Loving a Lawman (3 page)

In the meantime, Seth had three reports to write and a pretty little perp in the back of his patrol car.

Had he said pretty? He meant . . . Ah, hell, he'd meant pretty.

*   *   *

W
here are we going?” Jessie asked a few minutes later as Seth turned the Explorer onto Larkspur Lane. He didn't know why she asked; she knew where they were headed. Maybe she just wanted to hear him say it.

“Your house.”

“You're not taking me to jail?” Her question was hopeful and incredulous all at the same time.

“Oh, I'm taking you to jail, all right. But I think you need to let your grandmother know what happened so she won't worry about you.”

Jessie didn't answer as he pulled into the buckled concrete driveway.

In the dark, he supposed, the house didn't look so bad. The shadows of the night hid the faded, peeling paint that had once been the color of freshly churned butter. And it wasn't so obvious that the bottom half of the screen door didn't have screen in it anymore. In the dark, you couldn't see the whitewashed tractor tire planter that hadn't had
flowers in it since Jessie's mama died or the missing windowpane that had been replaced with a piece of cardboard that used to be a 409 box from the Safeway.

All right, he could see all that. But in the dark, it wasn't quite as noticeable as it was in the golden glare of the Texas sun.

“You know,” Jessie started in a falsely bright tone. “She's probably already in bed asleep. And the doctors don't want her disturbed if at all possible. So we can just postpone this until tomorrow.”

Nice try, sister
. “There's a light on.”

“Oh, she always leaves that one burning.”

“Everyone in town knows she's an insomniac.” Seth turned in his seat to stare through the cage at her.

Her jaw was set at that stubborn angle she seemed to prefer, but her posture was slumped, as if she'd had more than she could handle for one night.

Welcome to the club.

Except all of this would be over in a heartbeat when he pulled her in front of her grandmother and made her admit what really happened. It wasn't an honorable plan, but it was the best one he had. Jessie might have been raised poor, but she'd been raised right. She wouldn't lie to her only kin.

He got out of the truck and opened the back so Jessie could do the same. She hesitated ever so slightly; then without a word she slid from the backseat. She took a deep breath, pulled at her jeans, then started toward the house.

She didn't say a word to him as she made her way up the creaky porch steps. Nor when he held the screen door open as she fumbled for her key. A sliver of light greeted them as she finally got the door unlocked and pushed it open so they could enter.

The combined smells of liniment and nicotine assaulted Seth as he stepped over the threshold behind Jessie. Old people and stale tobacco smoke. It was the kind of odor that seeped into every crevice and refused to leave. Of
course, it didn't help that Naomi, Jessie's grandmamma, had arthritis and smoked like a freight engine. Honestly he didn't know how Jessie escaped the house every day without smelling the exact same way. But she didn't. She smelled like sunshine and strawberries and a field full of daisies after a rain shower.

Seth took off his hat and ran the fingers of one hand through his dark hair in a small attempt at ridding himself of the perpetual indention the Resistol gave him. Like that did any good. He'd been raised on a ranch in West Texas. As far as anyone knew, he'd been born with hat head.

“Jessica, is that you?” Naomi's gravelly smoker's voice floated to them from the room off to the left. He had been here enough times to know that the elder and
Mrs.
McAllen referred to the room as the parlor, though he never had been able to figure out why. No one else in Cattle Creek, Texas, claimed to have a parlor. Hell, no one west of the Mississippi had a parlor—except for Naomi McAllen.

“Yes, ma'am,” she said, shooting him a sidelong glance. “And Seth Langston.”

“The sheriff?” Naomi coughed, rough and long. Seth was no doctor, but even to his untrained ears, it didn't sound good.

Jessie waited for the fit to pass before she answered, “Yes, ma'am.” She picked up the stack of mail lying on the small occasional table just inside the door and flipped through the letters as if she didn't have a care in the world. As if she wasn't a hair's breadth from being arrested.

He bent down low so only she could hear. “Uh-huh,” he said, and wrapped his fingers around her arm and marched her into the parlor.

Naomi sat in a delicate-looking wingback chair he supposed really did belong in a formal sitting room. The upholstery was of good quality. Or at least it had been in its day. It was proof there had been a time when Naomi was a prosperous and upstanding member of the community. But that was
before . . . well, everything. Now it was faded and threadbare, much like the woman who sat in it.

A sour-faced prune of a lady, Naomi McAllen was convinced that everyone—and, brother, he did mean everyone—was up to no good. Must have been all those years teaching English at the high school. But that was before the rise of football, and once the pigskin became king, Naomi had found herself replaced by a coach who would rather have been on the practice field than in the classroom. Disheartened by what she felt was the fall of civilization as they knew it, and too old and worn-out to do anything else, she had simply retired.

