“Grady, you’re on the clock,” she chastised, her cheeks warming. What was he doing, kissing her like that in broad daylight? She nudged her chin toward the fire marshal. “Not to mention you have company.”
“Buster knows we’re dating.”
“The fire marshal’s name is Buster?”
Grady nodded. “His grandparents raised him. His real name is Ben, but they were big Buster Keaton fans. The nickname they gave him stuck.”
“How does Buster know we’re dating?” And why would the fire marshal care about Grady’s romantic life?
With a shrug, Grady explained, “Most of the town knows it, and those who don’t are too busy with their own lives to give a damn.”
He tugged on her sleeve. “You didn’t answer me, babe. How are you doing?”
“I’m worried, same as before. This was a direct hit.”
One side of his face creased. “We don’t know that.”
“What are the chances of the Winnebago where I usually sleep catching on fire out of the blue?”
“You usually sleep with me now,” he reminded her.
“Officially, though, that burned-up mess was my home.” Where was she going to store her stuff now? Where would she sleep on the nights she didn’t stay in Grady’s bed? Chester had offered her his couch, and while she liked the ornery old goat, that was a little too much of Chester in her daily life.
Then again, what stuff did she need to store? Most of her belongings had burned up in the fire. She was back to square one—homeless and hard up, only this time she didn’t have any jewelry to pawn.
“Let’s wait to see what Buster figures out before jumping to any conclusions,” Grady said, leaning against the front fender.
She frowned toward the charred remains of the camper. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
He turned her chin back in his direction. “Does it have anything to do with my sister canvassing Yuccaville, asking business owners to be on the lookout for a guy with a limp?”
She winced. “For the record, that wasn’t my idea.”
“Let me guess, it was Kate’s?”
“And Penny’s.”
“And what about Aunt Millie and her knitting cronies? How did they get pulled into this?”
Man, he knew everything.
Of course he did. That was his job.
“Millie volunteered. You know how helpful she is.”
“I know how much she likes to start trouble.”
She shifted under his stare. “I would have told you.”
“When?”
“Eventually.” She twisted her fingers together. “What I really need to tell you about is another situation.”
“Something to do with this?” He thumbed behind him.
She nodded. From the waistband of her pants, she pulled out the two letters that had been left on the Winnebago’s windshield and handed them to him.
He opened one and then the other, the lines on his forehead doubling as he read. “Where did these come from?”
“They were under the Winnebago’s windshield wiper.”
“When?” After she gave him the dates, his scowl deepened further.
“The first one spurred us to form the Prickly Pear Posse.”
His head tipped slightly. “The what?”
She went on to explain what they’d been up to behind his back, hugging her arms to her chest as his expression grew more and more stormy.
“Goddamn it, Veronica. When are you going to learn to trust me?”
“I do trust you.”
“If you did, you wouldn’t have formed this posse behind my back.”
She raised her chin, standing tall in the face of his thunder and lightning. “The reason for establishing our posse wasn’t due to a lack of trust in your abilities, Sheriff. We did it to form a solid front.” When he started to speak, she held up her hand. “You can’t be everywhere at once, Grady. You’re only human.”
“This is a matter for the law to handle.”
Her laugh was short and harsh. “If the last year has taught me anything, it’s that life does not abide by rules and regulations. Shit happens. Messy shit. Protectors come in all shapes, badge-wearing or not.”
He growled, dragging his hand down his face. “You can’t just go forming a posse on a whim.”
“That’s not technically correct. According to Arizona state law, a sheriff can request the aid of a volunteer posse.”
His mouth tightened.
“A sheriff can also authorize the posse members to carry firearms,” she continued.
“If and only if they have received proper training,” he finished for her. “Trust me. I know the law. However, I have neither requested nor authorized a posse.”
She shrugged. “Just because you haven’t officially requested one doesn’t mean we can’t form a posse and have it at the ready in case you need us.”
He looked over her shoulder, his face rugged and stony. “Damn it. Penny is right.”
His sister? “About what?”
His amber gaze returned to her. There was no anger in his eyes this time. Nor any frustration. Something else hovered there. Something bright and warm that made her heart swell. “I’ve met my match in you, Veronica Morgan.”
She couldn’t hold back her smile. After the last few days of angst and humiliation and uncertainty, Grady made her feel strong and confident with one loving look. Maybe she needed to see if Cherry from Dirty Gerties had a Wonder Woman costume she could borrow to surprise Sheriff Hardass some night. Although she’d have to pump up the bra part a little to match Lynda Carter’s rack.
“I like your sister even more now,” Ronnie told him. “And your aunt.”
He scoffed in response. “Of course you would.”
“But I love you, Grady Harrison.”
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “Here’s to many future battles with you.” The heated look in his eyes promised more of where that came from later.
“And to the victor go the spoils,” she challenged in return, cupping his bristly cheek.
His chuckle sounded gravelly in his throat. “I do enjoy your ‘spoils,’ babe.”
Ronnie leaned her shoulder against the side of his truck. “They want me to meet your mother,” she said, watching for a reaction to her announcement. “How do you feel about that?”
His frown returned, although it was shallow. He shifted, his moves hesitant. Wary maybe. Or was it something else? “I think
