Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

NEIL

I'd caught a glimpse of something in Connor's eyes—something raw, something a hell of a lot like pain, but as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin and sharp retorts. I couldn't get it out of my head. What was that all about? For a moment, I thought I'd seen a chink in his armor, but whatever it was, he'd hidden it away before I could get a good look. I'd felt compassion and concern, but he'd blown it out of the water with his sarcasm, touching, and mention of kissing.

And now, the asshole was following me, but I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of turning around to acknowledge him, whatever sadness I'd thought I'd seen in his expression.

I kept walking, focused on returning to the office before he could get under my skin any more than he already had. As I approached the parking lot, I spotted something that spiked my irritation further—someone had parked in the handicapped bay without the proper tags .

The driver was one of the ranchers, Phil Thompson. He didn't always think things through, constantly pushing me with the parking thing, and I wasn't in the mood for his excuses today.

I approached the truck, and Phil rolled down his window, offering me a sheepish grin.

"Sheriff," he greeted, trying to play it off. "Just a quick stop. I wasn't going to be long."

"Phil, you know the rules," I said, my tone firm but not unkind. "You need to move your truck. That spot's reserved for people who need it."

Phil gave me his usual aw-shucks grin, and then his eyes went wide, and he glanced past me, his grin fading. I knew without checking that Connor was standing behind me. I could feel the change in the air—how people reacted when Connor was around, even if they didn't know his history. There was just something about him that demanded respect … or maybe it was fear.

I glanced over my shoulder, confirming what I already suspected: Connor was standing there, arms crossed and a stern expression that made it hard to tell if he was about to issue commands or throw punches. It was a look intense enough to give anyone pause. All it did was wind me the fuck up.

Phil didn't waste any time. "Uh, sorry, Sheriff. I'll move it right now," he stammered, fumbling with his keys before starting the engine and backing out of the space as quickly as he could without hitting anything.

As Phil's truck disappeared down the road, I felt a mix of emotions bubbling up inside me. The irritation I'd been nursing all morning had turned into something closer to anger, and I couldn't quite shake the image of Connor standing there, all sexy and serious. Damn him for making everything more complicated.

I kept walking, heading down the back path to the sheriff's office, trying to shake off the thoughts swirling in my head. But then I stopped so suddenly that Connor almost walked right into me.

"Why are you following me?" I snapped as I turned to face him.

Connor didn't miss a beat. "In case you needed help," he said, his tone infuriatingly calm.

"With a parking violation?" I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest.

Connor took a step closer, crowding me against the same damn wall where he'd pushed me before. His eyes were locked onto mine, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. "Why did you walk this way?" he asked, his voice low and knowing.

I frowned, not liking where this was going. "I'm going to my office."

"But there are quicker ways," he countered, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe you chose this way because it's private, and you wanted me to follow you … and kiss you."

"You're not making any sense," I muttered, though the words felt weak even as they left my mouth.

Had I walked this way so I could have privacy to confront him?

Or kiss him?

Probably a mix of both.

Connor braced both hands on the wall on either side of me, leaning in until our noses almost touched. Then, with a grin, he bopped my nose with his, the gesture so ridiculous it threw me off-balance.

He stepped back, rearranging his pants, his eyes still smoldering. "You doing all that sheriff stuff makes me hot," he said, his voice laced with a teasing edge that made my blood heat.

Before I could respond, a voice called out from behind us. "Hi, Uncle Neil!"

I turned to see Jason, my nephew, gamer extraordinaire, moody teenager, along with his equally moody friend, Benny. "Is everything okay?"

"Aww shucks, Sheriff, there's trouble at the mine," Benny announced in his best impersonation of a cowboy—little shit.

Connor raised an eyebrow, glancing at me. "Wait. We have mines?"

I rolled my eyes, trying to rein in the simmering frustration at Connor being here, and now Jason's idiot friend who thought impersonating a sheriff out of a western was funny. "No, we don't have mines."

"He's just kidding," Jason said, elbowing his friend.

