Oregon Outback (14 page)

After ending the call, Carver fell back on the bed into an exhausted sleep filled with dreams of Sheriff Hall.

Sheridan …

A loud noise rattled his nerves, yanking him from a fitful dream in which she was in danger. He shot straight up.

Bang, bang, bang
. Add to the knocking, the doorbell kept ringing. The bad dream hovering at the back of his mind, Carver glanced at the clock next to his bed. The one with the alarm set that was supposed to wake him up.

He’d overslept. Carver jumped out of bed and slipped into his jeans, then padded his way out of the bedroom, through the living room to the front door. He swung it open, knowing he looked like a worn-out cowboy barely this side of sleep.

Sheriff Hall’s eyes grew wide and bright. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought you’d left without me. Either that or something bad happened to you.”

The sheriff’s eyes flickered over his chest, and a little smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Carver realized he was shirtless and, though he’d never considered himself modest after life with a bunch of cowhands, the veiled appreciation in her gaze sent heat rushing through him.

She combed her fingers through his hair. “You’re a little scruffy-looking this morning. Like you just woke up.”

Brushing by him, she stood in the foyer, the faint scent of her shampoo pleasing his senses. He ran a hand down his grubby face, feeling disheveled and groggy.

“I figured you’d have the coffee going and the trailer loaded by now.”

“My fault. I overslept. Do me a favor and start the coffee. Give me a few minutes to get it all together. We can share the coffee in the truck.”

Her smile did wonders to bring him fully awake. “I can’t promise I’ll wait to drink the coffee. But I’ll be sure to make it strong.”

Maybe the good Lord could redeem all the times he should have made her smile instead of scowl. How she could be so chipper after climbing out of bed in the middle of the night to help him, he didn’t know. He almost wished they would have left last night, but both of them needed a few hours’ rest.

Carver led her into the kitchen and flipped on the light, squinting against the onslaught of brightness. She found the coffeepot but before Carver took a step out of the kitchen, she tossed him a set of keys, which he caught.

“Remember, we’re taking mine,” she said.

“I remember, but why are you giving me the keys?”

“So you can get the trailer hitched.” She filled the carafe with water.

Carver looked at her. “You’re not planning to help?”

“You want coffee or not?”

How long did it take to fix a pot of coffee? Carver groused as he left the kitchen, but mostly at himself for getting up late. A guy couldn’t exactly speed when he was riding with the sheriff.

Gripping the keys, Carver headed into the bedroom and shut the door, warmed by the fact that she’d entrusted him with them.

Sheridan stole a cup of coffee before the pot had finished brewing.

The sound of a door opening drew her gaze up, and in rushed Carver, looking like he’d spent a half hour smoothing out the rough places rather than eight minutes. She tipped the large mug against her lips to keep him from seeing the approval she was sure glimmered in her eyes.

His broad shoulders filled out the blue-and-white-striped western shirt just right. When he finished tucking the shirttail into his jeans in the back, he came toward her and squeezed her shoulders.

Sheridan tensed at his nearness.

“What are you doing?”

With a teasing smile, he nudged her over a few steps.

He reached into the cabinet and grabbed two large thermal carafes. “Fill these with coffee. Then meet me outside, around back.”

“Sure thing.” Sheridan grabbed the mugs, her fingers brushing against the tanned skin of his hand. She kept her focus on the task, rather than looking at him. He might see the way he affected her, and she was still trying to figure things out.

Carver appeared to have changed his attitude toward her, becoming more accepting of her as sheriff. That went a long way in taming the animosity that always cropped up whenever she saw him. He was a good man. Maybe the time spent with him the last couple of days showed her they’d simply gotten off to a bad start ten years ago. She laughed inside at the absurd thought.

After securing both thermal mugs filled with hot coffee, she made her way out the front door and walked around the porch. He’d turned on the security lights. She spotted her Yukon, a horse trailer behind it. Carver and another man worked to secure the hitch.

Minutes later, they were urging two of the horses into the trailer. Sheridan opened the vehicle door to place the mugs in the holders, then slipped out of the cab and to the trailer in time to see the back end of the last horse.

Since she’d been sheriff, Sheridan hadn’t had to utilize their mounted patrol, and depending on how long they were in the saddle, this could definitely test her skills, but she was confident she was up to the challenge.

Carver lifted a saddle and rushed by her, storing it in the neck of the trailer, followed by his cowhand. “We’ve got to make good time, Sheriff, so why don’t you climb in. I’m almost done.”

Sheridan pressed a hand on her hip. Just who was running this show anyway? She climbed in on the driver’s side and started the ignition, waiting on Carver. The aroma of coffee drew her thoughts to the mug, and she lifted it to her lips.

Her door swung open. Carver filled the space, staring at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Sheridan frowned. “Excuse me?” She couldn’t fathom what he meant.

The hard expression on his face softened. He held his hand open like he expected to help her out. “You can’t drive this while pulling a trailer.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Of course, I’m driving. This vehicle is the property of the sheriff’s department.”

“I don’t think so. You’re pulling a trailer of my horses.” He swung the door wider and stepped aside, waiting for her to get out.

They were slipping back to their old ways and fast. How did she earn this man’s respect?

