coffee machine to replace the one I broke. He gestured to his Jeep, parked in the lot beside the old garage next door. “If you want to open up; I’ll bring it in.”

“You bought me a new espresso machine?” she asked.

He started toward the back of the Jeep and then motioned for her to open the door. “Unlock the door. Hold it open for me,” he called out.

Julia was dumbfounded, and it took her a second to kick start her brain.

“Julia?” Logan called out again.

“Of course! Sorry,” she added as she hurried to the door and shoved the key in the lock. She held it open and watched as Logan lifted the heavy box and carried it inside. “Just set it on one of the tables,” she said, dumping her purse and keys on the lunch counter.