Page 11 of Deputy Brand Gets Her Man
Willow did the same. A lot of the time they spent down here, they spent in silence, just being together and being with the land. The sounds of birdsong were nature’s symphony, and they were backed up by the water laughing and tumbling over stones and splashing back on itself. The air tasted like peppery sagebrush and sunshine.
Relaxing a little, Willow sat down on the log and sipped her coffee.
“So,” Taylor said at length. “Jeremiah Thorne, huh?”
Willow choked and coffee came out her nose. She coughed, swallowed then asked, “What about him?” She hadn’t looked at her mother.
“That’s what I’m asking you,” her mom said.
Willow set her mug of Joe on a flat fungus the size of a plate, growing off the side of a tree nearby. “What is this here, a shelf fungus?”
“A change-of-subject fungus, no doubt,” her mom replied. “Do you like him?”
She shrugged. “What’s not to like?”
“Must be something, or you wouldn’t be so unsettled about it.”
“I don’t love that he’s an ex-con who did a year for assault.” She shrugged. “But he says he didn’t do it.”
“Do you believe him?”
Willow took a deep breath. “Yeah, I do. That’s the problem. Why would I believe him when he’s saying the same thing every man convicted of anything in the history of the law says?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m objective.”
“That must mean you like him.”
“Oh, I like him all right.” Willow’s head was down, but she lifted her gaze to see her mom’s mischievous grin. “Did you know there were dimples hidin’ under all those whiskers?”
“I did not,” her mother said, and she laughed softly.
But it died when hoofbeats approached, and three familiar forms came nearer, broad shouldered and topped in cowboy hats. Willow’s father and his big brother in every sense of the word, Uncle Garrett, rode side by side, but it was the guy bringing up the rear who held her attention. Jeremiah, riding like he was used to it. He was wearing the sombrero, and for some reason she thought it was hot. Why would she think that?
Uncle Garrett’s star was pinned to his chest, so he was on duty, and Willow’s dad didn’t look too happy. Neither did Jeremiah.
Taylor rose up, coffee mug in her hands, and called out, “What’s wrong?” Because it was obvious something was.
Uncle Garrett looked at Willow’s father. “You tell her, Wes.”
Her dad shook his head, “Uh-uh, this is your deal, not mine.” That with an apologetic look at Jeremiah.
“What’s your deal, Uncle Garrett?” Willow noted the looks exchanged between her mom and dad. Those two could communicate without a word. Sometimes it seemed as if they had telepathy or something. Creepy.
She looked at Jeremiah, wishing he’d say something. He held her eyes, gave her a very slight flash of dimple that told her everything was okay.
“Well, I don’t mean to offend you in any way, now, Willow,” Uncle Garrett began.
“Sounds like you’re about to, though.” She got up, too, lifted her chin, looked her uncle in the eye, and waited to be offended.
“Jeremiah, here, says he was with you last night, around midnight. Is that true?”
Taylor stepped in front of her daughter. “Garrett Ethan Brand, how dare you ask your niece—my daughter—something like that?”
“I told you,” Wes muttered, picking up his hat to run his other hand over his hair, then lowering it again.
Willow moved up beside her mom and squared up to her uncle, much as she could with him being atop a horse. “Yep, you were right. You offended me.”
Her mother’s hand curled over her shoulder. “We were both with Jeremiah around that time,” Taylor said. “I was eager to show Willow the cradle liner I had made for Ethan and Lily’s shower. I saw her lights on, so I knew she was up and I walked out to the cottage.” She looked at Willow, her brown eyes urging her to go ahead and tell the rest.
Willow sighed, looked at Jeremiah again, realized he’d probably been told to keep quiet until she’d provided him an alibi, for what, she couldn’t imagine.
