Man Behind The Badge

Chapter Two

“Hi, sweetheart. How ’bout bringing me a steak sandwich and a longneck?” Charlie gave the waitress a quick smile as he settled himself onto a bar stool.

“Sure, boss. As long as you’re off duty,” she replied in a throaty voice. “I wouldn’t want to break the law.”

He patted his shirt pocket. “I’m not wearing my badge, Rita. You won’t get in any trouble.” With her black hair and dark, liquid eyes, Rita was an attractive woman—especially when she sucked in her breath so her generous curves strained against the fabric of her low-cut knit top as she was doing now.

If he didn’t have a rule against dating his employees, Charlie might have taken a run at her. When he pursued a woman, he didn’t want to wonder if she was genuinely attracted to him or just worried about keeping her job, especially a single mother like Rita.

“Fries with that or salad?” she asked, tossing back her hair to give him an enticing view of her throat.

He grinned his appreciation of her assets. “How about both, with ranch on the side?”

“Sure thing. Be right back.”

After she’d gotten his beer, sent him a last regretful glance from beneath a fringe of thick lashes and swaggered off to give his sandwich order to the cook, Charlie glanced around the room. There were people sitting at three tables and two men in hard hats at the other end of the bar watching soccer on the overhead television. Not bad for a weekday, especially this early in the evening.

“You singing tonight, Sheriff?” called out an older woman seated with her husband.

“’Fraid not, Maxine.” He touched two fingers to the brim of his Stetson. “My second job’s keeping me hopping, but I’ll be here on Friday. Maybe you can get Fred to bring you back then.”

She looked over her shoulder at her husband. “That’s my birthday. We’ll be here.”

Charlie toasted her with his beer bottle. “And I’ll be singing just for you, darlin’.”

She laughed, but her cheeks turned pink. “I’ll hold you to it.” Her husband leaned forward to whisper in her ear, and Charlie swiveled back around as Rita brought his salad. From ranching to the restaurant business and part-time lounge singer to law enforcement. Life was a hell of a ride.

“How are the boys?” he asked Rita.

She set down his silverware and dish of ranch dressing. “They’re crazy about the toy trucks you gave them. Thanks, honey.”

“No problem.” He knew her ex rarely sent money, and his nephews had more toys than they could ever use. When he’d mentioned the waitress to Rory and Emily, his brothers’ wives, their youngest kids had gone through their toy chests.

“You bat those pretty eyes at the guys sitting at the other end of the bar, should double your tips,” he suggested to Rita.

The touch of her hand on his shoulder was fleeting, her voice soft in his ear. “Enjoy your salad.”

A few moments later, after she’d brought the rest of his meal and he’d devoured half the sandwich while he’d mulled over his workday, a burst of laughter distracted him. Rita had followed his suggestion and was talking to the construction workers.

She’d be okay. This was a respectable bar, and she knew how to take care of herself.

Charlie turned back to his food, but eating alone had lost its appeal. Everyone in town knew him, and he knew most of them. His older brothers were his closest friends. He liked their wives, adored their children and was welcome anytime. It was a welcome he was careful not to wear out.

The sound of Rita’s laughter reminded him of the woman he’d met earlier, Robin Marlowe, even though the two appeared to be polar opposites. If Dr. Marlowe had found him attractive, she’d hidden it well. If she hadn’t rushed off, he might have invited her to dinner just to see her reaction.

Maybe he’d have to buy himself a dog, one that would need vaccinations at the local clinic.

Robin was unpacking the last of her aunt’s dishes and putting them into the kitchen cupboard when a knock at the back door nearly caused her to drop a dinner plate adorned with fat pink roses. She set it carefully down on the counter and ran a hand through her short hair. She’d only met two people so far, her boss and the sheriff. This was a small town, not Chicago, so perhaps one of them had come by to check on her.

Nerves fluttered in her chest. She was almost relieved when she peeked through the window and saw an elderly couple standing on the side porch. They looked harmless.

Robin flipped the lock and opened the door. The woman, a little bird of a thing with fluffy white hair and wire-rimmed glasses, was holding a pie with a flaky, golden crust. The man behind her wore coveralls and a Broncos baseball cap. His scraggly gray hair needed trimming.

