Fighting Chance (Misty Grove Book 1) (2 page)

A telltale prickle ran up the back of Trent’s neck. It was a sixth-sense he’d developed during his time in SpecOps and his instincts were usually spot on, especially when it came to danger. But why now? Why that man? For now, he’d keep those observations to himself. His deputy had held his breath when they’d passed the garage. Obviously, Brooks was expecting a demand from his sheriff to identify Tattoo Guy. Brooks would find out soon enough that Trent was far from predictable.

As their cruiser left the half-mile stretch of commercial strip, the scenery transitioned back to the pastoral variety— rolling grassy hills, small cattle herds, and barns. Innocent enough, but Trent knew in his gut all was not what it seemed with the town of Misty Grove. A mystery skittered underneath its amiable surface. A secret he intended to uncover.
 

*****

Trent wasn’t expecting to be at the wrong end of a shotgun.

Fuck.

He stared down its barrel into calm hazel eyes. A woman with the face of an angel opened the door to the ranch house and stole his breath away. Trent was pissed at himself because him getting caught off guard was almost unheard of. He was a quick draw, and he had no doubt he could have had this woman at a standoff, but there were just too many unknown variables at this point—Brooks being one of them. One dead sheriff in three months was already one too many, so he raised his hands in a gesture of non-hostile intent.
 

“Goddammit, Cassie, lower your shotgun. That’s our new sheriff for Christ’s sakes,” Brooks yelled from behind him. From his peripheral vision, Trent noticed his deputy had drawn his weapon.
 

“You guys are trespassing. The gate was closed.”

“It wasn’t locked,” Trent stated calmly, but she was right, they were trespassing. Cocking his head slightly to the right, he addressed his deputy. “Brooks, lower your weapon.” Returning his attention to the hellion in front of him. “Miss, you do realize I could haul you into lockup for threatening an officer of the law.”

“I’m the one with the gun, Sheriff,” came the saucy reply, and there was no mistaking the amused tone behind it.
 

The little witch was playing with him. Jesus, what had the former sheriff been allowing to happen?

A flash of irritation crossed over her face. “What is it with people showing up unannounced?”

Trent stilled. “You get trespassers often?”

“You mean you’re not here because some dumbass ...” She clamped her mouth shut.

“What are you talking about?” Trent growled, a protective instinct rising up within him. He didn’t get a chance to second-guess his reaction because the woman’s face shuttered into a stoic mask.

“Nothing.”

“If someone’s bothering you, miss, you should notify us immediately.”

“It’s been handled.”

Trent narrowed his eyes.
 

A short laugh burst from the other end of the weapon. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I didn’t shoot them and hide their bodies.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like that, lady.”

The woman sighed as if bored with the conversation. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I came to see Mr. Montgomery.”

“He’s in Kentucky.”

“Kentucky?”

“Looking at horses.” A pause and then, “You do know we raise Arabians around here.”

“I am aware of the fact.”

“And we mostly keep to our side of town, so you guys from county have no business here.”

Trent heard Brooks groan behind him.
 

“Cassie, is it?”
 

“Cassie to my friends. It’ll be Ms. Reed to you.”

“Is it short for Cassandra?”

She stepped back and lowered her shotgun, giving Trent a full view of her angelic face that hid the heart of a she-devil.
 

“Yes.”

“Well, Cassandra, as far as I’m concerned, Misty Grove is a part of Buckland County and, as such, is under my protection.”

“We don’t need protection.” She looked past Trent to his deputy, and that just irritated him. “Danny, did you explain—?”

“Eyes on me, Cassandra, not Brooks. I’m your sheriff.”

“You were appointed.” Her nostrils flared.

“Until you elect a new sheriff, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Her hands tightened around the shotgun.

“I wouldn’t aim that at me again if I were you,” Trent warned. “I may not be as tolerant the second time. Besides, I don’t think you ever planned to shoot me anyway. All bluster, no bite.”

“Uh, Sheriff—” Brooks started saying.

Cassie huffed a derisive sound. “I wouldn’t be too sure. Next time there won’t be a witness.” She nodded at Brooks.

That’s it
. Trent had had enough.
 

He stepped toward her. She wasn’t a tiny woman, probably five seven. But Trent, at six foot four, towered over her, and he used his height advantage to drive home a point.

