Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(21)
Jonah blew out a breath. “I can drop by after I finish up here.”
The sheriff’s phone lit up. He glanced at the screen and held it up so Jonah could get a good look at the caller. It was Judge Pricket’s personal number. “Not sure that’s soon enough.”
“I’ll take it,” Warren cut in, surprising both Jonah and the sheriff.
Then again, face time with a man as influential as the judge would only help Warren in the race. But the sheriff knew what Jonah knew, that with Warren on the job, this disgruntled neighbor call had a 50 percent chance of escalating into bloodshed. “You two figure it out, but make it go away.”
“Yes, sir. I got this, sir,” the prick said, all smiles as the sheriff headed back to his office.
Jonah barely resisted telling Warren it would be less obvious if he kissed the boss’s ass directly. Instead he thought about the reports needing his attention, Warren’s willingness to do his job, and gave in. “You sure?”
“Yeah, man. Wouldn’t want the town to think we only handle the calls we want,” Warren said, popping in a breath mint and heading to the door. “Plus, have you seen the dog walker’s ass?”
Jonah had. Just like he’d seen that smug look on Warren’s face before. Which was why the paperwork would have to wait.
It was way past feeding time for the kittens, so Shay picked up the pace, much to Jabba’s irritation. Her oldest foster liked to smell the roses—and pee on each and every one of them. Which made for uncomfortable conversations with her neighbors.
At seeing Mrs. Pricket’s prized rose garden ahead, lining the sidewalk like a giant invitation, Shay pulled a treat from her pocket and wafted it in front of the dog’s nose while tugging the leash toward the other side of the street. “Come on, you know you want it.”
Jabba did want it, by the way his eyes became saucers and his nose went into overdrive, snorting and nudging at Shay’s hand to get to the bacon treat hiding inside. He also wanted the roses, and even though he was short, he was built like a tank, which meant she had to really sell that treat—or deal with her neighbor. And since they’d already shared words earlier that morning over Jabba raiding her garbage can, Shay upped the ante, doubling the treats.
It worked.
They had made it to the middle of the street when Jabba stopped. Ears up, tail slowly raising like a periscope, the dog took one last step, then dug his paws in, eyes riveted by the sight of a couple of police cruisers down the street. In front of her house.
Shay’s heart did a little digging in of its own, because there, past the rose garden and two driveways down, walking the perimeter of her house in a pair of black combat boots, department-issued pants, and a gun belt that said your friendly neighborhood badass, was just the man she’d never want scoping out her house.
She considered dragging Jabba back the way they’d come, or demanding to see Jonah’s warrant, but then, with the brute strength that came from being a beat cop for years, Jonah pulled himself up on her fence, balancing on the lip while he proceeded to lean over—way over—so he could peek through her side window and check out, most likely, the source of the barking.
Knowing that there was nothing to see—through that window at least—Shay did some checking of her own, taking her time to fully inspect the best ass wine country had to offer, which, in her defense, was practically begging her to look her fill.
And then it happened: Jonah hopped off the fence and his baton caught on a loose board, flipping up and out of his utility belt and landing on the grass. Jabba, taking this as a clear sign that a game of fetch was being called, gave an enthusiastic bark and lumbered down the street, not stopping until he had the baton in his mouth.
The dog made three complete circles of the yard before returning to drop it at Jonah’s feet, where he sat patiently, waiting for him to pick up the stick and give it a good throw.
Jonah did pick it up, carefully, with the tips of two fingers, and even from a distance Shay could see the slobber dripping off. She was about to apologize when Jonah dropped down to his knee and gave Jabba a hearty rub behind the ears.
“Hey, Sheriff,” she said when she reached her yard. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s Deputy.” Jonah straightened to his full height, tipped his hat back, and quietly studied Shay. His gaze went from her tennies to her lips, and all the good spots in between, only he didn’t smile, didn’t return the greeting. In fact, he seemed irritated and a little pissed—at her, which wasn’t unusual given their past. But given their immediate past, it rubbed her the wrong way.
“And can you clarify what you’re apologizing for?” Jonah asked, deflecting Jabba’s face, which was heading straight for his goods this time, only to make a hard left for his pocket.
“That’s right, you’re not sheriff yet, which I bet is why you’re here, snooping in my yard.” She took in his shirt, damp with the heat from the day, his pants riddled with foxtails and dandelion seeds, and smiled. “If you want to put a VOTE BAUDOUIN FOR SHERIFF sign in my yard, I need to hear your stance on implementing a mandatory spay and neuter law first.”
“I’m more interested in your stance on occupancy laws,” he said, triggering a spark of something unnerving in Shay.
There was no way he could be referring to the kittens. She’d been so careful to keep them hidden, keeping them sequestered in the spare bedroom with the curtains drawn, and stealthily inquiring about people looking for a kitten.