She was right—the chief deputy wasn’t happy just being friends.
4
Sam Ryker. Emma’s face burned at the way she’d run to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. It’d only been a gut reaction to being shot at. Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that. She leaned her head back on the headrest. Did she really want to think about the only man she regretted breaking up with?
Thinking about Sam was better than letting the events of the last hour run through her mind in an endless loop. He did look good and had filled out from the beanpole he’d been back in high school and college. Yet there wasn’t an ounce of fat around his waist.
Sam wasn’t pretty-boy handsome like Trey Carter. More rugged with his square jaw and intense brown eyes. Don’t go there. But it was hard not to. If her brother hadn’t disappeared, she and Sam probably would have been married by now and had a couple of kids running around.
But no, Ryan had deserted her, and so had Sam, because that’s what men did. Really? Okay. She’d been the one to return Sam’s ring, but only to preempt him. And maybe she should have given him his ring in person instead of handing it over to his sister, but Emma had been furious with Sam for leaving Ryan at the Hideaway after he’d promised to stay with her brother. If she’d known he wasn’t going to keep his promise, she would have stayed, even though the stress of Ryan’s drinking had triggered a migraine.
Liar. That’s not why you gave his ring back. Emma jerked her attention to where the three men stood. “Come on, Sam,” she muttered, shoving thoughts of him away, but they bounced right back.
Ranger Winters. That’s what he’d called her. She crossed her arms. He acted as though they had no history at all. Emma sat up abruptly and glanced toward the gate again to see if Sam was coming yet.
He had not moved. Why did she even need anyone to follow her home? Because Sam and Nate thought she was the shooter’s target . . . or she had an enemy. That option was impossible. She wasn’t the kind of woman who had enemies. Not even Trey. Breaking up with him had been a little messy . . . okay, so a lot messy. Even so, Trey would never shoot at her.
She shouldn’t have dated him in the first place, not with him being Sheriff Carter’s son, but he’d challenged her to not lump him in with his dad. She always was a sucker for a challenge. It’d been a big mistake.
Emma drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, wanting to get away from Mount Locust before Trey made another appearance. His “Hey, sweetheart” still irked her. She was not his sweetheart. Although the deputy’s attention had been flattering—what woman wouldn’t love being wooed by a six-two, broad-shouldered Adonis with abs of steel?
And at first, their relationship had been good, but it turned out he was more like his dad than he thought. It hadn’t taken Trey long to change, and he gradually chipped away at everything about her—her clothes were too dull, she didn’t wear enough makeup, and even her taste for classical music was boring. But when he griped about her being friends with Clayton Bradshaw, one of the law enforcement rangers on the Trace, she’d had enough. Clayton was like a brother.
Headlights flashed in the window, startling her. She hadn’t seen Sam walk to his SUV. He pulled parallel with their driver’s sides facing, and Emma lowered her window. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her conscience pinged. She wasn’t usually this cranky with someone trying to help her, even though she didn’t need his help. But maybe it was time to play nice. “Thanks for taking your time to escort me home,” she said.
“Not a problem.”
There was that distant edge to his voice again, but what did she expect? That he would just forget the past? She glanced toward the other vehicles. “I thought Trey was guarding Mount Locust tonight,” she said as both SUVs pulled past them.
“Nate called in two other deputies. Something about Trey needing to check on his dad.”
She nodded and turned the ignition key. The former sheriff was in an Alzheimer’s unit in an assisted living facility. “Then I guess we’re ready. Do you need my address, in case we get separated?”
“That’s right. You probably don’t live at home any longer.”
“No. I’m renting an apartment in one of the older homes not far from downtown.” She gave him the address.
“Want to give me your cell number as well?”
“Sure.” Two seconds after she rattled it off, her phone rang.
“Now you have mine,” he said. “I’ll follow you.”
Short and sweet. Short, anyway. Emma shifted into first gear and pulled out onto the Trace. Twenty minutes later she parked under a streetlight in front of the early 1900s converted home. After grabbing her backpack with the report, she climbed out of her truck. Sam had parked behind her and waited on the sidewalk. “You didn’t have to get out,” she said.
“It’d be kind of hard to check out your apartment if I don’t,” he said and turned toward the two-story house. “Nice. I’ve always loved these old houses.”
She glanced toward the house. “I like it, and renting suits me. That way I can pick up and leave if I want to without having to get rid of a house. And you don’t have to check out my place.”
“Humor me,” he said and guided her toward the steps to the door.
Emma tried the front door that opened into a common area, but the automatic lock had already kicked in. She fished her key out of her backpack.
“Is this door always locked?” he asked as she turned the key and pushed the door open.
“No, but both this door and the back door are set to lock from 6:00 p.m. until 6:00 a.m. Something that I usually forget.”
“I think you should talk to your landlord about having it locked 24/7.”
Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea. “I’ll bring it up at our next tenants’ meeting.”
She followed Sam inside the large two-story house that had been converted into five apartments, three upstairs and two downstairs. A hallway ran the length of the building, and they climbed the staircase on the right side. Once inside her apartment, she followed behind him as he checked out the rooms. “I told you there was no one here,” she said when he finished. “But thanks for checking.”
“No problem.” He stopped at the front door. “By the way, what was going on at Mount Locust with Trey? Is he always that grouchy?”
“Did he say something?”
“Wasn’t what he said, but how he said it.”
“He didn’t take our breakup well.”
“I got that,” he said. “Do you think he’s the one who shot at you?”
“No . . . He wouldn’t have known I would be at Mount Locust tonight. I didn’t even know I would be until I didn’t have this,” she said, holding up the folder. “And that report is still waiting on me.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going. What time do you plan to leave in the morning?”
“I’m always at work by eight, but you don’t have to escort me. I need to run by Walmart and get cat—” She slapped her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot the cat!”