A Proposal for Her Cowboy
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Cari Lynn Webb
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28
CHAPTER ONE
BABYMOON. BEFORE LACEY NASH could translate her ex-husband’s early-morning text, the two-way radio clipped to her shoulder chirped.
Static scratched across the speaker, followed by the timid but sweetly high-pitched voice of Gertie Tiller. The long-time dispatcher for Three Springs County Sheriff’s Department. “Deputy Nash. You copy? C-o-p-y.”
Lacey waited for Gertie to finish stretching out the y in copy like the final note in a solo stage performance. Silence was her cue. She pressed the button on her radio and said, “Ten-two.” Then a quick, “Copy.”
“Copy that,” Gertie singsonged. “Over.”
Lacey grabbed her newly issued camel-colored deputy’s hat from the hook in the mudroom and walked outside.
More static. A distinct throat clearing, then Gertie said, “Code ten-fifty-three at Clearwind Lake.”
The road was blocked at Clearwind Lake. Lacey locked the door to her stepdad and late mom’s ranch house, which was serving as Lacey’s residence, and reached for her radio.
But Gertie was back. Her words expanded her vocal range into a squeaky high pitch. “Correction. Code ten-ninety-two at Clearwind Lake.”
Parking complaint. Lacey unlocked the dark blue SUV parked in the driveway and climbed inside the latest addition to the fleet of vehicles for the Three Springs County Sheriff’s Department.
Another throat clearing crossed the speaker and Gertie’s overly excited words peeled out. “Code ten-fifty-four. Clearwind Lake. That’s the one.”
Livestock on the roadway. Lacey buckled her seat belt, started the SUV, and pulled out of the driveway. Given the continued stretch of silence across the two-way, Lacey finally took her chance. She activated the radio speaker and said, “I’m en route to Clearwind Lake.”
A long sigh pushed across the two-way. Censure filled Gertie’s suddenly bland words. “I know you are new, Deputy Nash, but we prefer to use codes on this frequency.”
Lacey laughed, then sobered before she spoke. Gertie was part of her team now, and Lacey wanted the woman to like her. She pressed the radio button for a succinct “ten-four.”
Sunglasses on, Lacey watched a hawk soar above the endless open plains of the Texas Panhandle that stretched out on either side of the road. The land was broken only by fence lines marking off ranches, cattle farms, and recently harvested wheat fields. Not another person was in sight. Only her and the hawk. Her shoulders loosened as they’d been steadily doing since her arrival stateside six months earlier. Now she was back home for good. No more active-duty deployments overseas. No more putting service before family. She’d made promises, and it was past time to keep them.
Her phone chimed a new text alert. No doubt from her ex-husband. Again. He was one of a handful of people who had her personal phone number and used it regularly. Lacey ignored it. She had time to deal with her ex-husband and his babymoon situation—whatever that was—after her shift ended.
She might have moved home to reconnect with family, but she still had a job to do. One she took quite seriously, even if she was patrolling sleepy country roads, instead of being part of an active military police force stationed on a massive base in South Korea or Germany.
Lacey turned onto the road leading to Clearwind Lake and pulled in behind a familiar deep blue Three Springs County Sheriff’s Department truck. Her stepdad, Sheriff Wells Hopson, was already on the scene. No surprise there. Swells, as she’d affectionately called him when she was a kid, was more dedicated to his job than anyone Lacey knew. Her superstep—her other nickname for him—was the reason she’d chosen a career in law enforcement.
But right now, he was Sheriff Hopson, her superior and her boss. He stood in the middle of the road with his back to her. Two men stood beside him. The taller was a classic cowboy, from his worn brown hat and his plaid shirt and fit-just-right jeans to his dust-covered boots.
Oversize camo-colored waders swallowed the shorter man. Still, she recognized the shock of white in the man’s otherwise short dark hair. Mayor Paul Molina had been at her swearing-in ceremony for Three Springs County Sheriff’s Department. Mayor Molina had a firm handshake, a thick accent, and a rumbling, good-natured laugh not easily forgotten.
“Gentlemen.” Lacey approached the trio, followed the direction of their focus, and finally got to the source of their standoff. A turtle. Albeit a very large one. And if she wasn’t mistaken, a turtle of the snapping breed. No wonder Gertie had trouble with the correct code. Lacey shook her head. “Don’t tell me you three are scared of a turtle.”
“It’s not exactly little,” Mayor Molina mused and switched his fishing pole to his other hand.
Lacey eyed the turtle, guesstimating he weighed in at close to forty pounds.
“And they aren’t called snapping turtles for nothing,” Sheriff Hopson offered.
“Remember when Gus Ranford lost his toe to a snapper?” Mayor Molina rocked in his rubber boots as if checking that his toes were still attached.
Lacey winced. Her gaze tracked to the cowboy, and her own toes curled in her black patrol boots. Her heart snapped to full attention. Caleb Sloan. The cowboy was no stranger. And he was no longer a boy she’d once known in high school. He was inches taller than her towering stepdad, unfairly handsome, and watching her like he knew the secret to life and wasn’t willing to share.
