On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(5)

“Oops. Watch your head, Ted.” Kenny grinned at Zane and Stevie. “Morning, guys! I’ve got the first drunk and disorderly of the holiday weekend.”





CHAPTER 2


Stevie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Ted looked faintly familiar. No doubt he’d gone to school with her or one of her siblings. He looked about the right age, but he also looked like he’d been sleeping under an old truck with an oil leak. His jeans were torn, and he had a severe case of bedhead that sent his hair pointing in all directions. His unfocused gaze tried to calibrate as he looked in her direction.

“That Stevie?” he slurred. “I heard the boss’s daughter was back in town! Lookin’ good, babe.”

Kenny yanked on his arms again. “Didn’t your mama teach you any manners?”

“I’d like to teach her some manners.” Ted leered at Stevie.

Stevie mentally rolled her eyes. Ted had imbibed liquid confidence. “Hey, Ted. We can set up a date later, okay?”

Delight passed over his face and his eyes briefly crossed. “Yeah, baby.”

“What’s your wife gonna say to that, Ted?” Zane asked from behind Stevie.

Ted wilted. “Oh. Forgot.” He shook his head back and forth, staring at the floor, his zest and confidence evaporating as he remembered.

Stevie glanced back at Zane with a grin and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners in response. His grin sent her stomach into a slow spin. His eyes were the exact color of her softest pair of jeans. The ones she knew she could always slip into when craving comfort. The pair her ex had claimed drove him crazy . . . in a good way.

“Ted decided to start the day by taking a baseball bat to his wife’s car windshield,” Kenny said. “She’s the one who called it in. His son tried to stop him, and I swear he was about to use the bat on the kid when I pulled up.”

Stevie’s smile faded. “How old’s the son?”

Kenny gave Ted a shake and asked, “How old’s Russ? Twelve? Thirteen?”

“Fifteen,” Ted spit out. “Full of piss. Little punk-ass was trying to take my bat away.” He looked at Stevie with crazy eyes. “Just because I haven’t worked in a while, Goddamned Loretta thinks she can do whatever she wants and stay out until two in the morning. I’ll show her—”

“Shut up,” Zane said calmly, cutting off Ted’s tirade. “Put him in the holding cell until he’s sober enough to speak with a little respect.”

Kenny nodded and hauled Ted down a second hallway.

“Know him?” Zane asked.

Stevie shrugged. “Looks familiar. What’s the last name?”

“Warner.”

A faint bell clanged somewhere in her memory. “I didn’t know him very well. Maybe one of my brothers did. Between the four of us, usually one of us knows everyone.”

“Is that a good thing?” Zane asked.

Stevie started to laugh but saw he was totally serious. His dark brows had pulled together as he questioned her.

“A good thing to know everyone? Yes and no. Truthfully, I missed seeing familiar faces every day. But in Solitude it’s a bit of overload if you grew up here. I couldn’t wait to get out of town.”

“But now you’re back.” Zane didn’t phrase it as a question, but she saw the curiosity in his eyes.

“Yes, I am.” She didn’t elaborate.

Small Town Rule #1: Share secrets only when you want the entire town to know.

She didn’t know Zane. So far he seemed solid, and Roy must think well of him to have had him take over.

He was a big guy—several inches over six feet—and clean-cut. His hands were wide and calloused, with a few scars, and his knuckles looked like he’d scraped them on something rough a dozen times. Someone’s face?

Zane’s smile was slow, like he had to think something over before he decided if it was worth his amusement. But when he did smile, it felt like warm honey flowed over her skin.

Clanging alarms went off in her head.

She’d fallen for the hot cop before. It wasn’t going to happen again.

The front of the small police station suddenly felt too small, as if all the walls had moved in several feet. Zane was still looking expectantly at her.

“I missed my family,” Stevie blurted. “I missed tall fir trees, clean rivers, and icy-cold mornings that hinted at snow.”

Where did that come from?

“But those mornings rarely deliver on actual snow,” Zane finished for her.

She smiled. “Obviously you’ve spent enough time in Solitude to experience the yearly tease of the snow.”

“I’m from eastern Oregon,” Zane answered. “We get real snow there. I don’t miss measuring the snowfall in feet, but I’d like to occasionally get something more than a few flurries. A little less rain wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Amen,” agreed Stevie. The tension in the room lessened a bit. That’s what talking about the weather will do. “Do you go—”

A teenage boy and his father came through the front door. The boy looked slightly green, very rumpled, and extremely unhappy. He didn’t meet Stevie’s eyes as she sized him up.

“Morning, Zane. Miss.” The father touched the brim of his ball cap and nodded at Stevie.