"What are you doing in town on a school day?" I asked, slipping into cop mode.

"Study leave," Jason said, but he wouldn't meet my gaze, so I knew that was a pile of lies.

"Shouldn't you be studying, then?" I asked Jason.

"He's all yours," Benny muttered to Jason, then slipped past us before I could stop him.

Jason half-waved at Connor. "Hi, Connor."

"Hey back," Connor answered. "What are you supposed to be studying?" he asked, leaning against the wall with that easy, confident air he always had.

Jason let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I finished all my stuff for today."

"It's early."

"I started even earlier." I could see Jason's familiar stubborn expression. "Anyway, Mom wants me to work on college applications." He tilted his chin as if that got him out of the not-studying thing we had going on here.

"So, you should probably be doing that?"

Jason examined his nails, then forced his hands into the pockets of his slouchy jeans. "I'm just having a break."

"Your mom wouldn't?—"

"Which college?" Connor interrupted, his tone casual, but I could tell he was genuinely curious, so I didn't scowl too hard.

"I don't know yet," Jason admitted, his shoulders slumping.

Connor tilted his head, studying the kid. "What do you like doing?"

Jason blinked, confused as if it was the first time anyone had ever asked him. I'm sure I'd asked him that. Right? After all, I was a good uncle. He loved me, I loved him, and I'm sure I would have talked to him about colleges. Guilt twinged. Maybe I hadn't been the best uncle with everything happening with Dad.

"I like games," Jason said slowly, as if testing the waters. "I mean, not just playing them. I like using Unity and messing around with C# to create stuff." He glanced at me then, a bit uncertain. "Although, maybe I'll be sheriff? I mean, Grandpa would like me to do it," Jason said, his voice a bit smaller now. "He keeps saying?—"

"You have to do what you want," I interrupted, hating that I agreed with Connor but knowing it was true. Much to Bessie's dismay, Dad was all over Jason to study law or criminology or skip college altogether—anything to get him into the sheriff's office.

Jason glanced between us, shy and embarrassed before mumbling about getting home to study and hurrying off before I could impart words of wisdom. I watched him go, unsure what to say, the awkwardness lingering like a sour taste.

When I turned around, Connor was already back in his superhero pose, with his arms crossed, looking like he was ready to take on the world.

"Did you always want to be sheriff?" he asked me out of nowhere.

"Since I was five," I said, not missing a beat. "Did you always want to be in the Navy?"

"Since I was five," he said.

"Okay then."

"Okay then."

And with that weird but simple exchange of information, he strode off, leaving me more confused than ever. He was frustrating and irritating, and now, with that small piece of personal insight, Connor had somehow managed to unsettle me even more.

I shook my head, trying to clear it as I headed into the office. I'd already had Abraham changing his story about the rifle incident, claiming Connor was a hero, and who knew what was true anymore. I had Lewis way too close to retiring. Despite desperately searching for funding to keep Wyatt, I had to write references for him, as he applied to other small-town offices. Worse, I had a list of places for Dad to go for care that needed researching. Mom wanted me to check out every single one for criminal activity—just another thing for her to create worry in her head about. Today had already started messy; it didn't look as if it would get any easier, and having to deal with Connor wasn't making it any simpler.

"Sheriff," Solomon greeted me. I gave him a quick smile, then headed for coffee.

Anything to get me through the day.

There was no way I'd consciously used the alley to the back entrance to have a moment with Connor.

No. Way.

The day continued as expected, a steady stream of the usual headaches and paperwork that never seemed to end. I was stuck balancing the budget, hands-down the worst part of the job. Funding for the sheriff's office came from a mix of county allocations and state grants, but it was never enough to cover everything we needed. Deputy salaries were the most significant chunk of the budget, and while the county was responsible for paying them, I was the one who had to stretch those dollars to cover training, equipment, and overtime. It was a constant juggling act, ensuring we had the resources to keep the town safe without bankrupting the department. It was a closer call in some months than I liked to admit.

