Page 32 of The Cowboy Comes Home

“Yeah, we did,” the chief answered. “But,” he added with a slight but evocative smile, “it was worth it.

If she didn’t admire and respect the man so much, she’d be envious of his obvious happiness. But nobody deserved it more, and it was self-absorbed of her to even think such a thing.

“Shall I stop byThe Defenderand pass along your appreciation?” she asked, in a tone only slightly mischievous. That was another thing—the chief had a definite sense of humor, and he took the occasional ribbing well.

He grinned at her, clearly taking no offense. “No. She knows. Besides, she won’t be there. She’s heading out to the Baylor place, for an interview.”

Emily blinked. “Oh?”

“Yes. With the guy saving me from having to play MC Wednesday.”

“Lily’s going to interview Tucker?” The words were out before she thought.

His grin widened. “I figured you’d know who I meant. I heard you two had quite the talk last night.”

She felt heat rising to her cheeks as the memory struck.

“I like you, Officer Stratton.”

“Back at you. Although I’d like you more if you just called me Emily.”

“Do you promise that…Emily?”

“That grapevine,” she muttered. Then, in an effort to recover, she said in her most businesslike tone, “He’s a newcomer to Last Stand. Just trying to make him feel welcome.”

“Uh-huh,” the chief said. “Have a good day, Officer Stratton,” he said, matching her tone, but still with that teasing sparkle in his eyes.

And as he waved a salute with the mug and headed back toward his office, she thought for at least the two-thousandth time how very lucky she was to work for him. Down-to-earth genuine heroes were hard to find.

And as she and Lobo headed off to begin their foot patrol, she wondered how many street cops could have a conversation like that with their chief.

*

“So, is trippingmetal detectors the most annoying part?”

“Let’s just say that if it’s less than a thousand miles, I drive.” Tucker answered the question in a wry tone.

So far he’d been surprised by this. He’d done more than his share—by his count anyway—of interviews over the years. Both during his stellar rodeo career and after, and in Hollywood, at least afterStonewallhad taken off. Of course most of those had been trying to get some tidbit out of him about Jackson, but he’d learned to fend those off. And since he had a lot less to lose, he had few qualms about telling off those reporters more interested in personal invasion than the business or the show.

But Lily Highwater was different. When she said human interest, she apparently meant it. She wanted to know the personal side, yes, but it wasn’t the usual surface stuff. She wanted to know how he’d had to change his life after the crash, what reminded him of it, and did it ever come back to haunt him when he was doing stunt work, and did he ever regret deciding to follow that path…deeper questions than he was used to.

So he took his time to think before answering, also noting that she allowed him that, didn’t rush him or push, trying to get him to say something he might not otherwise.

This, he’d realized early on, was a different kind of reporter. He supposed he should have guessed, from what he’d heard about her husband since he’d arrived in Last Stand. Plus when she found out he’d agreed to this, Nic had pulled up the interview she’d done with Jackson, the day the therapy center had opened. It had been an in-depth piece, but focused on the center and the why of it. It had only brushed on the more famous, gossipy stuff of what Jackson had done, and focused instead on the why.

And after Nic had assured him he could trust Lily to be honest—“Not to say she won’t dig, and dig deep”—and not purposely distort or edit what answers he gave her, he found himself opening up more than he would have expected.

And he couldn’t deny his mind kept skittering off to the side, wondering what Emily would think if she read it.

All the more reason to tell the truth. Scare her off.

Because, he’d had to admit in the early morning hours after that night in the saloon, he wasn’t doing such a great job of scaring himself off. Which was something he never would have expected, given his personal history.

And so, when they arrived at what he’d suspected was coming—Lily, as she’d insisted he call her, and who obviously did her homework in depth—he talked about something he never, ever did. And when that was done, and the reporter met his gaze head-on, what she said told him that Nic had been right. He hadn’t misplaced his trust.

“That was obviously painful, Tucker. If you decide you want that cut, let me know by tomorrow night.” She handed him a business card fromThe Defender, on the back of which she’d written her personal cell number.

After she’d gone he sat in the living room of the main house, where Nic’s parents had graciously allowed this to take place, for quite a while, fighting second thoughts.

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