Texas Grit. Barb Han

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СКАЧАТЬ want to be seen with me right now,” he offered.

      She touched his hand, and the contact sent electricity rocketing through him, searching for an outlet. “This is awful.”

      “Yep,” he agreed. “They’re camped out everywhere. I take a breath and it’s on the news with some shrink or expert analyzing it.”

      “I’ve seen some of the coverage. No one should have to go through this.” Carrie took in the kind of breath meant to fortify someone. Dade should know. It was a little too familiar. He’d done the same countless times since this whole ordeal began.

      From the outside, their family probably did look perfect. No one knew the real truth. And it was too late to change the past.

      “I’m ready whenever you are,” she stated with a squeeze.

      “Keep your face down and feet moving. I’ll meet you around the back of the truck.” He shoved his door open, pushing back the swarm, and then hopped out. Making his way to the back of the truck proved a challenge with all the cameras in his face, but he took his own advice. The brim of his Stetson blocked out some of the shocking blasts of lights that had the effect of fireworks being lit inches from his face.

      A sense of calm settled over him when he looked up and saw Carrie moving toward him. Something felt very right in that moment. He chalked it up to nostalgia. Losing his father had him wishing he could go back. Change the past. He couldn’t. So, it wouldn’t do any good to make useless wishes.

      Dade ignored the stirring in his chest that tried to convince him being around her again was a good idea.

      “Take my arm.” He held it out, and she took it. More of those frustrating zings of electricity coursed through him. Way to keep the hormones in check around a beautiful woman, Butler.

      Reporters tried to follow him and Carrie inside the lobby, but a deputy quickly reacted, forcing them outside.

      In the next minute, he and Carrie were being ushered into a hallway. He recognized the building all too well. He’d been there countless times since his father’s murder. Always with the same result—no solid leads. A conference room had been converted into a makeshift command center where volunteers took shifts answering phones, jotting down leads. At least a dozen intake spots were set up around the long mahogany conference table. The room sounded like a Jerry Lewis telethon with the constantly ringing phones, hushed voices and volunteers with their heads hunkered down, speaking quietly into receivers.

      The sheriff’s office was large, simple. There was a huge desk, also mahogany, with an executive chair and two flags on poles standing sentinel on either side. A picture of the governor was centered in between the poles. Two smaller-scale leather chairs nestled near the desk. A sofa and table with a bronze statue of a bull with rider sitting astride it—commissioned by Dade’s father—sat to one side of the room. Dade had been surprised to see the statue in the sheriff’s office. But then, Mike Butler always had a few cards up his sleeve, and he’d been a complicated man.

      Dade’s oldest sibling, his sister Ella, kept talking about how she felt like their father was still watching over the family. She’d gotten closure from a note their father had given her days before his death. Dade was happy for his sister—finality and peace were two very good things—but his relationship with the old man couldn’t have been more different. And he’d known the minute his father snatched a toy away from him at age seven and told him to quit wasting time and get to work that his father didn’t look at him in the same light.

      Expectations for Mike Butler’s sons took on a whole new level. Dade and his twin brother, Dalton, had endured, not enjoyed, childhood. Both had been forced to grow up fast. And neither could really wrap his mind around the fact that the big presence that was their father was gone. A pang of regret hit Dade. He wished he could go back and have the conversation he’d needed to have with his father. Now it was too late.

      “I wish I had news for you,” the sheriff started as he took his seat in his executive swivel.

      More useless wishes, Dade thought.

      “I’m not here to talk about my family’s case.” Dade tried to mentally shake himself out of his reverie. Chewing on the past wouldn’t make it taste better. Reality was bitter. His father was gone and their relationship was beyond repair. Case closed.

      Dade focused on the sheriff, noticing the wear and tear on his features as his office continued to be inundated with phone calls, questions and leads about the Mav’s murder. Deep lines bracketed the sheriff’s mouth, and worry grooves carved his forehead.

      “Would either of you like a cup of coffee before we get started?” Sheriff Sawmill asked, gripping his own mug of still-steaming brew. There was a packet of Zantac on top of his desk. “Janis would be happy to get it for you while we talk.”

      “No, thanks,” Carrie said.

      “I’ll get a cup on my way out,” Dade stated, not wanting to waste time.

      “What brings you to my office?” Sheriff Sawmill took a sip and set the mug down. He picked up the packet and tore the corner. He dumped the small pill onto his palm and then popped it into his mouth, chasing it with water from a bottle on his desk.

      “When I was closing my store earlier, I was cornered by one of the festival workers in the alley.” Carrie crossed her legs and rocked her foot back and forth. Dade remembered her nervous tic from high school.

      “Did he touch you or hurt you in any way?” The sheriff’s gaze scanned Carrie as though looking for any signs of struggle.

      “Not exactly.” The admission seemed to make her uncomfortable, considering the way she started fidgeting.

      “Threaten you?” Sheriff Sawmill leaned forward, making more tears in the corner of the empty Zantac packet.

      “He backed me up against the wall but was interrupted be—”

      The sheriff’s desk phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “Excuse me for a minute while I take this.”

      Carrie nodded.

      Dade could see where this was going, and regret stabbed him for dragging her here in the first place. The sheriff, his staff and the volunteers were overwhelmed. The festival worker hadn’t exactly threatened Carrie—intimidated was a better word. Her neighbor had interceded, and then Dade had arrived on the scene. The worker had left without so much as making a threat for anyone else to hear. As frustrating and scary as this whole situation was for her, nothing illegal had happened.

      The sheriff ended the call and shot them an apologetic look. “It’s been a little hectic around here. Please, continue.”

      “I was backed up against the wall, so I got ready to use my pepper spray when Samuel Jenkins showed up and interrupted Nash,” she said.

      “I know the Jenkins boy,” Sawmill said with a nod of acknowledgment. It didn’t matter how old a man was in Cattle Barge. He would always be known by his family association. The Jenkins boy. The Butler boy. No matter how much Dade tried to distance himself in order to be his own man, he’d always be Maverick Mike’s boy. “And Nash is...?”

      “The festival worker,” she clarified.

      The phone rang again, and the sheriff let out a sharp sigh as he pinched СКАЧАТЬ