threatened Carrie—intimidated was a better word. Her neighbor had interceded, and then Dade had arrived on the scene. The worker had left without so much as making a threat for anyone else to hear. As frustrating and scary as this whole situation was for her, nothing illegal had happened.
The sheriff ended the call and shot them an apologetic look. “It’s been a little hectic around here. Please, continue.”
“I was backed up against the wall, so I got ready to use my pepper spray when Samuel Jenkins showed up and interrupted Nash,” she said.
“I know the Jenkins boy,” Sawmill said with a nod of acknowledgment. It didn’t matter how old a man was in Cattle Barge. He would always be known by his family association. The Jenkins boy. The Butler boy. No matter how much Dade tried to distance himself in order to be his own man, he’d always be Maverick Mike’s boy. “And Nash is...?”
“The festival worker,” she clarified.
The phone rang again, and the sheriff let out a sharp sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hold on for one second.”
Dade could see this was going nowhere. He stood and Sheriff Sawmill immediately put his caller on hold.
“I’m sorry about the interruptions,” Sawmill began. “We get several dozen calls a day from citizens who think someone might be following them or their crazy uncle is hatching a plan to murder them and some of those complainants have access to my direct line considering most of us have lived in this town all of our lives. We all go way back.” His eyes flashed at Dade. “The town’s been in a tizzy for weeks and everyone’s on alert.”
“We understand. We’ll give a statement to one of the deputies out front.” Dade waved off the sheriff.
“My office will do everything in its power to ensure the safety of its citizens.” It was the line the sheriff had most likely given to every small-time complainant since his world had blown up.
When Dade really thought about their case, he couldn’t argue. No real crime had been committed, and that tied the sheriff’s hands. Normally, Sawmill would go talk to the offender and that was deterrent enough, but his plate was full and the festival was on its way out of town in the morning. Problem solved for Carrie.
“We’ll check the festival’s schedule and reach out to local law enforcement and ask to be made aware of any similar complaints.”
“Thank you,” Dade said as Carrie stood, seeming to catch on immediately to the underlying current. Anyone could see that the sheriff’s office was being inundated, so a case like Carrie’s would be swept under the rug. Not for lack of concern, but because resources were too thin and solving a high-profile murder would take precedence.
“Everyone holding up okay at the ranch?” Sawmill asked.
Dade nodded as he put his hand on the small of Carrie’s back.
“Anything you can do is appreciated, Sheriff,” he said, leading her toward the same hallway they’d traversed moments before with the knowledge it wouldn’t be much.
* * *
THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE boomed with activity even at this late hour. Carrie was tired. She wanted to go home, wash off the day and cuddle her dog, Coco. Giving her statement to the deputy hadn’t taken long, but it was getting late.
“He can’t help, can he?” Carrie released her words on a sigh. This seemed like a good time to be grateful Nash would be long gone in the morning and her life would return to normal as soon as the situation with Brett calmed down.
“Doesn’t appear so.” Dade seemed as frustrated as she felt.
Bright lights assaulted her the second she stepped out of the air-conditioning and into the August heat. There was so much flash and camera lighting that it seemed like the sun had come out.
The swarm followed them to Dade’s truck, and a couple of cars tailed them even when they got on the road, snapping pictures. It was a dangerous situation. She could certainly see why Dade had taken the alley in order to stay under the radar.
“I’m sorry the sheriff’s office wasn’t more help,” he said. “I should’ve realized what the place would be like.”
“There’s been a crime wave in town following your dad’s...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word murder.
“Seems most of it has been targeted toward my family.” There was an undercurrent of anger in Dade’s voice.
“Have you even had a chance to process any of this?” Carrie wished there was something she could say or do. “Here you’re helping me when you have so much on your plate already.”
“Good to think about something besides my own problems for a change.” He put on his turn signal and changed lanes. “Did you eat dinner? We could stop off.”
“I wish I could.” She started to apologize but he stopped her. “I have a dog that needs to go out. Her name’s Coco and she’s a Sharp Eagle, which is a cross between a shar-pei and a beagle. She has the beauty of a shar-pei and the sweet temperament of a beagle.” Carrie realized about halfway through her monologue that she was talking too fast. Being alone in a truck with Dade shouldn’t make her feel anxious, so she chalked her heightened feelings up to the crazy end of the day and not the electricity pinging through her body being this near him. “I’m talking too much.”
“Where am I taking you?” Dade half grinned, one side of his mouth curling in a smile that had been cute on a boy and was sexy as hell on a grown man.
Carrie felt her cheeks burn.
“Back to my car is fine. That way I’ll be able to get to work in the morning without calling in any favors.” She had no idea who she’d call. Carrie had been too busy with the sweet shop to make friends. At least, that’s the excuse she gave when she sat at home Friday nights after work instead of meeting pals for dinner. Her social calendar wasn’t exactly full, and she still felt like that gawky teenager she’d been. The truth was that ever since she’d returned to Cattle Barge in high school after being shifted to a group home in Kilburn City, she’d felt like an outsider. But then, no other place had felt like home, either. As silly as it sounded, even to her, the last time she’d felt like she belonged somewhere was primary school in Cattle Barge. Coming back had been an attempt to recover the feeling. So far, she’d supplied the town with the best ice cream she could create—at least that was something.
Thinking about the past, about her past, had a way of creating instant tension in her body. A headache threatened, so she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“The ice cream shop seems to be doing well. It’s all anyone can talk about.” The hint of pride in Dade’s voice caused ripples of hope—maybe a sense of belonging?—to bubble inside her chest.
“It’s definitely been keeping me on my toes, and I’m grateful people seem to like it.” The store made her feel part of the community, even if a counter stood between her and the rest of the world.
“I hear your employees like working for you,” he continued, more of that pride in his voice.
“One of my business professors taught me to hire for attitude. He said everything else can be learned.” She’d completed her associate
