Like Lincoln had.
The man really was Sherlock Holmes. A sexy Sherlock Holmes with a soft spot that had surprised Dixie. And kind of turned her on. The mixture of tough badass on the outside and mushy marshmallow on the inside was a heady combination. As was a bad boy turning into a Texas Ranger. She wondered if he had any bad boy tendencies left . . . like maybe in the bedroom. She doubted it. He seemed way too straitlaced. But it was an intriguing thought.
“You’re going to tell my daddy about me shoplifting, aren’t you?” Cheyenne cut into her thoughts.
Dixie didn’t want to tattle on the sweet teenager, but Lincoln was right. “If I don’t, he’ll just hear it from the townsfolk. It would be much better if he were to hear it from me. Or better yet, you.”
“Do I have to tell him what I stole? I mean, he gets real flustered when he tries to talk to me about girl things.”
Dixie cringed at the thought of what it would’ve been like if she’d had to talk to own father about puberty. Her mama had handled all those delicate subjects. In fact, her father hadn’t really talked to Dixie about anything but her grades and how she was doing in school. Senator Meriwether hadn’t wanted a girl. He’d wanted a boy. He loved Dixie. She never doubted that. But he’d never known quite what to do with her. Until recently, when he’d decided if he couldn’t have a son follow in his footsteps, he’d have to settle for his daughter doing it. And maybe that’s why she didn’t want to go to law school. She was terrified of disappointing her father.
Just like Cheyenne.
“If your daddy gets embarrassed just talking about feminine hygiene products, then he should understand completely why you didn’t want to ask him for them,” Dixie said. “And maybe it will make him a little more aware of your needs.” She paused. “What happened to your mama, honey?”
Cheyenne pressed her lips together as she picked a bigger hole in the knee of her jeans. “She ran off when I was little.”
The poor kid’s story just kept getting worse and worse. Dixie’s heart broke for her. “And it’s just been you and your daddy ever since?”
“He had a girlfriend when we lived in Abilene, but then my grandma got sick and we had to move here to help her out. She passed a few months back and Dad’s been looking for another job in Abilene. Until he finds one, he’s been fixing people’s cars here since we have Granny’s trailer to live in.”
Granny’s trailer wasn’t much. As soon as Dixie saw it, she knew Cheyenne hadn’t been lying about their money issues. The trailer was small and old. But it looked like it was also well cared for. The siding was painted a soft green while the trim and wooden steps leading up to the door were painted a darker jade. The rose bushes in front were pruned and a big oak shaded most of the yard where a beat-up pickup truck was parked with its hood up.
“My dad’s home,” Cheyenne said with more than a little dread in her voice.
Dixie pulled in behind the truck. “Don’t worry, honey. Dealing with daddies is one of my specialties. Now keep looking just like you’re looking—scared and on the verge of tears—and let me do all the talking.”
As they climbed out of the SUV, a man with sandy hair and kind eyes peeked around the open hood of the truck. He first looked at Dixie, then at his daughter. Cheyenne’s guilty expression must’ve cued him in that this wasn’t a social call.
“What happened, Cheyenne Danielle?” he asked. Poor man had to deal with losing his mama and finding a job. Now the cops had brought home his teenage daughter. Dixie vowed right then and there to make this as easy as possible on him.
She pinned on a bright smile. “Hi, Mr. Daily.” She held out a hand. “Deputy Dixie Meriwether.”
He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped off his hands before taking hers for a brief shake. “Cal Daily. Nice to meet you.” He looked between her and his daughter. “What’s going on, Deputy? Is there a problem?”
“Just a tiny one, but not anything to get too concerned about. I’m so sorry to hear about your mama. God bless the mamas of the world and may she rest in peace.”
“Thank . . . you.” He glanced at Cheyenne who was still cuddling Queenie close. “What kind of problem? And where did you get that cat?”
“It’s my . . . official deputy cat. And there’s really no problem. Just typical kids’ antics. Nothing to get upset about. I’m going to let Cheyenne tell you all about it later. Right now, I wanted to ask if you would be willing to help me out. Cheyenne mentioned that you worked on cars and I happen to be in desperate need of a mechanic. My patrol car seems to be making this weird pinging noise.”
He hesitated for a second before he nodded. “Sure. I can take a look at it. Just pop the hood.”
Fifteen minutes later, he still hadn’t found what was causing the pinging noise, but Dixie had regaled him with some of her funniest pageant stories and had him grinning like a fool.
“I’ve heard some amusing stories in my life—especially when I worked as a bartender at Cotton-Eyed Joe’s in my early twenties—but I never thought the funniest stories would come from beauty pageants.” He slammed the hood closed. “And here I thought those women did nothing but fight.”
“There were a few of those, but mostly we got along like sorority sisters. Being in a beauty pageant is hard work and stressful and as my mama always says, ‘Family warms the heart, but friends warm your soul.’ Now what do I owe you,
