Need You for Keeps (5 page)

The article went on to praise the department in its rescue of Valley Vintage’s lost resident, at the same time promoting Shay’s calendar, which had Deputy Warren featured. It even went as far as to quote Shay about the success of the day.

“Deputy Jonah handled the crowd like a pro,” she read aloud and cringed. Yeah, unfortunately, she’d said that. Not that Nora had told her what the article was for when she’d called—or how bad it would make Jonah look.

No wonder he’d been absent this morning. He was probably handling the fallout of the article, explaining to his boss how he’d ended up in the center of a mob of drunken seniors cheering for their man candy. He didn’t seem to be the kind of guy to get angry over a silly photo. But it couldn’t be good for his campaign.

Jonah was obviously working hard to cement that upstanding superhero persona he had going on. And Superman did not strip for charity. A shame, since Jonah on her cover would have doubled her profits.

“I should go apologize,” Shay said, surprised at the unexpected need to see if he was all right. To make sure he didn’t blame her.

“Apologize?” Ida laughed. “For what?”

QuarkQuarkQuark.
This from Norton, who was sitting on Jabba’s back as though trying to hatch him.

“I agree, dear,” Peggy said. “Best press that man’s gotten all year. He’s actually smiling. See.”

She saw all right. A double dose of dimples with a set of lips so kissable that Shay’s body zinged. Silly, since she’d long ago stopped believing in zing. Only there was a definite zinging going on in her belly—and lower.

“Damn.”

Quark!

“Watch your mouth. Norton’s been repeating what he hears and the grandkids are repeating him,” Ida explained, then pointed her bony finger at the bottom of the page with so much force she nearly punched a hole right through it. “But I was talking about this.”

At the bottom of the page was a color ad for Bark in the Park.

“They moved it to the last weekend in August,” Peggy said quietly from over Shay’s shoulder.

“What?” Shay looked at the date and felt her stomach hollow out. “But Bark in the Park is always the third weekend. Always.”

“Now it’s the same day as the big signing here,” Peggy said, resting a hand on Shay’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know how much you were looking forward to this event.”

An event that, if this ad was accurate, was now irrelevant. Because, if Shay was honest with herself, and she always was, she knew that given the choice between attending a fifty-year tradition held by one of the town’s oldest families or a cookie and soda mixer with the town’s newest tumbleweed-transplant, Shay and her dogs would come in a cool second.

“I guess I’m going to have to change it,” Shay said as though it wasn’t a huge deal. As though she hadn’t already sent out a few hundred flyers. As though it wasn’t mentioned in the article above. Changing it now would be a major undertaking and Estella knew that. “She did it on purpose, to get me back for the calendar.”

“Oh boy,” Peggy said, her face going soft in that grandmotherly way that always had Shay sweating. Having people care about how she felt was unfamiliar and a little scary, because she was afraid that once she got used to it, the caring would go away. “Keep reading.”

Shay did, skipping past the list of vendors, the photo of Foxy dressed like Cleopatra and Estella like the Sphinx, reading the fine print under the last line.

“No peddling of pets allowed.” Shay looked up, a bad feeling settling in her chest. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that Estella bullied the Companion Brigade to change their policy on allowing breeders and rescues into the event,” Ida said. “She says it is about honoring companions, not selling them.”

“I’m not selling them.” On average, she lost a few hundred dollars with each adoption, which was why she’d come up with the calendars to begin with. Every calendar sold helped to pay for vet bills and keep her fosters fed and housed until they went to their families. “And she can’t do that, not so close to the event,” Shay said, rereading the ad but knowing there was nothing she could do to change it.

Bark in the Park was run by the Companion Brigade, and Estella was their long-standing and much-respected president. If she said no peddling, then Shay was out of luck.

“Bark in the Park is my biggest adoption event of the year.” Shay felt her throat begin to close.

“That’s why she did it,” Peggy said, laying a hand on Shay’s.

“It doesn’t make any sense. Cutting out breeders and rescues cuts into the event’s profits.” Unlike pet owners, who could participate for free, people like Shay had to pay to play—a hundred dollars a pop. “She’d have to refund everyone’s money.”

