Page 21 of The Cowboy Comes Home

He blinked. “Wait…Chief Highwater’s dad was also…”

“Chief Highwater,” she finished for him with a grin. “Steven Highwater, to be exact.” The grin faltered, as if there were a sad memory connected to the name. But she went on evenly. “And the current Chief Highwater’s brother Sean is a detective famous throughout the state for solving cases no one else can or has. He’s married to one of the family who owns Valencia’s, the best Tex-Mex restaurant in town, and his wife’s mom taught at Creekbend High School for years. His sister, Sage, used to be a part-time dispatcher, but now she runs their ranch and trains reining horses full-time. And keeps her husband, Scott Parrish, who helps run the shooting range we train at, happy. So lots of Highwater connections to the department.”

He was starting to feel a little overloaded, but another name he’d heard came to mind. “And Kane Highwater? I assume he’s related?”

She was grinning now. “Yup. He’s the youngest brother. With a heck of a story of his own.”

“I like his music.”

“So do I. I go see him whenever he’s back in town. Which is more often now that he and Lark have connected. She,” she explained before he inevitably asked, “works for a private adoption agency. And to bring it back full circle, she also helped Tris Carhart work things out with Logan Fox.”

“I think I’m dizzy,” he admitted. This town of Last Stand was a very different sort of place. Maybe the way it had begun, in a literal last stand, had affected the ground here somehow. As if everybody here was bound together, connected, like those people who had fought off a far superior force all those years ago.

But what startled him most of all was that he’d been standing here having this conversation with a cop. A cop on duty, but still friendly, open, helpful, kind…

And sexy as hell.

Oh, no. You are so not going there.

Besides, it wasn’t that. He was just used to the “high tension all the time” attitude back in L.A. But he hadn’t really realized until now, when he was far away from it.

Yes, Last Stand was a different kind of town.

Chapter Ten

Tucker put thelast shirt in the dresser drawer. The big box was finally totally empty. He’d had one of the guys on the crew go by his place and pack up some things and ship them. It had been kind of…enlightening, to realize how few things other than clothes he actually wanted.

“You sure that’s all you want, man?” the guy had asked. “What about all your awards and buckles?”

“I’ll worry about all that later.”

“Man, if it was me, I’d want to polish those suckers every day.”

There had been a time when he’d felt like that. When he’d been riding high both figuratively and literally. Now, all that just felt like debris from something that had been destroyed a decade ago. Now the only metal he thought much about was in his rib cage.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings, thankfully before they descended into bitterness. That didn’t happen often anymore, but when it did, it was as gnawing as it had ever been. He slid the drawer shut and headed for the living area of the borrowed home. Which was, he had to admit, nicer than his small apartment. And blessedly quiet, something he’d forgotten the appeal of in the constant noise of the city.

A second knock came when he was about six feet from the door. Somebody was impatient, and judging by the height the sound seemed to be coming from, he thought he knew who. And sure enough, when he pulled the door open there was Jeremy, with Maverick beside him, and behind him Jackson and Nic.

“Hey, Uncle T! You’re gonna have fun tonight. But so am I. I get to watch my favorite movie, and Nic’s mom’s making me brownies.”

He blinked. He was a bit out of practice in following Jeremy’s train-of-thought explanations. He looked at Jackson, who was grinning at him.

“Night out, bro. Friday night at the Last Stand Saloon, last chance for the locals to gather before the rodeo descends next week.”

Rodeo. Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten that. Or managed to shove it out of his mind.

“Jeremy will spend the evening with my folks,” Nic said, “since they insisted on having him to themselves. So we’re heading over to drop him off, which will give you a chance to dude up a little.” She flashed that killer smile at him. “Not that you’re not going to be the highlight of the evening no matter what you wear.”

“Right,” he said dryly.

The day would never come when he’d been the highlight of any evening if Jackson was around. And he preferred it that way. Jackson handled all that much better than he did or ever could. Besides, being the center of attention reminded him too much of things he’d rather not think about.

“Don’t be thinking of how to beg off, now,” Jackson warned. And Tucker had to admit he’d had the thought he wasn’t quite ready for this. And Jackson knew him too well. “I know the box with your stuff arrived, so get moving.”

And so he found himself back in front of that drawer he’d just filled and closed. He had a couple of western-style dress shirts hanging in the closet, but thought that might be a bit much for his first venture into getting to know Last Stand. At least, until they found out he really was a native Texan. So he pulled out the folded shirt on top, a dark blue Henley, and a pair of lesser-worn jeans that were broken in but not too faded. He’d wear what passed for dress boots for him, which simply meant they weren’t quite as worn as his other pair.

Half an hour later they were pulling into the parking lot behind the saloon in Jackson’s SUV. He’d bought it used, which would surprise some, but his friend had never been one of the “biggest and best to impress” crowd. It had what he needed, and a couple of plusses he’d wanted, ran well and looked okay, so he’d snapped it up. Tucker thought of his own older, smaller SUV locked in the garage adjacent to his apartment in L.A., and wondered if it would make the long trip here.

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