If that wasn't enough to make her lose her religion, there was that incident concerning missing money at the bank where her husband had worked. And then the missing husband, the missing sister, and the missing balance in their personal accounts.

It was about that time that Donna, Jessie's mother, had found out she was pregnant—and had no idea who the father was. She was keeping the baby thankyouverymuch—and she'd moved in, bringing sweet baby Jess along for the bumpy ride. Or at least that was how the ladies at the To Dye For Salon recounted the tale.

“Heaven preserve us, what have you done now?” Where age and illness had softened the angles of her posture and grace, there was absolutely nothing flexible about her attitude.

For the life of him, he didn't know why everyone—even Jessie's own family—always expected the worst from her. Sure, there was the whole Homecoming '08 issue, but other than that—and the high school darkroom explosion of 2006—she hadn't been in much trouble. Much. So maybe she was a little temperamental, a little overly passionate, but what redhead wasn't?

“Nothing, Meemaw.” Jessie shot Seth another of her sidelong glances, then turned back to her grandmother. “There
was a . . . an incident at Manny's, and I was a . . . uh, witness. I need to help the sheriff sort through some details tonight. We didn't want you to worry.”

It wasn't really a lie. There was an incident, and Jessie could be called a witness, and she really couldn't go home until they sorted out the details. Like
the truth
.

He'd taken a step forward, bent on telling Naomi just that, when she started coughing once again. If Seth thought the first time was bad, then this one was horrendous.

Jessie poured Naomi a drink from the pitcher on a side table, then shook out a couple of pills in her hand. She managed to get her grandmother to swallow them between her spasms; a feat Seth considered a miracle in itself.

The old woman shuddered and wiped her face. She studied her granddaughter with suspicious eyes, then turned back to Seth.

“That girl's too impetuous by far,” she said as if “that girl” weren't her only grandchild.

“I'm right here, Meemaw.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Seth replied, for lack of a better answer.

“Probably end up pregnant,” Naomi said.

He saw Jessie stiffen, but otherwise she said nothing.

“No, ma'am.”

“Don't you sass me, young man. I may not have money like your family, but that's no reason to disrespect me. You understand?” Naomi cleared her throat and for a moment Seth thought she might succumb to coughing once again.

“Yes, ma'am.” He placed his hat back on his head, adjusted it once, then nodded to the woman. So much for his not so noble plan. “We'll just be going now.” He took hold of Jessie's arm and half dragged her from the house as behind them in the parlor, Naomi cleared her throat and started coughing all over again.

Naomi's health had been slowly deteriorating over the years, but she was worse than he had ever seen her. He felt
guilty as hell for even thinking of laying Jessie's indiscretion at her feet.

Naomi would find out what had really happened eventually. She didn't go to church or the beauty shop regular, so it'd probably be the next bingo night at the VFW before she learned the facts. That was six days from now, and with any luck he'd have this whole mess straightened out by then.

J
essie stifled a yawn as Seth pulled his SUV into its parking spot in front of the Page County Courthouse. She normally worked till after two in the morning. It wasn't even one thirty, but she was wasted-tired. Maybe it was the stress and excitement the night had provided. All she wanted to do now was go home, crawl into her bed, and forget tonight ever happened.

Fat chance.

She wasn't going home tonight, so that knocked her bed out of the running, and she sure as heck wasn't going to get to forget about tonight and Chase's truck. Not for a long time.

Times like these she wished she wasn't so foolhardy. She was forever letting her emotions get the better of her. Everyone in town was still talking about the time she'd let the hog loose on Main Street. But it had looked so lonely in that truck just waiting to be slaughtered and roasted for the Cattle Days Picnic. He had looked as trapped as she felt. What was she supposed to do? She had let her heart lead and left her good sense behind. And then . . . well, as
usual, all hell broke loose, and she was the talk of the town once again. Tonight had been no exception.

At first she had been so happy, so surprised to look up and see Chase standing at the bar at Manny's. Then she'd realized he wasn't alone, and that excitement turned into jealousy . . . which turned into its first cousin, rage, and before she knew it, she was the talk of Cattle Creek.

Seth hadn't said a word to her since they had hit the city limits. He drove along in a calm silence that she should have been used to by now. After all, she had known Seth practically her whole life, and he was definitely what
Cosmo
would call “the strong, silent type.” He never wasted words. Always seemed thoughtful and never missed a thing.

Just as she expected, he didn't say anything to her as he opened the back door of his patrol car. But Jessie knew: he might be quiet now, but the time of reckoning was near. Real near.

“Yoo-hoo, Seth. Sheriff Langston.”

