Fried Pickles and the Fuzz (10 page)

****

Bronson
pushed his hat back and
swiped the back of his hand across his sweat
-
soaked brow. August in West Texas was brutal. Nearly every day the mercury soared into the triple digits
,
causing even the hearty acclimated wildlife to seek out cool spots and wait for dusk. Considering it was just past eight in the morning and the thermometer on the wall by the barn door already boasted a temperature in the low nineties
,
it was shaping up to be a hot one yet again.

He stepped into the doorway of the barn and gazed out at his new home. The small ranch
-
style house sat nestled in a small clump of scrubby oaks that looked as though they were only surviving by
sheer
willpower and determination, but the well was deep and the surrounding thirty acres
were
his. He had heard old
-
timers talk about the feeling a man got when he stood back and looked at the land that he owned
,
and he'd never really understood what they meant until now. Pride swelled in his chest. Home. It was a good feeling.

Now, if he could get the rest of the cards to play out like he hoped
,
he'd be the happiest man in the entire Lone Star State.

A cloud of dust billowing up in the distance caught his attention. Bronson stepped outside the barn and looked toward his front gate. An older model brown pickup bounce
d
up the long drive toward him at a speed that clearly indicated the driver was in a hurry.

The truck slid to a halt in front of the house, a shower of fine dust surrounding it
,
temporarily obscuring the driver. Bronson tugged his
hat back down and started for the vehicle, whispering a quick prayer that no one in town had been hurt.

“Where are you, Sheriff?”

Bronson recognized Heather's voice instantly. The truck door slammed shut as the cloud of dust around the aging vehicle began to settle. “Hey.” His steps faltered as she whipped around
,
and he caught a good look at her face. A blush flushed her cheeks and her eyes sparkled…
and it didn't appear to be the good kind of sparkle.

She marched toward him, her index finger slicing through the air before her. “Who do you think you are? You waltz into town and think you know what's best for everybody here.” She stopped short of running smack into him and poked him hard in the middle of the chest. “You must be thinkin' just because you've got some job to do that the people ‘round here are just dumb hicks who don't matter. That their feelin's don't matter. Well, I've got news for you, Sheriff,” she spat the last word like it left a bitter taste in her mouth, “we've got feeling
s
and we don't cotton to liars.”

“
What in
Sam Hill are you talkin' about?”
He reached out to cup her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her
,
but she slapped his hand away.

“Don't you dare touch me. How could you? You said I had a week, and I've been bustin' my tail, callin' everyone I can think of
,
but I haven't been able to find a place for Gus yet.” Tears welled in her eyes as she continued
.
“Then, I go to the station this mornin' to talk to you about maybe givin' me some more time
,
and what do I hear? That the
s
heriff and the county livestock officer loaded him up first thing this morning and hauled him off. And the worst part is, here I was thinkin' you actually wanted to help. That you really cared about this town…
that you might really care about me. Boy, I bet you though
t
I was just some dumb hick who'd just
k
owtow to whatever the fuzz had to say when it came to the law. Well, I've got news for you
,
buster,
” she poked him again in the chest, “I'm not gonna
—
”

A grave
l
ly
whinny
echoed across the yard. Bronson eyed Heather as she peeked around him. He didn't have to turn to know what she was looking at.
Yesterday, he had spoken to Ben, the county livestock officer
,
and made arrangements for Ben to bring a trailer to the station and haul Gus to Bronson's home.
“I figured since you hadn't mentioned finding anything for the old guy that nothing had turned up. I ran into Ben last night on a call
,
and he offered to bring his trailer over this morning and bring him out here.”

Bronson turned and watched the elderly gelding pick his way slowly across the drive toward the woman who'd spent her time over the last few months furiously working to keep him safe. Most folks would feel betrayed that Heather had jumped to conclusions when she discovered her beloved friend missing this morning
,
but Bronson's heart swelled. It was clear that Heather fought for what she wanted. That she was willing to go to extremes to keep those she loved safe
,
even if it might mean losing something he hoped she wanted just as badly as him. “I figured he'd spent enough time in the pok
ey
. Maybe he'd be comfortable here for awhile.” He shrugged and turned to find Heather gazing at him, a lone tear trailing down her cheek. “At least here, he'
s safe. He's got the run of the place, a barn all to himself
,
and all the scrub brush he can eat.”

When she opened her mouth to speak, Bronson held up his hand, stopping her. “I should've called you and told you
,
but it was late when Ben and I got it all worked up
,
and the only time he could do it was first thing this morning. I'd planned on calling earlier,” he waved a hand toward the barn, “but I kinda got caught up making him a nice spot in there and just plum lost track of time.” He reached out and tucked a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear, pleased when she didn't sucker punch him. “I'm sorry you were worried.”

Heather's shoulders sagged. “I'm such a jerk.”

Bronson laughed and pulled her into his arms. “Darlin'
,
if you fight half as hard for everything you believe in as you have for Gus, then jerk is the last thing in the world I'd ever call you.” His skin tingled as she slid her arms around his back and returned his embrace.

“I won't get to see him very much with him being out here.” She rested her left cheek against his chest.

Bronson followed the direction of her gaze and smiled as Gus stopped a few short feet from them, blew out a deep breath
,
and shook his entire body.
“Well, I've been doin' some thinkin' about that, too.
See, I just don't know how two old bachelors like me and Gus are gonna
fare
out here on our own. So, I figured maybe in
six
months
or so
we might be lookin' to get a housemate out here. You know anybody who can cook real good and might be interested in a long
-
term situation like that?”

“How long
-
term?”

Bronson chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, I'd say at least the next fifty years or so.”

She pulled back and gazed up at him
, her brows drawn together.
“Are you…
Bronson, are you asking me to marry you?”

“Well, I figure
d we'd date for awhile
,
but yeah, I'd like to see us together for a lot longer. I mean
,
I know we just started dating but it's not like we don't know each other.
W
e've had dinner together nearly every night since I came to town. You probably know more about me than anyone I've ever known.”

“I'll
say yes
when you ask
on one condition.”

Bronson raised one eyebrow. He had a feeling this was going to be a good one. “What's that?”

“You've gotta try my fried pickles.”
Her lips spread into a teasing smile.

With a laugh, Bronson pressed his lips gently to hers. “I think I can manage to choke at least one down.”

“You never know, you might find you like ‘em.”

“I might, at that.” Bronson pulled her back t
o him and sighed. At this moment
,
he wasn't sure life could get any better. But there was something niggling in the back of his mind. A tiny detail that until now hadn't been important. He eyed the brown truck sitting in his drive. “So, wanna tell m
e
whose truck you stole to get out here?”