Page 30 of The Cowboy Comes Home

Holy hell, was there nothing that man wouldn’t do?

He’d already seen, because Tris had sent it to Jackson, the famous video of that same Highwater taking out a terrorist in a suicide vest on his way to a crowded arena. And doing it while the man held a deadman switch. If the thing had worked properly, he’d have been blown up along with the guy. And yet he’d done it, carefully choosing what he had to have thought was his own place to die, a wide open space where he would have been the only casualty. Well, unless you counted the terrorist, which Tucker wasn’t willing to do.

He remembered Jackson warning him ahead of time he might not want to watch it. But Tris had sent it with a note saying this was the epitome of Last Stand, and so he had. And it had shaken him, enough that he had to go for a walk afterward to settle himself.

And now, standing here in the center of this small Hill Country town, all he could think was that even here being a cop could get you killed.

He had to turn away from the statue, but when he did it put him in a direct line with another sign just down the side street. That fourth building in the city center.

The police station.

The image of Emily from last night shot through his mind, in that silky gold top that matched her eyes, in those jeans that had about popped his own eyes out of his head. But it was immediately supplanted by the memory of the first time he’d seen her, in uniform, weapon at her hip, all the other gear on her belt, and the big black dog at her feet.

The quintessential cop.

He supposed there were statistics out there that compared the death rate of police officers to that of the general public. He didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want to even think about how great the difference might be.

Because the big numbers don’t count. It’s that one single death that matters.

“Reading about our local heroes?”

He looked up at the smiling woman who had paused beside him. She was lovely, with bright auburn hair and green eyes flecked with gold. She also wore a rather large wedding ring, and to top it off was carrying a baby who was squirming as if all he wanted was to get down on the ground so he could do that walking thing again. It made him smile in turn.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “You seem to grow them here.”

“More than our share, I’m sure.” She freed a hand and held it out. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Culhane.”

He blinked, startled. She laughed. “The buzz has already begun, about you opening at the rodeo. For which I have to thank you. You saved my husband from the task, so now I can turn this guy—” she nodded at the child “—over to him and I can enjoy the day. And, if you wouldn’t mind, maybe have a chat with you? I’m Lily Highwater, and I write profiles for the local paper,The Defender.”

His brain was racing to keep up. He went through everything she’d just dumped on him in about thirty seconds.

“Let me make sure I’ve got this,” he said, unable to stop a chuckle from escaping. “You already know about what I just got asked to do last night, you’re married to the police chief who was going to do it, and you’re a reporter who wants an interview?”

She laughed. The baby in her arms giggled. And Tucker found himself fully laughing in turn. “You pretty much have it,” she admitted.

How did she already know? Was the Last Stand grapevine Nic had told—warned?—him about really that fast? Or had Maggie Rafferty notified someone? Maybe she hadn’t had to, maybe she’d told whoever needed to know she was going to arrange it, knowing in advance nobody in this town would say no to her.

Even somebody who’d been here less than a week.

Normally he would have cringed at the very idea of an interview with a reporter, although it was hard to equate the ones he’d encountered in L.A. with this pretty woman with the squirmy child in her arms. Still, he was long past that, both here and in Hollywood. And who knew what she’d want to drag out of the muck to talk about. And that thought made his curiosity spark.

“You’re a reporter married to the police chief? How does that work?”

“Simple. I changed from reporting on news, where there could be a conflict of interest, to writing human interest stories, which is what I always wanted to do anyway. And you would be a fascinating subject. But the best thing about talking to me is, if you tell me something in confidence, or that something’s off-limits I actually listen.”

“Wow,” he said. Then he added dryly, “Don’t ever try to get a job in Hollywood.”

She wrinkled her nose as if she’d just smelled something unpleasant. And he laughed again.

“So what do you say?” she asked, shifting the child, who was clearly getting restless. She kissed the top of the boy’s head, whispered, “In a moment, Stevie.”

Stevie. Something flashed through his mind, something Emily had told him about the current chief being the son of a prior chief.Steven Highwater, to be exact.

“Named for his grandfather?”

This time she looked surprised. “Yes.”

He remembered the brief shadow that had darkened Emily’s golden eyes, and before he thought, asked, “What happened to him?”

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