Jessie turned in time to see Darly Jo Summers-Eden Burnett slam the door of her tiny silver convertible and mince her way across the street in her shocking-white high-heeled sandals. The top she wore was Barbie pink and formfitting, her shorts very white and very . . . well, short. She had pulled her barely shoulder length, streaky blond hair into the perfectly curled little ponytail she preferred, the bangs sprayed in defiance of the West Texas wind. Her makeup was artwork unto itself, her eyeliner perfectly drawn, eyebrows perfectly arched, and lips perfectly painted. No wonder she was Miss Page County three years in a row.

Next to her, Jessie felt like a female version of Oliver Twist.

Whose lipstick actually looked like that at this hour of the night, for heaven's sake!

Seth stopped and waited for Darly Jo to make her way toward them. He was too well mannered to do anything
else, but Jessie rolled her eyes. Everyone in town knew Darly Jo was looking to get married again, and she had set her sights on Seth.

And she wasn't the only one. Half the women in the county would like nothing more than to walk down the aisle with the sheriff. The other half was still mourning that they'd already made that trip with someone else.

“I was listening to the police scanner, and I heard what all happened tonight. I was afraid you wouldn't have time to eat. So I said to myself, self, you ought to take the new sheriff some of your enchilada casserole.”

“Why, thank you, Darly Jo.” Polite to a fault, he took the pan from her.

Could she be any more obvious? It was the middle of the night, she was done up like it was happy hour,
and
she had food?

“I didn't have any of those disposable pans, so I just cooked it up in my good Pyrex and brought it straight on over here.”

“That was real nice of you.”

Sure it was,
Jessie thought, surprised at her own rudeness, however internal. That gave Darly Jo the perfect excuse to come back tomorrow—or the next day—and pick up her pan. Couldn't Seth see through this obvious attempt of “the way to a man's heart is through his stomach”?

Darly Jo paused as if there was something else she needed from him. Or maybe it was just the expectant look on her face, as though she was waiting for him to pull back the aluminum covering and take a bite right then and there.

“Did you like that Mountain Dew cake I brought you last week?” She laid a hand on his arm in such a way Jessie was sure it had nothing to do with baked goods.

“Best one yet,” he said with a smile.

If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn he was enjoying himself. The fact of the matter was, she didn't know better. As one of the most eligible bachelors in the
county, Seth probably thrived off all the attention—and food—constantly provided by the husband-trawling women of the county. He was a good-looking man. Single. Virile. Handsome. What more could a girl want?

It was just that Jessie had never seen him like this. With a woman on the prowl.

“Well, I've gotta—” He nodded toward Jessie.

Darly Jo looked startled to see her there, as if she hadn't known anyone else was in the world except her and the “new” sheriff. “Oh. Right,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment. She trailed her fingers across his arm as she started to leave. Jessie resisted the urge to roll her eyes one more time.

“Thanks again,” he said as she backed toward her car.

“I'll just pick up my pan later.”

Surprise, surprise, that innocent little phrase sounded covertly like an invitation to jump headlong into bed.

Or maybe Jessie was just overtired and imagining things.

Darly Jo licked her lips.

Nope.

“That'll be fine,” Seth said.

“Okay, then.” She waved her beauty-queen wave and turned back to cross the street.

Seth waited to make sure she got into her car okay, then opened the door to the courthouse and escorted Jessie inside.

She collapsed into the hard-backed chair positioned in front of his desk. Another pan of something sat on top of all the unfiled papers and reports along with a round aluminum pie plate that contained—if she wasn't mistaken—Lindy Shoemake's Banana Cream Delight.

She watched as he prowled around the room, turning on lights, flipping through his messages, and checking on Mr. Jones, who had managed to land himself in jail yet again.

Seth's actions were like Western poetry in motion, and despite her near physical and mental exhaustion, Jessie couldn't help but watch him. She supposed she couldn't
blame Darly Jo for wanting to snare him as a husband. After all, Darly Jo was the daughter of the “old” sheriff and knew all about life with a small-town lawman.

Then there were the obvious reasons. Seth Langston was about the best-looking man in the county—aside from Chase, of course. But despite the fact that they both had those Langston green eyes, they were as different as two brothers could be. Chase was blond, whipcord lean, and took life as it came. Seth was dark and serious, six foot two of pure cowboy power and grace.

Seth was walking proof that what they said was true: you can take the man out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of the man. All those years in California hadn't changed him all that much. Maybe added a few lines at the corners of those green, green eyes, deeper slashes at the sides of his sculpted mouth. But that was all. He was still a Texan through and though. Still all cowboy.

Cowboy. That was the sum of all five Langston brothers. Mav, Jake, Seth, Tyler, and Chase. They were all cowboy through and through. As the middle child, Seth was the peacemaker, the lawman.

