The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(103)

“He’s a sheriff and ranch owner in Idaho,” Caleb said helpfully. “So . . . kind of a cop.”

“Also kind of a cowboy,” Jake added.

Kel rolled his watering eyes. His grandparents had left him and Remy their ranch, which he oversaw, mostly by paying others to handle the day-to-day operations because his dad job was more like a 24/7 job. “I’m just a guy on vacay,” he croaked out. The more accurate term would have been assigned/medical leave, but hell if he was going to share that, or the fact that his still healing broken ribs ached like a bitch, as did the deep bone bruising he’d suffered down the entire right side of his body from being pitched into the air by a moving vehicle.

Caleb snorted. “You don’t do vacay. As evidenced by the fact that you agreed to work for me for the entire three weeks you’re here. I needed him,” he said to Ivy. “He’s got serious skills. He’s going to manage security on several large projects, including my most recently acquired building, the one being renovated into condos.” He looked at Kel. “Ivy’s going to buy one with her brother, who’s an antiquities specialist. It’s a great investment,” he said like a proud parent, even though at thirty-two, he couldn’t have been more than five years older than Ivy.

“Actually, it might just be me investing,” Ivy said. “Brandon just got into that smokin’ deal on the East Coast I was telling you about.”

“The auction house job.”

“Yes, and it’s going to keep him busy for a while, so . . .” She shrugged. “I told him I’d go after this myself.”

“That’s too bad,” Caleb said. “Was looking forward to meeting him.”

There’d been something to Ivy’s tone that was off. Either she was lying or stretching the truth—both things were automatic alarms for Kel. But his eyes were still watering and his tongue was numb, otherwise he might have joined the conversation.

Ivy reached out as if to take away his basket, but he held firm to it and kept eating. He was starting to sweat, and he couldn’t feel his lips, but he also couldn’t get enough.

“Okay, cowboy, it’s your funeral,” she said, and he couldn’t tell if she was impressed or horrified.

A few more people were milling around her truck now, and she eyed her watch.

“They start lining up earlier every day,” Caleb said.

“Hey, Ivy,” one of the guys who was waiting called out. “The fuzz! They’re coming around the corner!”

“Crap!” Ivy ran toward her truck, yelling to the people standing in line, “I’ll be back in ten minutes. If you wait and save my spot, I’ll give you a discount!” And then she slapped the window and door closed and roared off down the street.

Two minutes later a cop car drove by slowly, but kept going. When it was gone, the group of people who’d been lining up all stepped into the empty parking spot Ivy had left.

Ten seconds later, a car came along and honked. The driver wanted the spot.

No one budged.

The window on the car rolled down and a hand emerged, flipping everyone the bird.

This didn’t make anyone move, either, and finally the car drove off.

“What the hell?” Kel asked.

“She’s not supposed to be on the street before seven,” Jake said.

“I’m working on getting her a city permit,” Caleb said. “They’re extremely hard to get.”

“But . . . those people are blocking the street. They could get a ticket.”

“Thought you weren’t a cop,” Caleb said, looking amused.

Kel shook his head and went back to his tacos, and for a guy who believed in the law, when the incredible burst of flavors hit his tongue, he thought maybe he could understand the flagrant disregard of it in this one case.