“She already cut the reimbursement checks. Justified it by saying distinguished organizations deserve distinguished members,” Ida said, and that got a big quack out of Norton.

“She’s punishing all those pets because I didn’t put Foxy in the calendar.”

“She’s doing this because she thinks the dogs in your calendar have an advantage to be named this year’s Blue Ribbon Barker and will upstage her Foxy Cleopatra,” Peggy explained.

Shay snorted. “I wish, but every year a purebred wins.” Usually it was Estella’s. “There is no way one of my mutts would take the crown.”

“Every woman in this town has a calendar hanging on their wall, telling them just who the finest tail is in wine country,” Peggy said.

“She’s right,” Ida agreed. “Not even Estella’s reputation and pull can compete with mutts with trading cards and coordinating man candy.”

“Yeah, well trading cards and man candy will only find the calendar dogs homes. I was hoping to capitalize on the draw of the calendar to place other animals.”

“You still have the big signing,” Peggy offered.

She closed her eyes, because no, she realized painfully, she didn’t. “My guys aren’t available the weekend before.” They’d all made it clear that they needed advance notice to make sure they could get the time off work. “Some guys had to take personal days to be there. So if I change the date, a bunch of them won’t be able to come, and if I keep the date I am competing with Bark in the Park. It’s like this whole calendar thing was for nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, dear,” Peggy said, placing an arm around Shay’s shoulders. “You have the money to help dozens of animals get their shots.” But if she couldn’t find her animals homes, then the money was worthless. “And don’t forget those cute kittens back there. You’ll find them a good home.”

It wasn’t the kittens or the pinup pets Shay was worried about. It was the older pets, the awkward ones with special needs who were hard to place. Those were the ones who needed Bark in the Park. Needed a little extra exposure to show how wonderful and loving they could be.

Those were the ones who people like Estella Pricket always overlooked.

Jonah was done.

Done with this shift. Done with the weather. He was done with the whole damn day.

That it should have been his day off only made it worse, but with the department desperately understaffed, three rookies on the schedule, and Mother Nature flipping them the bird by dumping three inches of rain before lunch, Jonah had been called in.

He’d spent the morning doing traffic control and dealing with tourists going faster than the weather permitted, and the afternoon fielding a bunch of BS calls. It turned out the
St. Helena
Sentinel
had sold a record number of copies, even doing a rush second print after lunch. Which meant that three out of every four calls he’d responded to after that had been female—single ones, married ones, widowed ones, ones with walkers—all wanting to know if the deputy made house calls and if his gun was really as big as it looked.

Soaked through to the bone and wanting nothing more than to get out of his wet clothes, Jonah dropped his hat on the back of his chair and made his way to the locker room, surprised to find half the squad standing around as though the rest of the team weren’t out in the storm, busting their asses trying to keep up with the high call volume.

It was weird. They were all geared up and ready to head out, only they weren’t moving, just standing there shooting the shit. And, in a stellar example of what
not
to do on the job, Warren sat on the bench, clicking away on his phone.

Telling himself that it wasn’t his business how Warren handled his shift, Jonah opened his locker, took one look at the pair of pink fuzzy cuffs dangling from the hook, and that twitch—the one that had started behind his right eye the second he’d seen the morning paper—gained ground until his whole head throbbed.

Warren was looking for a fight, and after Jonah’s day he wanted to give him one. Only he wasn’t that guy anymore, couldn’t afford to be, so he plastered on a laid-back grin that he sure as hell didn’t feel. “I think your girlfriend left these in my locker.”

He tossed the cuffs to Warren, who caught them midair, and with a grin that was more shit-eating than good-natured, the prick pulled out a twenty and waved it. “For the record, how much will this get me?”

“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.”

S
hay 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.”

My oh my
, was the straitlaced sheriff flirting? Part of her brain was saying yes, he was. The other part was screaming at her to abort mission. He might not be armed, but when he looked at her like that, she knew he was dangerous—to her mental well-being.

And just maybe her heart.