But I wanted to keep Wyatt. With Lewis and Solomon so close to retiring, I was desperate to get Wyatt to stay and be the next generation in the sheriff's office alongside me.

I didn't want him to move off now, not when he was getting to know the town and was such a good deputy.

I was three hours deep into wrangling numbers when Solomon came in. I was trying to figure out how to make everything work without cutting corners, and I had to shut down the instant flare of irritation as I lost count again.

"There's an issue at the diner, sheriff," he said. "You might wanna get over there."

"Can Lewis or Wyatt handle it?"

"Lewis is with his wife at the doctor's. Wyatt isn't on for another thirty, and I think this is a you thing."

I sighed, already feeling the headache forming behind my eyes. "What's going on?"

"It's Phil Monroe," Solomon said, and I didn't need to hear more. What was he doing now? "And Connor."

Connor? For fuck's sake.

"What." I wasn't asking. I was already up and out of my office, yanking my jacket from the hook and shaking it before putting it on. It still had that faint dampness from the storms, and I winced at the cold against my skin.

"Mark me out," I called back to Solomon, who sketched a salute.

I jogged the short distance, and there was Phil's truck, parked squarely in the handicapped space again, and Connor was stopping him from leaving, leaning against the beaten-up Buick as if he had all the time in the world. Phil was a good ten feet away, pacing, angry at Connor but too nervous to get any closer.

I could feel the tension, and the ridiculousness of this hit me. Connor glanced at me, a slight smirk playing on his lips as if daring me to say something about him leaning on someone else's property.

"Phil," I called out as I walked over, keeping my tone even. "You know you can't park there."

Phil turned to me, his face red with frustration. "I wasn't going to be long, Sheriff! But this guy"—he jabbed a finger in Connor's direction—"won't let me leave!"

I stared at Connor, who shrugged as if to say, What are you gonna do about it?

I bit back my irritation, focusing on Phil. "Move your truck, Phil."

"I can't when he won't let me."

"Let the man go, Connor!" I said with exaggerated patience.

After a pause, Connor straightened and strolled away from the car.

"Get in your car, Phil! You've been warned once today, and you're getting a ticket for this."

Phil opened his mouth to argue, but one glance at Connor, who now stood beside me, was enough to change his mind. He grumbled under his breath, then shuffled over to his truck, giving Connor a wide berth as he climbed inside. I scribbled down the details on the ticket, pressing harder than necessary as I filled out the information.

Once I was done, I tore the ticket from the pad and handed it to him, ensuring he knew this wasn't a suggestion. "You have ten days to pay," I said, keeping my voice firm. "You can handle it online or in person at the courthouse. Don't make me come after you for it."

Phil took the ticket, his face a mix of irritation and resignation. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get it done," he grumbled, folding the ticket and shoving it into his glovebox.

"See that you do," I replied, not letting up. "Don't let me catch you parked in that spot again, or it'll be more than just a fine."

He gestured at Connor. "You gonna have words with this asshole? Sitting on my car like he owned it."

I held in my reaction. Connor should not have been leaning there. He was causing an obstruction and could have damaged the car, but Phil shouldn't have parked in the space again.

"You can go now, Phil."

He mumbled something under his breath before turning to leave. I watched him go, ensuring he drove off without any more incidents.

As Phil drove off, I turned back to Connor, who was watching me with an infuriatingly smug expression.

"What the f—what was that?" I asked.

Connor raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my frustration. "Nothing. Just helping, Sheriff."

"Yeah, well, maybe try not helping at all next time," I shot back, though my heart wasn't in it.

For a split second, I saw it—a flash of that pain in his eyes again, raw and unguarded, and it reminded me of the look I'd seen earlier. Was there more going on with him than he was letting on? He seemed on edge, brittle, as if something would make him snap .

For a second, I wondered about checking him for weapons in case he did snap. What did I know about Connor Mason apart from the fact he loved to needle me, wanted to take me for a beer, had kissed me, and got in my way? I'd run all the background checks I could, and Quinn vouched for him. Hell, anyone connected to Quinn and Lennox Ranch vouched for him.

