Page 75 of Deputy Brand Gets Her Man
His eyes were alight. He meant what he was saying. Jeremiah nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Garrett smiled, relaxed his grip, then looked past him toward the bar. Jeremiah turned and saw Willow coming back down the stairs in a pair of jeans and a pretty white blouse with lacy insets at the shoulders. Her black hair hung loose, thank goodness. All he ever wanted to do when it was all pinned up for duty, was set it free.
“I got one more thing to share, Jeremiah,” Garrett said.
Jeremiah nodded but didn’t look at him. His eyes were on Willow’s and hers were on him. “What’s that, sir?”
“She looks at you the same way. Just like a neon sign.” He chuckled softly. "It’s like you two are the only ones who can’t see it.” He chuckled a little harder as he got up and walked back over to the bar.
Willow came to the table just as the band started playing. People were getting up and heading through the archway onto the dance floor, a river of them cutting off her approach.
So he got up and made his way toward her, and she toward him. When they came face-to-face, she clasped his shoulder to keep from being knocked back again and he held her waist, turning her in a circle until they were out of the current.
She looked up at him. He thought maybe she believed him. She said, “I’m of no use to you now. I’m not fixin’ to give you access to stuff you ought not have access to.”
“Are you fixin’ to dance with me, though?”
She shrugged and her eyes dipped, but her lips smiled from below. “I mean, I could. Turns out I have the night off.”
He pulled her into his arms and they joined the folks heading onto the dance floor. The band tonight was Dirt River, one of three local house bands who alternated nights whenever big acts weren’t booked.
He led Willow Brand right into a two-step, and when she caught on, she smiled up at him in surprise. “You can dance.”
“One of crime-dad’s commandments. Know how to pass in society. I had to take lessons in dancing and etiquette and such.”
“He made you do this from prison?”
“He was blind to the irony,” he said.
She said, “I’m sorry your mamma was taken from you so young. It must’ve been awful, I can’t even imagine.”
“Don’t try to,” he said. “It hurt. You learn to live with it.”
“What else can you do?” she asked.
He pulled her a little closer. “More cheerful topics?”
“Sure. You can tell me what you’re lookin’ for, out in the desert with a metal detector.”
He wondered if she already knew. The answer was in his old man’s diary, and Orrin had been alone in the bunkhouse with it. He’d realized just a shade too late how seriously little Nancy Drew and her Hardy Boy Brother took their work as amateur private dicks.
Garrett Brand’s voice played through his head, with a flash of his fiery eyes. More precious than gold.
“My father told me he left some gold here in Quinn. But he didn’t say where.”
She nodded. “What if you’re wrong, and there’s no gold? Have you thought about that?”
He shrugged, because he didn’t want to think about that.
“You said someone is contesting the will. Have you looked into that at all?”
“The lawyer’s handling all that.” He frowned at her. “Why?” Did she know something?
“Look, on the way in here today, I got a message from dispatch. They sent me this.” She pulled out her phone, and tapped it.
A hushed male voice said, “I saw who stole that motorcycle that caused the accident. It was that stray Brand that wears the sombrero.”
Ice water filled Jeremiah’s veins. He looked at Willow, searching her for the accusation.