Jonah pushed off the car, taking his sweet-ass time to stroll up the walkway, not stopping until she could see the rain on his lashes. Eyes on hers, he reached out, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. His hands were headed for her hips, and when his lips parted slightly, her knees wobbled and her pulse raced and she made the split decision, right there on Jonah’s lawn, that she’d kiss him back.

His gaze slowly dropped to her mouth—then lower.

To the bag—saving them both from making a huge freaking mistake when he took it to test its weight and size. After a thorough investigation, which must have passed inspection, he stepped back and grinned.

“Too heavy to be dog shit,” he said as though he were uncovering evidence to prove the identity of JFK’s assassin. He shook it and it rattled. His brows went up. “Last I checked, branches don’t clink, so you want to talk about why you’re trespassing on private property in the middle of the night?”

“It’s barely eight and you’re not even on duty.”

She reached for the bag and he held it over her head. “I’m always on duty.”

Didn’t she know it.

Admitting she wasn’t tall enough to snatch it back, Shay gave up. Then went for honest. “I came to say thanks and to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Jonah raised a single brow, then cautiously peeked inside and smiled at her over the rim of the bag.

“You brought me beer.” His expression softened, bringing forth that annoying zing. Only this time it wasn’t so annoying. It felt—nice. “My favorite brand.”

“I know,” she said, and damn if her face didn’t heat.

He seemed surprised by her statement, but it was true. She’d done a little investigation of her own and discovered everyone’s favorite deputy was a beer connoisseur. She’d watched him on occasion, sipping a bottle on his front porch, but until today she hadn’t known that it was his thing.

Even though they had never spent any significant length of time together, she knew he took pride in his ability to protect and serve. He showed it every day in the way he cared for his family, his house, his town, and its people—even when it came to pain-in-his-ass neighbors carrying suspicious brown paper bags. And the other day he had cared enough about Shay and her dogs to look the other way when she’d messed up, then he sat with her while she mourned the loss of one of her babies, as though he understood her struggle in saying good-bye.

She wanted to acknowledge that and say thanks.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.

“I wanted to. I mean, it isn’t a big deal. It’s . . .”

Shay didn’t know how to finish that statement. In fact, it was becoming increasingly difficult to speak, period. Jonah had focused all his attention on her, patiently waiting for her to continue. Being on the receiving end of that kind of intensity, and what she thought looked a lot like caring, made her heart do crazy things. Then he took a step forward and her breath caught.

“It’s sweet,” he said softly, his smile faltering as the last word played off his tongue.

Hers disappeared altogether. Not because she was shocked that he found her sweet, but because she was suddenly aware of just how close they stood, and how badly she wanted him to lean down and kiss her. How badly she wanted him to think she was sweet.

Shay knew she was a lot of things, but sweet wasn’t one of them. Yet something about the way he said it, the way he was looking at her, made her want to be just that. At least for tonight.

“Hang on,” he said, looking in the bag. “What happened to the rest of the six-pack?”

“Nothing. It is the perfect amount,” she said, taking the bag and pulling out the first one. She handed it to him. “This one is to say thank you for not ticketing me for giving away alcohol without a permit.”

He laughed—and it was a great laugh. “Your thanks for overlooking your illegal possession of alcohol is to give me alcohol?”

“Legal alcohol,” she corrected. “I learn from my mistakes. Now take the beer and say, ‘Thank you, Trouble.
’
”

He did as told, making a big show of popping the top and taking a big swig. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Thank you, Trouble.” Only he wasn’t being a smart-ass, he was being serious.

She pulled out the next bottle. Same brand, different brew. “This one is for buying a calendar. Your being supportive meant a lot.”

“To be clear, no money actually exchanged hands, and the calendar was for my Aunt Lucinda. If my brothers hear any differently, we are going to have problems.” He eyed the next beer in her hand. “Let me guess, that one is for not busting you for selling calendars without a retail license?”

“No it’s for . . .”
Shit!
“I have to have a license to sell my calendars?”

“Forget I said anything.” He took another long pull.

“Already forgotten,” she said and handed him the third one. “This one is to say thanks for bringing me coffee and listening to me whine over Tripod.”