“I’m Mae Simms and this is my husband, Ed,” the woman said quickly. “We don’t mean to intrude, but we wanted to say hello and to give you this.” She thrust the pie into Robin’s hands. “Welcome to Waterloo.”

Her offering smelled fantastic. As Robin’s stomach growled softly, she realized that she hadn’t eaten in hours.

“Thank you,” she said. Would they think her unfriendly if she didn’t invite them in? She had so much to do, and she was tired. “I’m Robin. I was just unpacking.”

“Oh, we know who you are, honey,” the woman replied. “We live right next door in the blue house. You’re renting this place from us.”

“Ah.” Robin wasn’t sure what else to say. Their visit was the type of gesture her aunt would have made under similar circumstances. The thought warmed her. Balancing the pie, she nudged the door open wider with her elbow. “Would you like to come in? I’ve already unpacked my coffeemaker and some mugs. I’m sure I could find the coffee.”

“Oh, no, dear.” Mae was already backing away. She nudged Ed, who hadn’t said a word. “You have things to do, I’m sure, and we’re going for our walk.” Reaching into the pocket of the purple nylon jacket she wore with matching pants, she pulled out a folded paper.

“Here’s our phone number, just in case.” She set it lightly on top of the pie. “If there’s anything you need, give us a call.”

Robin raised up the pan she was holding. The bottom was still warm. “Thank you again. I can’t wait to sample this.”

“She’s won lots of ribbons at the fair.” Ed’s voice sounded rusty, as though he didn’t use it much. “They cover most of one wall in the dining room.”

“Never mind that,” Mae scolded as she herded him off the porch like a border collie with a not-too-bright sheep. “Bye, now,” she called back over her shoulder.

“Bye.” Robin glanced past them at the neat blue house next door, separated from hers by a freshly painted white picket fence. The lots on this street were big, so the older, mostly small houses weren’t jammed close together.

After her visitors had walked down the driveway, hand in hand, she set the pie on the table that had come with the rental and relocked the door. She’d have to see about a dead bolt. It would make her feel more secure.

Mouth watering, she rustled around until she found a fork. When she cut through the flaky crust, peach filling oozed up like liquid gold. She ate the first serving right from the pan.

With her hunger blunted, she fixed herself a cup of tea. While the water heated, she cut another generous slice of pie and set it on a plate. She’d be having it again for breakfast if she didn’t get to the grocery store tonight. She should have asked Mae where it was, but the town only had one main street, so she doubted she’d get lost.

While the tea brewed, Robin looked around her with a sigh of satisfaction. The house was small, the furniture as outdated as the walnut cabinets and dark green counter, but it was clean and cozy. She would add her own touches: candles, knickknacks, pictures for the walls and pretty kitchen towels to replace the faded ones she’d brought with her.

The teddy bear cookie jar sitting on the counter caught her eye, and she blinked back sudden tears. That, the dishes and a few other keepsakes were all she had from Aunt Dot. Robin’s cousin and his wife had kept everything else.

She lifted the mug of hot tea to her lips and was about to take a sip when she heard footsteps on the porch. The figure of a man appeared in the glass of the back door. Fear shot through Robin and then she recognized the sheriff. With a jerky movement that slopped hot tea onto her fingers, she set down the mug and got to her feet. She hoped he wasn’t going to make a habit of startling her.

Apparently, no one used the front porch. If she wanted any privacy, she’d have to cover the window in the side door. The sheriff peered through it as she crossed the kitchen.

“Is there a problem, Sheriff?” she asked as she opened the door, wondering belatedly whether her face was smudged with newsprint from unwrapping her dishes. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that when the older couple had come by.

In the confines of the covered porch, the sheriff seemed bigger and bulkier than he’d appeared on the open street. The brim of his hat shadowed his expression. “It’s only a problem if that’s your car parked in the driveway,” he replied with a serious expression.

“You know it is,” she snapped. “You saw it earlier. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to change the plates. How long do I have?”

He looked at the car and then back at her. “I’m not here about the plates. I was driving by, and I noticed that the tire is flat.”

