Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(16)

“Fuck you,” Jonah said, turning back to his locker. The faster he got out of uniform, the faster this day would be over. And the less likely it would end with Jonah having to explain to IA how Warren’s teeth had ended up down his throat.

“You’re not my type,” Warren said, sounding highly amused. “But, wow, can’t believe a twenty gets me all that.”

“Instead of spending all your brain power figuring out how to get in my pants, why don’t you put the phone away and try doing your job?”

“Somebody’s hormonal,” Warren said, but nobody laughed. They were all too busy staring at Sheriff Bryant, who was standing in the doorway. The guy might be old as dirt and three months from retiring, but even Warren knew to watch his step around the sheriff. He was respected, tough as nails, and the one person who could sink what little chance Warren had of winning the election.

“If you ladies are done wasting county money, we’ve got a four-car pileup on Silverado Trail blocking traffic in both directions,” Sheriff Bryant said. “So quit playing grab ass and head out.”

“Yes, sir,” Warren said, securing his utility belt and shoulder-checking Jonah before he headed out to start his shift.

Sheriff Bryant crossed his arms over his generous spare tire and waited until the room cleared out. “You going to let him be a problem?”

Jonah looked over his shoulder. “No, sir.”

“Good to hear.” The sheriff took in Jonah’s disheveled condition, the pink cuffs on the bench, and chuckled. “We need to talk about it?”

“Christ no.”

He nodded, looking relieved. “I took you off the schedule tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’ve worked too many overtime hours this month and I don’t need billing on my ass.” His smile faded. “If you’re going to last as sheriff, son, then you need to find some kind of balance. As tired as you look, I’d bet you haven’t had more than fifteen hours of sleep this week.”

It was probably less. Sleep and Jonah didn’t mix anymore. He just lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the things he wished he could do over. Which was why he needed that overtime.

“That’s what I thought.” Bryant lowered his voice. “Son, in your condition, you’re more of a harm than a help. So do me a favor and go home and spend your TO in bed resting, instead of building a fence to impress some girl.”





Shay looked at the bag in her hand that was getting wetter with every drop of rain, then back to Jonah’s front door, but no matter how much she willed her feet to take that last step to his porch, she couldn’t seem to make any progress.

It wasn’t the idea of apologizing that got her. Shay had made her way through life using the trial and error method, and as such was a firm believer in owning your mistakes. It was apologizing when she wasn’t sure how it would be received that was hard for her. And after her earlier attempt with another neighbor, it was no wonder why she was waffling.

Moments ago, Shay had swallowed her pride and gone to Estella to find common ground and maybe end this ridiculous feud by offering to put Foxy Cleopatra’s photo on her blog. Hell, she would have offered to make Foxy the Cuties with Booties’ official mascot if it meant getting her fosters inside Bark in the Park and finding a few of them families—but Estella had slammed the door in Shay’s face.

It seemed no matter how hard she tried, the woman had it out for her, as though she could tell Shay didn’t belong, and that hurt.

The truth always hurts, she thought, because she knew that Estella wasn’t the problem. Shay was. She had a hard time fitting in. Always had, because every time she started to fit, the space changed, the family changed—and with that expectations.

The last time she’d thought she finally found her place, she’d been sorely mistaken. It had taken her two painful years to overcome that heartache, and ever since she’d been more gun-shy than ever.

But here, in St. Helena, she wanted to do more than fit. She wanted to belong to something bigger than herself. Be a part of this town in the same way as Emerson and Harper. She just wasn’t sure she knew how.

She looked down at the bag and took in a humbling breath.

“The last person who threw a flaming poop bomb at a deputy’s house wound up with two hundred hours of community service and a permanent record,” an amused and incredibly sexy voice said from behind her.

“I’ve already got a record.” To prove that point, Shay slowly raised both hands over her head, the suspicious bag clearly visible, dangling from her fingers. “And this isn’t a poop bomb, it’s an olive branch.”

“Trouble, it sounds like you and I need to have a serious conversation about what olive branch means.”

At his casual demeanor, Shay turned around and dropped her hands to her sides. “Seriously?” She waved her free hand to encompass the general vicinity of where his holster usually hung. “You aren’t even armed.”

Jonah leaned against his cruiser parked on the street in front of his house. He was in a pair of worn button-flies and a soft-looking T-shirt, his forearm leisurely resting on the window frame, a ball cap pulled low on his head, looking so solid and together it was annoying.

He looked down to where she was pointing and grinned. “That could be argued.”