police work. And how she was going to have to work hard in order to earn the position that she wanted. West Caldwell wasn’t a local. No. He wasn’t. He was new in town. Which would imbue him with a certain amount of skepticism when it came to the local populace. He was exactly the kind of person she should be writing tickets to.
He is also your landlord.
Yes. He was. But in the grand scheme of things, as much as she loved the little house that she lived in, and loved being able to have her horse there for her to ride whenever she wanted, it wasn’t like she couldn’t find another place. She could. Not only that, she could easily find another place for her horse. After all, her entire family lived on a giant ranch. No, it wouldn’t be as convenient, but she could make it work. Her having the job that she wanted, that she dreamed of, was far more important than her living in the rental that she preferred.
Anyway, her job was quite beside the point. It was the principle.
She took a sip of her mocha and charged across the street, using the crosswalk, and approached the truck. She shook her head, gathering her things so that she could write a ticket, when suddenly, he appeared.
“Is there a problem, officer?”
She had déjà vu. The lazy way he said officer was just as irritating today as it had been yesterday.
When she’d gone home to the little cabin she lived in at Redemption Ranch, the property he’d just bought, she’d half expected him to be waiting there on the porch with an eviction notice. He hadn’t been.
Somehow this felt worse.
This man looked new and broad and big. Out of place in her familiar streets with his sharp blue eyes and the black cowboy hat he wore.
“You’re parked in a loading zone, Mr. Caldwell,” she said, doubling down on her officiousness because it was safety.
“I’m loading,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes, looking up and down the street. “What?”
“Just a second.”
He walked to the side entrance of the Gold Valley Saloon and propped the door open. Then he disappeared inside. A moment later, he reappeared with a giant, heavy piece of furniture, and Laz, the owner of the saloon, holding on to the other end.
Both men were incredibly fit, with large arms, and both had straining muscles, which indicated that the piece of furniture was heavy indeed.
She had no real understanding of why she was contemplating arms.
They hefted the furniture into the back of West’s truck, and Laz ran a large hand over his close-cropped black hair. “Is there a problem, Pansy?” he asked.
“I guess not,” she said. “I thought he was parked in the loading zone. You know, and not loading.”
“I’m giving him my old whiskey cabinet,” Laz said, gesturing to the mammoth piece of furniture that was now deposited into the bed of the pickup.
“He was just going to get rid of it. It’s historic,” West said.
“And you care?” Pansy couldn’t help but ask.
“It’s not historic to Gold Valley,” Laz said. “I actually bought it off a guy in Texas who owned a saloon there. It’s a little piece of Lone Star State history.”
Pansy wrinkled her nose. “I hope you’re replacing it with something local.”
Laz smiled and pointed at his forearm tattoo, a giant fir tree that ran from his elbow down to the end of his wrist, bold and black against his dark brown skin. “As a matter of fact, I did. Showing my state pride.” He placed his hand on the back of the truck. “The historical society gave me permission to go hunt around the basement of the old museum and I found a new cabinet. Gold rush era, and maybe from the original saloon back in the late eighteen hundreds. I’ve been having it restored. So, I’m trading it out.”
“And we were loading it,” West said.
He shook hands with Laz, and clapped the other man on the back. Laz smiled and waved him and Pansy off, heading back into the saloon.
Pansy turned back to West.
“I didn’t know you were a history buff,” she said.
“You didn’t ask,” he replied.
“How do you know Laz?” she asked, feeling suspicious.
He shrugged. “I drink and I’ve been here for a few months. Anyway, who doesn’t know him?”
“And last night over beer he struck up a conversation about cabinetry?”
“As it happens, it came up that I moved here from Texas, you know, when I opened my mouth. And Laz mentioned