The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,117
shake hands, and she walks over to me. She turns her face up for a kiss, and I’m more than happy to oblige.
“Do you think you’d be up for something this afternoon? A non-strenuous hike?” I don’t want to ask too much of her after what she went through last night, but there’s somewhere special I want to take her, and she appears to be moving around okay.
“Definitely,” she answers. “I need to show the HVAC guy my plans, but pick me up at the hotel at four?”
“Perfect.” I brush a kiss across her lips, reveling in the fact that those are lips I plan on kissing until I’m sitting on the front porch of the homestead talking to my grandson the way Gramps talks to me.
Dakota goes back to work, and I head to the ranch. On the drive I keep glancing at the royal blue gift bag on the passenger seat, the ring safely nestled in a ring box inside. I pull onto the dirt road leading to the ranch, and just as I’m about to reach into the bag and peek at the ring, my attention is caught by a police cruiser parked in front of the homestead.
It was going to happen sooner or later. Dixon’s meth house was just a few hundred yards off HCC land. If the police deepen their investigation beyond what they see on the surface, it makes sense they would approach us. I park the truck and get out, surprised to find my dad and Sheriff Monroe standing in front of the badly burned barn. I had assumed they’d be in my dad’s office.
Their backs are to me, so I make enough noise to let them know I’m walking up. They both look over their shoulders at me as I approach.
“Sheriff Monroe.” I dip my chin in greeting. When I was in high school, he wasn’t yet the sheriff. He was just my friend Bryce’s dad, and I called him Mr. Monroe.
“Wes,” he answers, returning my nod. “Quite the eventful night out here with this barn fire, not to mention that meth house explosion up in the mountains.” He motions around the barn with one finger. “The fire captain said it looked premeditated. Little fires around the perimeter. Derrick said there was a gas can found in the woods. I’d like to take a look at it.”
Dad’s gaze flickers behind me. “Wes, I put it in the shed. Go grab it.”
I do as he asks, setting it at the sheriff’s feet.
He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and wraps it around his hand before touching it.
“I looked for initials or a name somewhere on it,” I tell him. “Couldn’t find any.”
“I can check it for prints, but it’s been handled by multiple people.” Sheriff Monroe picks the can up off the ground and the gasoline inside sloshes around. “Hmm,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing. “Could’ve sworn Derrick said the can was empty when he found it.”
Dad speaks. “He must’ve been mistaken.”
The sheriff's and my dad’s eyes meet, and something passes between them. You’d never know it, because their facial expressions don’t change, but their eyes hold a conversation. These are two men who’ve known each other for decades, and I have a gut feeling this secret won’t be the first they’ve agreed to keep.
The sheriff places the gas can on the ground. “Without prints or a name, there’s no way to determine who set fire to your barn, Beau.” He tucks his hands into his pockets. “Good luck with insurance. They can be stingy.”
We watch him get in his cruiser, leaving a trail of dust floating in the air.
“Dad,” I begin, but he lifts a hand and stops me.
“Son, you’ll spend a majority of your life on the right side of the law. And then there may come a time when you decide you are the law. If that ever happens, just be mindful of who you include, and remember your reasons.”
He walks away, and I know in my heart it will be the last time we ever talk about what happened in the mountains last night.
I place the gas can in the shed and go to my cabin to get ready for Dakota.
I wasn’t kidding when I said the hike isn’t strenuous. It’s more like a long walk, which is perfect because even though Dakota wears a brave face, I know her muscles ache.
“We’re almost there,” I tell her, swinging her hand I’m holding in mine. The ring is in my