Nick choked. How Brian managed to be so innocent-seeming and so fucking sexy at the same time was a mystery, but right now, Charlie was due back any moment with crullers and coffee. “Later. I’ll call you again tonight.”
“Yeah. Do that.”
“Okay.” There was a moment of silence between them, as he listened to Brian breathe.
“Nick? Is there anything else?”
He couldn’t put it into words, the unsettled emptiness inside him, the shock of finding Ariana’s hair clip, the way life seemed out of control, almost like when he was a kid. Here he was, moving again, although with far more than one trash bag of stuff. The future was open wide, his life rearranged. At least this time, there’s a great reason to go. “Um. Yeah, we’ll be heading out soon. Well, in an hour or two.” There was still some cleaning to do. “I’ll text when we get on the road.”
“Drive safe. I can’t wait.”
Me neither. A rush of neediness took him by surprise. I miss you. He faked a laugh. “I won’t be doing any drag racing with a rental truck.”
“I miss you.”
Brian always had been better at putting what he felt in words. “Yeah, me too.” He saw his car pull into the drive. “Later.” Stuffing the phone into his pocket, he jumped down from the truck.
Charlie parked and waved him toward the passenger side. “Carry the goodies, slave. I bought heaps. Travel food.”
“Slave yourself.” He opened the door to lift out the warm cups and bags. “God, that smells good.” His stomach was settling just from the rich scents of coffee and pastry. Maybe that was all this hollowness was— maybe he needed to eat. “Come on. Some sugar, some caffeine, a little Clorox, and we’ll be ready to hit the road.”
****
Brian’s morning had begun excellently with Nick’s phone call, but slid downhill to shoveling sheep manure and cleaning the goat pen. Still, that was farming for you. He kept Luger tied up close by, reassured by the dog’s lazy dozing in the sun, and by midmorning, his shoulders were pleasantly aching from the hard work.
He was daydreaming absently about Nick and a glass of lemonade when Luger suddenly jumped up and paced to the end of his leash to stare down the drive. A moment later, a sheriff’s car came up the lane and into the yard. Brian froze with his shovel full of goat poop.
Yasmin asked them to come check out the damage. Knowing that didn’t keep his heart from racing. Stay calm around cops, but not too calm. Look natural. Should I look over there, or ignore them? Probably ignoring would be even more suspicious. He stuck the shovel into the wheelbarrow and turned to watch, moving closer to Luger.
The woman who got out was tall and lean with weatherbeaten skin and very short, dark hair, perhaps in her forties, though he was a lousy judge of people’s ages. She closed the car door, tugged her utility belt straighter, and gave him a long look. Her eyes were hidden by mirror shades. His plan to look friendly and innocent felt like a mouse planning to bluff a hawk.
She walked toward him with long loose strides. “Hi there. Is Ms. Wydell around?”
Luger growled a low warning. Brian took hold of Luug’s collar and cleared his throat. “I think she’s in the house?”
The cop came a step closer. “We haven’t met. I’m Sheriff Gannet. You are…?”
“Bry. Brian. Brian Carlson.” At least his brain was in control enough not to say Kerr. “Hi.”
“I heard Ms. Wydell had a new farmhand.”
“Yup. That’s me. Although farmhand is maybe pushing it, because I’m just starting to learn this stuff, but I’m here to help her out.” He pressed his lips together to stop the flow of babble. At least it was smartish babble, not Bry-is-dumb babble.
“How did you find this job? Did you answer an ad?”
“No. I’m a friend of Doc’s. Zander Wydell’s. He said I could stay here and help his mom for a while.”
“Ah.” Her tone warmed slightly. “So you know the family. Is that your dog? I don’t recognize him.”
“Yes, he’s mine.” He gave Luger’s collar a tweak. “Hush, Luug, she’s a… cop.” Luger silenced and sat, still focused on her. Brian was relieved to hear the front door of the house open and shut. Yasmin came down the steps in her usual sweatshirt, overalls, and boots. He waved and raised his voice. “Hey, Ms. Wydell, the sheriff’s here to see you.”
Yasmin came toward them, her hand out. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t expect to see you in person.”
The sheriff’s grip looked strong. “My investigators are tied up this morning, and I haven’t forgotten all my field skills yet. You want to tell me what happened?”
“Come look.” Yasmin led the way toward the barn. Brian stayed put, watching as Yasmin gestured at the barn, then at the tractor still nosed into the gate with a wheel in the ditch. The sheriff tilted her head, listening, then walked around, looking at the barn and the ground, especially near the tractor. Yasmin stood nearby, and they had a conversation, but Brian heard no more than a murmur of sounds. The sheriff pulled out a camera.
It had nothing to do with him. At least, he really hoped it didn’t. There was work to do, and he didn’t want that sheriff getting interested in him. The goat poo was a bit of a challenge, piles of little pellets that rolled off the shovel as he lifted them to the wheelbarrow. He made himself focus on the job until a renewed rumble from Luger warned him he was being watched. He turned slowly.
The sheriff and Yasmin both stood a few feet away. Yasmin said, as if continuing a conversation, “He works hard. The animals all like him, even Lass.”
“That’s a good sign,” the sheriff agreed. She raised her voice to address Brian. “I don’t appreciate your dog growling at me, though. He gets one chance around here, one bite, and then he’s gone. We have a dangerous dog law.”
“He won’t bite anyone. I promise.” Brian rubbed the sweat off his forehead with his wrist and tried out a smile. “He was trained as a guard dog, but he’s not vicious. He’s still upset about those guys doing bad stuff last night.”
“Those ‘guys’? Did you see them? Was it more than one person?”
“Oh. No, nope, I don’t know. I was just talking.” He gritted his teeth and said more firmly. “Making a guess.”
“Where were you when the tractor crashed?”
Yasmin said, “He was in his room. He was behind me when we ran out of the house.”
“Ah.” The sheriff stayed focused on Brian. “Is there anyone who might want to make trouble for you, Mr. Carlson?”
“For me? It’s not my tractor.”
“Have you seen anyone hanging around the farm recently?”
“No.”
“If I send a guy to dust the tractor for fingerprints, will yours come up in the criminal database?”
He couldn’t hide a jolt but tried to cover it by turning to set the shovel down. “No.” I hope not. He’d never been arrested for anything. Would they have recorded my prints from Marston’s place? Would Nick’s be on file as a cop? Probably both. He couldn’t remember if Nick had touched the tractor in his three days on the farm. Brian hadn’t driven it yet himself.