“Oh, no!” She tried to push past him, but he was as solid as a mountain and nearly as immovable.

“Whoa, there.” Lightly he caught her shoulders. “Don’t panic. I can change it for you.”

She caught a whiff of masculine cologne before she twisted away from his touch. “That’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.” Realizing how shrill and ungrateful she must sound, she dragged in a steadying breath and met his puzzled gaze. “Thank you for your offer,” she said more quietly, “and for stopping to tell me about it, but I can manage on my own.”

Damn, but she hoped the spare hadn’t gone flat. The last thing she wanted was for the sheriff to notice if it had and to think her incompetent. No, the last thing she wanted was for him to do her a favor and for her to owe him.

“Are you sure?” His dark eyes studied her for a moment, and then he glanced past her into the kitchen where a pile of partially unpacked boxes sat on the floor. “Looks like you’ve got enough to do right here. I wouldn’t mistake you for a helpless female, not this one time.”

Feeling embarrassed and invaded, Robin shifted her body in a futile attempt to block his view. He was tall enough to look over the top of her head if he’d wanted to, but he must have noticed her gesture and interpreted it correctly, because he half turned so he was looking out at the street.

His profile, despite the broken nose, was perfectly chiseled. Not that she noticed.

“I’m fine.” Ignoring his jab, she gripped the edge of the door with one hand, ready to shut it. “Thanks again for stopping.”

He glanced at her as though he was going to say something else, but her expression must have convinced him not to bother. He stepped off the porch instead.

“Okay, then,” he said. “You take care.”

Resisting the urge to watch him walk away, Robin shut the door resolutely. Then she sneaked into the living room, waiting for him to leave so she could deal with the tire. As she stood well back from the window, arms folded across her chest, he got back into the Cherokee and backed onto the street. Her breath stopped in her throat as he stared straight up at the spot where she stood. She was sure he couldn’t see her through the lace curtains, but he raised two fingers to the brim of his hat in a mocking salute before he drove away.

Robin’s arms tightened around her middle. She couldn’t have been more irritated if he’d blown her a kiss. Why couldn’t he be old and fat? If she intended to build a successful practice in Waterloo, she had to get along with people. Even if someone tried to make her feel embarrassed for standing in her own house and looking out her own window!

Before he drove to the corner, Charlie regretted his childish impulse. When he’d seen her figure backlit in the front window, he hadn’t been able to resist letting her know he’d seen her. Especially after her lack of gratitude when he’d taken the trouble to stop and offer to change the tire.

His dented male ego urged him to forget about the prickly new vet. Either she wasn’t interested or she liked playing hard to get, but either way, he didn’t need the aggravation.

Charlie wasn’t so conceited that he expected every woman in town to fall at his feet—even though more than a few of them had. Ever since grade school, he’d been popular with the opposite sex. Unfortunately, in the short time he’d been sheriff he’d come up against that same brittle shell Dr. Robin Marlowe wore on a couple of different occasions. Both of the other women had been victims in one way or another, one raped by a stranger and the other abused by her husband.

Charlie’s fingers tightened on the wheel as he remembered the two women, one hardly more than a girl and the other looking older than she should. Bullies sickened him.

Robin aroused his curiosity, both professional and personal. Was she a victim, too, or was she just in different to the Winchester charm?

Either way, it was nice she had Mae Simms living right next door. Mae had been Charlie’s teacher the year his mother ran off. He’d hurt too much to actually confide in her, but she’d gone out of her way to be kind to him and he’d never forgotten it. She and Ed would look out for their new neighbor, no matter how prickly Robin turned out to be.

Charlie sat at the four-way stop, trying to figure out the best way to approach Robin again. He was about to remove his foot from the brake pedal when a black Honda ran the stop sign on the cross street, nearly removing the front bumper on Charlie’s Jeep. He got a quick glimpse of four boys in baseball caps as the car sped by, and he wondered how the hell they could have missed seeing his official vehicle with its rack of lights on top, as noticeable as an elephant wearing a diamond tiara.

