Willowbrook Series Book 2: Cuffing The Law
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Kerry Kennedy
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In the cozy town of Willowbrook, Daisy has a secret that refuses to stay quiet. She has been crushing on Deacon for years, even though he is the sheriff and her brother’s best friend, which makes him very off-limits. Deacon knows the rules, knows the history, and knows he should keep his distance, even as Daisy grows into a woman he can no longer ignore. Between lingering looks, small-town gossip, and rules that feel too tight, both try to do the right thing while their hearts argue otherwise. In Willowbrook, every choice echoes, but some feelings refuse to behave. Can friendship survive when sparks start flying?
Chapter 1
DAISY
“Well, would you look at that mighty fine ass on the marshal,” Lottie says, just as I nearly choke on my cappuccino. We’re sitting in Bluebell’s Diner, and she’s got that mischievous grin on her face.
“Lottie,” I hiss, glancing over my shoulder. “He can hear you. And you shouldn’t be saying things like that about the damn marshal.”
She just shrugs. “Listen, girl, you think it and I say it. Simple facts. Don’t tell me you haven’t been checking his ass out like ninety times a day,” she laughs, and I swear, Lottie is a walking, talking embarrassment.
“No, I haven’t actually,” I say, but my cheeks are burning.
She rolls her eyes. “Well, girl, let me tell you, you’re dumber than a rabbit in the headlights. That fine ass is meant to be looked at. I’d have that under me in a heartbeat.”
“Lottie, stop. He’s only at the counter—he can hear every word you say.”
She just grins and sips her green tea. “Well, it’s about time you and he got it together,” she says, winking at me.
I reach for my coffee, needing the caffeine. I’m a little addicted, honestly.
I get up at five a.m. to do yoga on the deck, then meet Logan and pick up Hector—his gorgeous Airedale Terrier—to take him to my seamstress shop.
My mornings are always packed. I need coffee to get through it all.
Okay, I need it in the afternoon and evening too. And after dinner, if I’m out at a restaurant.
Sleep comes easy for me, though. I stay up reading until after ten, and when my head hits the pillow, I’m out cold.
“We are never going to get it together. You know Deacon and I are just good friends. Always have been, always will be. Ever since we were kids in the sandbox.”
“Oh, please, Daisy. The way that man looks at you? Seriously? It’s written all over his face how much he wants it to be more than friends.”
“Yeah, well, that may be, but unless he asks me, I’m not doing anything about it,” I say, folding my arms over my not-so-impressive chest. Unlike Lottie, I wasn’t blessed in that department.
They’re fine, just…not much to write home about. I toss my long blonde hair over my shoulder and give her my best we are not discussing this right now look.
“Just saying,” she mutters, getting the last word in. She always has to get the last word in.
It makes me laugh, because that’s just Lottie. We’ve known each other since we were seven, when her family moved to Willowbrook.
She was so shy at first. I took her under my wing, invited her to sit with me at lunch, shared my strawberry milk and pineapple chunks.
We’ve been inseparable ever since.
Her hair is all bouncy waves, hanging around her shoulders. Sometimes I’m jealous of her glossy, ebony hair, but she says it takes a lot of work.
Her skin glows, thanks to her Mexican mom and Irish dad. She’s got these high cheekbones I’d kill for. Honestly, Lottie is a stunner.
“Well, stop just saying and tone it down a bit,” I tell her, finishing my coffee.
She grins. “How’s the stall going for the fundraiser?” she asks.
I’m setting up a crafting stall for the event in a couple of weeks. It’s to raise money for the local baseball team.
Logan—my older brother, who runs the doctor’s practice here—started the fundraiser a few years ago. He wanted to give the kids a safe place to play ball and hang out. It’s really taken off.
“It’s going,” I say. “I’ve got some new ideas. I want to make bunting, pillows, stuffed toys—cute stuff like that.”
“Sounds perfect. I’m around if you want company at the stall. I hear Logan’s playing with the band. That’ll be awesome. He sure can play a mean guitar, that brother of yours.”
“Yeah, they’re playing tonight. I can’t wait. Sage might even get up there and sing with them.” Sage is Logan’s fiancée.
They were together forever ago, before she left him for Michigan State and some big-deal medical career. But she came back not too long ago, and now they’re together again after ten years apart.
It’s honestly the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about their second chance and just—sigh. I’ve never seen my older brother this happy. It’s the best feeling.
“Wow, that girl can sing,” Lottie says, her eyes wide. “It’s been forever since we heard her, right?”
“Yeah, it has. I think we were seventeen the last time,” I say, and Lottie nods.
Where did the time go? I’m twenty-seven now. Sometimes I try not to think about how much I want my own forever person—someone to build a life with, maybe have a couple of kids.
I know it’ll happen someday, but honestly? No one has ever come close to Marshal Deacon. So here I am, stuck.
I can’t help but imagine Deacon just coming right out and asking me on a date. But maybe he’s like me—too scared to mess up a good friendship.
I’ve known him since I was a kid, just like Lottie. He’s Logan’s best friend, and I’m pretty sure he still sees me as Logan’s little sister.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he says, and my cheeks go up in flames. Seriously? Get it together. I always turn into a blushing idiot around him.
“Hey there, Deac,” I say, trying to sound casual. He smiles back, and I swear, the way his eyes crinkle and those blue eyes light up—ugh.
A girl could get lost in those eyes. I’m not even kidding.
Girls, hold on to your hearts, because this man could sweep you off your feet if you let him. I just wish he’d sweep me off mine.
“Want to join us? You can sit right here next to me,” I say, surprising myself with how bold I sound. He blushes all the way to his hairline. It’s honestly adorable.
