Page 63 of Deputy Brand Gets Her Man
Crossing the bunkhouse to the kitchen, he looked through the front window behind the kitchen sink, and saw all the vehicles had gone except his own.
His spine relaxed a little. Beans yipped. He was standing in front of his bowl.
“Shoot, you had dinner at six.”
He barked again.
“Yeah, okay.” Jeremiah obediently put some kibble in the bowl and watched the pup dive in. The vet said to feed him all he wanted for the first year. He had not found the “all he wanted” point yet.
Then he filled a glass with water and turned off lights on his way to the rearmost bottom bunk he’d been using since he’d moved in. Being flush with the rear wall gave him the fullest view of the place, both entrances.
He dropped his towel on the way, then slid between the fresh, clean sheets. He could barely turn his back without Miss Chelsea cleaning the place. She must’ve had a field day, him being out of the bunkhouse overnight.
The thought of Willow brought a sharp stab to his chest, and it surprised him. He missed her. He’d enjoyed being with her, regardless of his reasons. He sighed heavily, laid back on the pillows and reached for his phone. When he unlocked it, he frowned.
The journal app was open.
He hadn’t journaled today.
He swore under his breath, reviewing what had happened before Will had turned on him. He’d taken photos with his phone. One, and then another just before he’d walked away. Why the hell had he left it behind? His brain had said he’d be apt to lose it in the woods, but she was the law. Had he even locked the dang thing?
He was getting sloppy, entirely too comfortable with this family. With Willow, especially. And now she’d probably seen something she thought was incriminating.
Hell.
He tapped the most recently opened files, one of which was his most recent entry, which should be there. What shouldn’t be there was one several days old.
He thought back in his mind, realizing that was the day he and Willow had first kissed.
Son of a gun!
He played the recording, where he’d talked about using her to get the information he needed, and realized how it must look to her. An uncomfortably awful feeling unfurled from the pit of his stomach out into his body. He pushed it back with anger.
“How dare she go through my phone? No warrant, no nothing? She’s s’posed to be the law. Ha!”
The dog had been about to climb onto the bunk, but instead he stood on hind legs to lick Jeremiah’s face. He averted it. The pup sighed heavily and dropped to all fours, turned three times in a circle, then laid down on the floor beside the bed.
The law was the enemy. He’d been raised on that notion since the day his mom had abandoned him to a den of thieves. And yet he’d let his guard down. Had even fantasized that he had feelings for her. Him! An ex-con, going soft on a deputy. What a sad joke.
He went to the journal app and deleted every entry. Then he emptied the trash. He would make a new recording for every date he’d journaled, to overwrite the old files for good.
He tapped the button. “I trusted her, and she betrayed me, and I should’a known better.” Then he saved it, and started the next. “The law is always the enemy. Dad always said so, and he wasn’t lying.” Funny how he’d pulled away from his criminal father, only to now realize how much he’d learned from him. Or should’ve learned. Apparently, he hadn’t learned it well enough. Next recording, “Just keep the goal in mind. Forget about her.”
Easier said than done. He was furious with her.
She was probably furious, too. And she had reason to be, based on what she’d heard. She ought to be mad. He tapped the phone. “She didn’t even listen to my side of it.”
His side of how he was using her to help him find his father’s likely ill-gotten gold?
“I’m damn well gonna make her hear my side of it.”
He put the phone down. The task wasn’t done, but he’d spent all his rage. The awful feeling returned, and he was out of ammo to push it back.
Willow knew. She knew pretty much everything. And he was sick inside.
The pup climbed up onto the bed, his huge paws sinking into Jeremiah’s belly, making him grunt. His hind paws followed as Beans tromped over him, dug at the blankets, turned in a circle, trampling him again, and finally dropped like a sack of feed across Jeremiah’s lower legs and feet.
He put his hand on Beans’ head. “I shouldn’t get so attached when I know you’re not meant for me,” he said. “In the end I have to let you go. Best we both keep that in mind from here on.”