“Carver Love!” Sheridan stopped herself from saying more.

She stared through the windshield, measuring her words, then returned her gaze to the hardheaded cowboy, speaking softer this time. “We have a truce, remember? You’re going to have to trust me. What you have to decide is if you are up for that. Are you?”

Sheridan held on to what little breath she’d taken, waiting for his reaction.

His chin jutted out, and Sheridan tensed. “You’re right, Sheriff. I’m going to trust you to do your job when that time comes. But between the two of us, I’m the experienced one when it comes to pulling horse trailers.”

Oh, he had her there. She’d made a mistake. Hated admitting it.

Head cocked to the side, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What do you say, Sheridan? Let me do my job, and I’ll let you do yours.”

Sheridan? Had he just called her by her first name?
While she should set him right about how to address her, the sound of her name on his lips did startling things to her insides.

Regardless how the man affected her, she couldn’t allow anyone to accuse her of letting pride get in the way of good judgment. “I can’t argue with you there. You’re the better man to drive. This time.”

Sheridan slipped from the cab but Carver didn’t budge, his broad shoulders making her feel small, vulnerable.

He hesitated a few seconds longer than necessary, staring down at her. “Don’t worry. My insurance will cover anything I’m driving.”

She stepped aside and jogged around the front of the Yukon while Carver climbed into the driver’s side.

T
hat was close.

The last thing Carver wanted was to start this trip battling with the sheriff, so he’d taken liberties and called her by her first name, hoping to reason with the woman inside. She seemed to dig in her heels when it came to him, wanting to oppose him on every front. They’d made some progress in their relationship—an understanding of sorts, but in his opinion they were standing on a shaky fault line.

The sheriff’s vehicle bounced along his driveway, pulling the trailer, and Carver, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, lifted the mug of hot, strong coffee to his lips.

“You make a good cup of coffee.” He glanced her way as he steered the SUV onto the main road. Of course, she didn’t know he considered that an important skill he looked for in his future wife.

“Thanks. I probably should have made more for the trip. Brought an extra mug.” She offered him a quick smile, her eyes illuminated by a passing car.

“Why don’t you lean the seat back? It’ll take a few hours until we’re there. Might as well get some rest.”

“I couldn’t sleep now if I wanted to. I just drank coffee to keep me awake.” She took another sip from her mug then stared out the passenger window.

If it weren’t for the circumstances—trying to retrieve stolen cattle—Carver might consider this a dream come true. Hours spent alone with Sheriff Sheridan Hall. Now, if he could just figure out what to say.

“Have you heard from Ray?” she asked.

“Yes. The plan stays in place unless he calls us with new information. I’m hoping they’ll drive those rustlers right to us.”

“Carver.” The way she said his name, so soft this time, she didn’t sound anything like a sheriff.

He risked a glance her direction, catching a look of pity on her face.

“What?” His tone was a little brusque, but he didn’t like that look from her. Not one bit.

“You know the chances …” She squeezed his arm, sending his mind reeling. “It’s wide-open country out there. The chances that your guys will find those rustlers, much less herd them—”

“Are good.” Carver nodded as if reassuring the sheriff, but deep down he wasn’t as confident as he let on. “The way I see it, you’ve got to think like a rustler.”

He wished he could call her by her first name on a regular basis. Would he ever get to that place with her?

“I’m listening.”

He didn’t look at her, but heard the smile in her voice. She had a way about her, warming more than the cab of the Yukon. Carver switched on the vent to allow in the cool night air. “My brother, Justin, took some cattle once on a dare.”

Carver looked over at Sheridan and saw the serious look he expected. “He’s a bounty hunter now, just so we’re clear.”

“Is that right?”

“He was just an idiot kid. I don’t remember what started the dare, but our daddy had to step in and make things right with a neighboring rancher and sent the rest of us boys after Justin.”

“So now you can think like a rustler, is that it?” Her question was teasing, letting him know she had no intention of taking him seriously.

“Make a joke if you like, but yes, I’m telling you there’s a good chance we’re going to catch these guys.” A small one, but all he needed was one.

“You’ll get your chance to make a believer out of me.”

Man, was that a loaded statement. Carver wanted to make a believer out of her, all right. But he was having trouble believing he was actually with her right now, in the same vehicle, having a civilized conversation.

“Look, if those cows belong to me and those men are the rustlers, they’ve only got one place to go and it’s not over Hart Mountain or to Steens Mountain. My guys are spreading out to cover a broad area, making sure nobody slips through.”

When Sheridan didn’t say anything, Carver glimpsed her way, seeing the back of her head. She was probably thinking that it was still a long shot.

“My daddy taught me to be an optimist, to persevere. I think God sent me out for my cattle a little early this year, and I made the discovery they were gone in good time because of Him. I can’t let go of hope, of trying.”

In the corner of his vision, he saw Sheridan turn her head toward him, felt her gaze on him for a long while. What was she thinking?

“Now that’s something I can believe in.” Her voice held promise.

He sighed, wishing for so much more with her. Wishing he could take her in his arms and kiss her properly.

Just once. He hadn’t had that chance years ago when he’d acted like a heel.