I shook my head, pushing the thought of Connor losing his shit away. I had enough to deal with without trying to figure out what was happening in Connor's head.

"Don't you have something better to do?" I asked him, my tone sharper than I intended.

"Just looking after my town, Sheriff," Connor replied, his voice smooth and unbothered. Then he turned and strolled away as if he hadn't been a part of what had happened, as if the whole interaction meant nothing to him.

Watching him leave, I couldn't shake one question: what did Connor Mason really do all day? Always around, yet somehow out of reach when it came to figuring out what he was up to. He worked security for Quinn, yeah, but what else? It wasn't as though Whisper Ridge was full of danger.

As he walked away, my gaze followed him—tracing the way his leather jacket hugged his muscular frame, how his jeans fit snugly over his firm ass and powerful thighs, and the way his broad shoulders moved with each step. I wasn't staring. Not really. I was just… observing.

But then, as if sensing my thoughts, Connor turned his head and caught me checking him out. He didn't miss a beat, his lips curling into that infuriating grin before he winked at me.

I could feel the heat rising in my face, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away first. Instead, I stood there, arms crossed, watching him disappear around the corner, my mind a tangled mess of irritation, confusion, and something else I didn't want to admit.

Lust. Or anger? Or both?

Or just angry lust.

Fuck my life.

By the time I returned to the office, Wyatt had clocked on, and he and Lewis were talking over by the water cooler. I could have told them to monitor the parking situation—on Phil and Connor. Instead, I retreated to my office and the safety of numbers.

"Sheriff?" Lewis leaned in, his voice hesitant. "Can I get a word?"

"Sausage is a word," I replied, the joke slipping out before I could stop it. Lewis blinked at me, and it was obvious he didn't get the humor. Why would he? This was a place of work, and here I was, cracking jokes as if I was losing my grip on reality. I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. "Sorry, come in." I pushed the budget figures to one side, piling up the paper I'd been scribbling on. "What's up?"

He hovered just inside the door, and I could tell something was weighing on him.

"Is Claire okay?" I asked. "Solomon said you were at the doctor."

"Had a bit of a scare, but she's okay."

I didn't push for details, and he was working his way up to something big, so I gave him time. This was it. Retirement. I knew it in my bones.

"Sheriff, I've been thinking a lot lately," Lewis began, his tone serious. "About my wife, the grandkids … about everything. I've put a date on retiring—December 20th. Figure it's time."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, though I shouldn't have been surprised. Lewis had been hinting at this for a while, discussing spending more time with his family. But hearing it out loud made it real.

"That's…" Okay, I didn't have any words.

"I've seen what's happened to your dad, Neil," he continued, his voice filled with regret. "And I don't want to wait until I'm too old or too sick to enjoy the time I have left. I know it's not something happening to me, and I don't mean to cause upset to you, Neil, but it's … hard to watch Garrett lose himself, you know? He should have been able to retire and live his life, but instead…"

His voice trailed off, but I knew what he meant. My dad should have had those golden years, but they were being taken from him, piece by piece.

"Maybe now you can ask Wyatt to stay," Lewis added, his tone lightening.

I could go on about legacy funding, about how, if Lewis left, I wasn't sure what budget I could secure to replace him with a single permanent deputy. Instead, I nodded, the weight of his words settling in.

"I get it. You've more than earned this. You've done your time and deserve to enjoy the years ahead. My dad… he should have had that too."

We stood there for a moment, the unspoken understanding hanging between us. Lewis was making the right call, and I respected the hell out of him for it.

"Thanks, Sheriff," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he extended his hand.

I gripped it. "Thank you, Lewis. For everything."

We shook hands, and then he gave me a nod, turned, and headed out to finish his shift. I leaned back in my chair as the door closed behind him, staring at where he'd stood.

The idea of asking Wyatt to stay … maybe there was something to that. Legacy funding or not, this town needed good people.

So, I returned to my figures to try to make it work.