“I didn’t think you were whining,” he whispered. “I thought you handled it with an amazing amount of strength and grace.”

Grace.

That word, with regard to her, was a compliment in itself. Coming from Jonah? It made all of her insides turn to mush.

Afraid she might kiss him after all, she quickly pulled out the last bottle. “This one is to apologize for the quote in the paper. I had no idea what the article was about or how it would make you look.” She took a deep breath and looked into his deep blue eyes until she wanted to fall in. “I didn’t think that—”

Not wanting to cheapen this experience, she stopped before she made up some lame excuse. He deserved more and so did this moment.

“I didn’t think. Period. I was so focused on selling my calendars and I didn’t think of how it would affect you or anybody else. And I am sorry.”

He was silent, just staring at her. She confused him, which was fine by her since she got flustered every time he looked her way.

“So you stood out here in the pouring rain to apologize? To me?”

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she leaned her head back to look at the rain, which was coming down pretty hard, and put her hands out to the side. “I like the rain.”

“Me too.”

Shay’s body gave a little shiver—but not because of the rain. The heat between them was so tangible it made it difficult to catch her breath. He didn’t help the situation, letting his gaze purposefully fall to her shirt—her pastel blue, incredibly wet shirt that was as practical as tissue paper in the rain—taking that shiver to a full-blown zing of anticipation. And when she realized he wasn’t trying to hide his interest, she knew she was in trouble.

“Are you flirting with me, Sheriff?”

“Jonah,” he corrected and Shay swallowed. Not
Deputy
but
Jonah
. It felt intimate, personal, like he was giving her something in return. It was silly, but with him dressed like a regular guy telling her his name, it made him seem more approachable. It was as if he was sharing part of himself with her, the real part of Jonah who sipped microbrews on the porch, and that Jonah she found incredibly appealing. “And I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

“Me either,” she said and rolled up on her tiptoes, promising herself that she was just going to give a peck on the cheek, a sincere token of thanks between two friends. Only her lips touched his skin and the last thing she felt was friendly.

His skin was rough with stubble and tasted like a summer rain and sexy man. And okay, her lips may have lingered a little longer than necessary, making her heart feel like it was going to pound right out of her chest, which was the only excuse she had for doing something epically stupid.

Like moving her mouth just enough to brush his.

In her defense, he did groan what sounded a lot like her name. Then again the blood was pounding so hard in her ears it could have just been a groan. Whatever it was sounded needy and hot and like he wanted more. So she did it again, and suddenly she felt air whoosh from her lungs as the cold bottles trailed from her hips around to her lower back as he pulled her to him, taking her mouth in what had to be the most thorough kiss in the history of kisses.

Jonah was slow and languid, taking her mouth again and again, as though he was gearing up for an all-night-long slow kiss.

Never one to be rushed, he took his sweet time to explore every inch of her, gently taking what she offered and nothing more. He wasn’t demanding or controlling, which surprised her. He seemed content to let her set the limits. Problem with that was Shay didn’t do limits all that well.

In her mind, they were nothing more than recommended guidelines set for the sole purpose of being tested and crossed. And she had a feeling that crossing this particular line with this particular man was either the best idea she’d ever had or the worst mistake she’d ever make. And that was saying a lot.

Thankfully her cell vibrated—the buzzing a reminder to feed the kittens.

“What’s that?” he asked against her lips, then tilted his head to look at her butt, which was vibrating and blinking a rainbow of colors.

Not wanting to explain that she had added five more pets to her now over-the-county-limit household—which would undoubtedly lead to her being fined—Shay turned off the alarm and repocketed the phone. “Nothing.”

His gaze rose to her lips and he said, “That was a lot of bells and whistles for nothing.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, knowing they were no longer talking about her phone.

“Yeah,” he said as their gazes met. His was heated and guarded and she knew what he was thinking. This kind of chemistry could only end in disaster. A hot, steamy, life-altering disaster. But a disaster all the same.

She touched her fingers to her lips and shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. I just wanted to give you a little kiss on the cheek.”

That earned her a smile. “You missed.”