One corner of his mouth tipped into his cheek, and he touched the brim of his hat. Just a flick of his fingers in acknowledgment. Amusement washed through his slow Texas drawl. “Where exactly was Gus when this snapper got him?”
Lacey knew exactly where she was when she’d first been hooked by Caleb Sloan, his daredevil charisma, and thrill-seeking ways. On a date with one of his best friends. That hadn’t stopped her from recklessly accepting Caleb’s dare that night and the many others that soon followed.
But the days of carefree nights, reckless abandon, and teenage adrenaline rushes were long gone. Her mother’s cancer diagnosis had reined Lacey into being responsible and pragmatic. Later, an unexpected pregnancy had extinguished the last of the impulsive nature still kindling inside Lacey. She’d outgrown cowboys like Caleb Sloan and was surely better for it.
“Gus was walking barefoot in Eagle Run River.” Sheriff Hopson rubbed his fingers across his upper lip hidden inside his well-groomed beard. “Got him good. Wouldn’t let go until he’d gotten what he wanted.”
“Never did find that turtle.” Mayor Molina eyed the turtle blocking the road as if he might be the toe-snatching culprit.
“I’m sure Gus always put his boots on before going into the river after that incident,” Lacey said.
“Don’t reckon that he did.” Mayor Molina chuckled. “Rather, he walked on the other bank of the river. Used to say if he lost his other little toe, he’d be back in balance.”
Caleb’s laughter spilled out, unchecked and unabashed.
And entirely too distracting. Lacey’s lips twitched. She tugged her attention from the much-too-good-looking cowboy and focused on the issue at hand. “Well, this turtle can’t be left here. Someone will run him over.”
“How do you tell a male from a female turtle?” Mayor Molina knocked his bucket hat askew.
“Tail size.” Lacey waved toward the turtle. “Males have longer tails than the females.” The guys blinked blandly at her. She shrugged. “Aspen got an A on her school project about turtles and sent it to me.”
Caleb stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and considered her. “Then you know the proper way to handle a turtle, Deputy.”
She knew the proper way to handle more than a turtle, including how to handle a disarming cowboy like him. Don’t. She added a challenge to her words. “Do you?”
His close-lipped grin and his hooded gaze were pure mischief, as if riling her was the only game he wanted to play. But Lacey dealt with lawbreakers and avoided heartbreakers at all costs.
He nodded.
She set her hands on her hips. “Then why haven’t you moved the turtle?”
“We like our toes and our fingers.” Sheriff Hopson held his arms out in front of him and wiggled his fingers.
“We can’t stand here all day, watching this turtle to make sure he crosses safely.” Lacey didn’t try to hide her exasperation.
“I suppose we could draw straws,” her stepdad offered. “Shortest one moves the turtle.”
Lacey glanced at her watch. Thirty minutes until the park officially opened. They could be sorting straws for the next hour. She walked to her vehicle and grabbed a pair of gloves from the passenger seat. Passing by the men, she tossed over her shoulder, “Watch and learn, boys.”
Lacey circled the turtle from the back and picked him up. Quick and efficient. She wasted no time releasing him into the grass and backing away with her hands up. Like most wild animals, turtles preferred not to be handled. The turtle poked his head out, considered her for a brief second, then started ambling through the grass. Lacey turned to gloat, but the men were focused on Sheriff Hopson. Huh?
Her stepdad tapped his phone screen, cleared his throat, and announced the time.
A triumphant grin spread across Caleb’s face, and he extended his hand, palm up. “Pay up. I called that one almost to the minute.”
“She always had a big soft spot for wildlife.” Her stepdad passed Caleb a twenty-dollar bill and added, “Even the mean ones.”
Mayor Molina placed another twenty dollars on Caleb’s palm and said, “I suppose you knew that little fact too, Caleb Sloan.”
“I used to know that.” Caleb smiled and stuffed the cash in his back pocket. “But it has been years since Lacey and I have seen each other. People change.”
Caleb had changed. His shoulders were broader. The beginning of a dark beard covered his cheeks as if he’d woken up eager to take on the day and skipped shaving. And there was a confidence in the well-built man before her that she found more than a little appealing.
But clearly the boy she’d known hadn’t grown up. The devil-may-care is rooted deep in that boy, Lace. Take care not to get tangled up too. Those had been her mother’s words after meeting a teenage Caleb Sloan.
Lacey hooked her thumbs on her utility belt, jabbed her elbows out to expand her space, and bumped her unwanted thoughts about the handsome cowboy aside. “This was a bet? Don’t you have real work to be doing somewhere else?”
“It’s my day off.” Mayor Molina snapped the suspenders on his waders and waggled his eyebrows. “Only work I intend to do today is fish.”
“Well, now that the livestock is no longer blocking the roadway—” Lacey peeled off her gloves and turned toward her vehicle “—I think I’ll get back to work.”
“The turtle isn’t the livestock, Deputy Nash,” Caleb drawled and then chuckled. His gaze gleamed before he pointed to the lake nearby. “Walter is.”
Lacey gasped, then sputtered, “That’s a bull.”