Damn it. He was supposed to be off-duty. Slapping the steering wheel with the flat of his hand as he glanced both ways, Charlie hit the lights and siren. He rounded the corner and stomped on the gas in hot pursuit, laying a nice patch of rubber as he radioed his location to dispatch.

Robin had already walked outside to deal with her flat tire when she heard the police siren slice through the early evening peace like a cleaver through a cube of butter.

“Hotshot show-off,” she muttered under her breath. No doubt Sheriff Winchester enjoyed flashing that tin star, throwing his weight around and playing with guns.

The last thought made her shiver. She didn’t like guns. They made her nervous. She’d grown up in Chicago and she respected the police, but Sheriff Tex was almost too handsome, with matching dimples and an ah-shucks drawl meant to melt women like overheated candle wax.

Good thing Robin was immune to that type of macho charm, or concern for his safety might distract her. The sound of the siren had faded by the time she’d managed to confirm that her spare actually had air. She was trying to make sense of the diagram she found with it when Ed Simms walked up.

“Let me do that for you,” he said, extending his hand for the jack.

With a sigh of mingled defeat and relief, Robin handed it over.

“I want you to come with me out to Winchesters’ spread,” Doc Harmon told her the next morning after he’d ended his phone call.

Since Robin had arrived at the clinic, coffee in hand, she’d met Erline, found out where the supplies were kept and learned how to write up a bill for her time.

“Have they found more dead cattle?” she asked.

“Not as far as I know, but one of Adam’s Appaloosa colts took a spill. He’s like an overprotective mama with his Appies, and he wants the colt’s leg checked out.”

Robin glanced at Erline, who was sitting behind the desk filing her nails. She appeared to be fond of bubble gum and low-cut blouses, but she’d introduced herself with a friendly grin and she seemed competent, even though she’d admitted to a phobia toward reptiles.

“I couldn’t work for a vet who treated snakes,” she’d confided after she’d shown Robin how to write up an invoice for prescription pet food. “I’d quit on the spot.”

“Guess that answers my question on how to get rid of you if the need arises,” Doc Harmon had interjected dryly.

From the way Erline stuck out her tongue, Robin figured her co-workers enjoyed taunting each other.

“I wouldn’t go anywhere with him if I were you,” Erline said now as she put away her nail file. “Not since they came out with those little blue pills.”

Robin’s cheeks went hot with embarrassment, but the doc merely gave his receptionist a pained look. “I should sue you for sexual harassment.”

Erline huffed loudly. “Save yourself the attorney fee and just give me a raise, instead.”

The phone on her desk rang before he could reply. With a wink at Robin, Erline pushed the flashing button and picked up the receiver.

“Harmon Veterinary Clinic. How can I help you?”

Doc Harmon’s expression turned serious. “On occasion you and I will be working closely together,” he told Robin in a low voice. “I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”

She could feel her blush deepen. “Of course not. I came here to get experience treating livestock. I’ll do my best to keep my hands off you.”

For a moment his weathered face went blank with surprise, making her afraid she’d gone too far. Then he began to laugh.

“What did I miss?” Erline demanded after she’d written down an appointment in her book and ended her call. “What, what?”

“Nothing,” Robin and the doc answered in unison.

“You’ll do fine,” he told her, still grinning. “Let’s get going.”

Charlie had spent the better part of the morning driving out past his brothers’ ranch to check out a complaint about graffiti sprayed on the side of John Keller’s barn. Ten minutes spent talking to the oldest son had solved the crime, saved Charlie a mound of paperwork and earned the boy a week’s house arrest—and that was after he painted over his artwork.

The day was hot and still, the temperature high even for the end of July, and a cold soda sounded like a heck of a great idea. As he drove through the open gate to the ranch, barely glancing at the neatly painted wood sign, he chuckled at the thought of the Keller boy’s expression when Charlie had confronted him with the spray can hidden in his room. The boy had gone pale, his freckles standing out like rust spots on his guilty face.

Charlie slowed the Cherokee as he drove past the two-story ranch house where Travis lived with his red-haired wife and their four children. As usual, the wide front porch was hung with baskets of brightly-colored flowers, but today the backyard swings and wading pool were empty. Rory’s van was gone, too. No point in stopping.