Jessie could close her eyes and imagine him as the sheriff of Page County a hundred and fifty years ago, with a thick mustache that was the style of the times, black John B pulled low over his brow, and a badge carved out of a silver dollar pinned to his leather vest. But the badge Seth actually wore was clipped to the front of his gun belt. He carried a Glock instead of a six-shooter. Drove an SUV instead of a roan.

Yet some similarities still remained. Without a doubt, Seth had a wild, fiery light in his eyes. The light that had belonged to peacekeepers since the dawn of time. Wyatt Earp, Elliot Ness. Even that sheriff in Arizona who made his inmates sleep in tents and wear pink underwear.

I'm a good man,
his eyes said,
but don't cross me.

And Seth was—a good man and all that. Had been honorable and caring since that fateful day seventeen years
ago when she had been terrified out of her mind. That very first time she had met the Langstons—the day Chase had rescued her from the wild coyote and thereby won her heart for all eternity.

Okay, so the animal hadn't been a coyote. And he hadn't really been wild. He'd actually been Heather Clemens's dog, who was about as fierce as a bag of dirty laundry—the dog, not Heather Clemens. But Jessie had been only seven, and the mutt had seemed dangerous enough at the time, so her love for Chase was in no way diminished by those pesky little details.

Her eyes were closed, so she heard rather than saw Seth prop his booted feet upon his desk, the creak of the chair as he leaned back, the rustle of the aluminum foil as he uncovered the casserole dish. Then he asked around a bite of Darly Jo's special recipe, “You ready to talk now?”

“You'll have to use torture, copper, if you want any info from me, see?” She tried to change her voice to the perfect Cagney inflection, but mixed with her slow Texas drawl, she was sure she sounded just plain silly.

But not silly enough that Seth laughed. Not even a small chuckle.

Jessie opened her eyes to find him staring at her, those green orbs so intense she was certain he could see straight through to her bones, all her secrets laid bare for him to examine.

“You can do it tonight or in the morning. Whatever you want.”

She didn't
want
to do it at all. Not now, not tomorrow. Not with Seth, not with anybody. Especially not with Seth.

Seth was calm and understanding. He was collected and levelheaded and . . . and everything she wasn't.

“That's going to give you indigestion.”

Seth shrugged. “I'm starving. Missed dinner,” he said around another big mouthful. “You want some?”

Jessie shook her head. Darly Jo made her enchilada
casserole for every covered-dish potluck the county had, and it always gave everybody a stomachache. “Why'd you miss dinner?”

Seth shoveled in another mountain of the melted cheese and beans into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and got another bite ready before he answered.

“The Carvers and the Gibsons were at it again.”

The two families were Page County's very own version of the Hatfields and McCoys, and like the famous dueling families neither remembered what the original argument had been about. But that didn't stop them from carrying on with it.

“Amos said Chester let his horses out. Personally I think it was a high school prank. Somebody's been knocking down mailboxes out on Creek Mine Road, and Bert Cottrell's house was TP'd last week.”

Jessie nodded. Growing up in a small town had both its advantages and disadvantages. The novelty of summer break had worn off, the nights were hot, and there wasn't a whole lot to do. Except knock down mailboxes, TP the principal's house, and play tricks on Chester Gibson and Amos Carver.

“You gonna give me your statement, Jessie James?” Seth took one last bite, recovered the casserole with the foil, then set the pan on top of his desk. He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and eyed her expectantly.

“Do I have to?” she grumbled, worn to a frazzle and so tired that just this once she would allow him to call her by that awful nickname.

Seth took off his hat and set it down next to Darly Jo's good Pyrex pan. “Yes.”

If she knew Seth, he'd had that hat on all day. Instead of looking goofy with a bad case of hat head, he managed to look like the top candidate for Most Handsome Sheriff in Texas . . . with hat head.

“Fine,” Jessie grumbled, crossing her arms in front of her and wishing all this was behind her.

But it wasn't . . .

What did it matter anyway? Taking a baseball bat to Lucky Langston's shiny red Ford could only be accomplished by a holy terror like Jessie McAllen. The entire town—Chase included—thought she was guilty. Therefore she was guilty by means of the majority, and no amount of the truth could change that.

Jessie tried to ignore the choked feeling in her chest. It was bad enough eight years ago when she
had
destroyed a fine vehicle out of jealousy. But this time she was innocent. Maybe this was just destiny coming back on her. The thought held no comfort. She had spent her entire life trying to live down her family name. The scandal with her grandfather, her mother's lack of a wedding ring, her own impulsive nature.

“I'll do it now,” she finally said.

He nodded—well, really it was more of a jerk of his head. Then he rummaged around in the desk drawer and pulled out an official-looking paper.