Lowering his head to her upturned and mulish face, he said in a low voice, “Fun’s over, sweetheart. There’s a new sheriff in town, and if you think you’re going to get another opportunity to point that shotgun at me, think again. I went easy on you that first time, so don’t think you can run circles around me. Next time, you’ll find yourself handcuffed, and you can be sure I’m hauling that pretty little ass of yours to jail. Got me?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a stirring in his groin. He inhaled sharply to ward off his damned erection.
Jesus
. What was wrong with him?

A mischievous smile curved Cassie’s pillowy red lips. Lips Trent had no business imagining very inappropriate thoughts about.

“That sounded dirty, Sheriff,” she whispered conspiratorially. Stepping back from him, she tilted her head to the side and eyed him from head to toe. “You’ll do.”

“What?” Trent asked dazedly, fighting off the desire to yank her back to him.

“You faced down a shotgun calmly. You’ll do.”

What the fuck?

“You were testing me?”
 

Cassie shrugged nonchalantly as she headed back to the ranch house. She had the sexiest mass of wavy chestnut hair. Streaks of gold curls glinted briefly before the roof of the front porch dimmed them. Holding the door open, she said, “You have big shoes to fill. I wanted to be sure. Please close the gate when you leave.” She disappeared into the house, letting the door swing close decisively.

Trent stood there for a few seconds, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened.

He then turned around and walked past his deputy, still bemused as he got into their cruiser. “What just happened, Brooks?”

His deputy didn’t answer him for a while, as if trying to figure it out for himself.

It wasn’t until they had left the ranch that Brooks turned to him. “Don’t do it, Sheriff.”

“What?”

“She’s bad news.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Pretty little ass?”

Shit. He did say that.

“It just—” Trent coughed “—slipped out.”
Very unprofessional, Stone.

They drove in silence for a few more miles. She wasn’t his type anyway. He liked his women sweet and mild-mannered. He wasn’t attracted to ball-busters at all. Still, he couldn’t help asking, “Why is she bad news?”

“I really didn’t mean it that way. I like Cassie,” Brooks said carefully. “But pursuing her is like hunting a unicorn.”

Trent suddenly had a sinking feeling. “She likes women.”

His deputy burst out laughing. “Cassie? No. I think she likes men just fine.”

That didn’t sound any better, and common sense told him to leave it at that. He wasn’t interested.
 

Brooks angled his eyes at him, but before his deputy could say anything, their radio crackled. “Sheriff, are you there?”

“Ten-four, Betty, what’s up?”

“Before you go off duty, could you stop by the station? We have a situation.”

“What situation?” Trent checked the clock on the dashboard. He’d been in this last shift for eighteen hours, and as much as this job had been an interesting challenge, he needed sleep.

“Mr. Bowman wants to file an attempted murder charge on behalf of one of his men.”

Jesus Christ.
Arnold Bowman was the pain-in-the-ass real estate developer who was after a large swath of land in Misty Grove.
 

“Against who?”

“Cassandra Reed.”

CHAPTER TWO

“You don’t have a case, Bowman.”

Trent eyed the belligerent man in front of him. He had met Arnold Bowman in one of the meetings with the Board of Supervisors and his opinion had not changed. Of medium height and build with slightly balding blond hair, Bowman was impeccably dressed in an expensive suit. A man of vast wealth who expected the whole county government to be at his beck and call. Well, not on his watch.

“Excuse me? She shot Deuce with a shotgun.” Bowman waved his arm angrily toward his henchman seated in a chair in front of Trent’s desk. Deuce Walker was twice the size of Cassie Reed from what he could tell. He really didn’t blame the girl for shooting first and asking questions later. Deuce was also doing a piss-poor job of feigning injury. When he’d walked in with his boss, his limp looked exaggerated at best.

“Look, I could be wrong and I can bring it up with the DA, but clearly, Deuce showed up unannounced at Montgomery Ranch.” Trent tried not to flinch because he and Brooks had done the same thing, and now after getting a picture of what had transpired right before they had arrived, Cassie’s actions toward them weren’t as out of place. “Georgia has a stand-your-ground law. She was fully within her rights to defend her property. The question now, Mr. Walker, is what you did to warrant such a response from Ms. Reed.”

“Are you implying that it was my man’s fault he was shot?” Bowman snapped.

“Mr. Walker, was the gate closed when you arrived at the ranch?”

“Well yeah, but it wasn’t locked,” Deuce muttered.

“Oh, was there an ‘enter as you please’ sign at the gate?”

“Now, now, Sheriff, there’s no need to be sarcastic,” Bowman interrupted.

“I’m trying to establish the scenario here.”

“What you’ve only established is whose side you’re on,” the real estate developer fired back. He turned to his man. “Come on, Deuce, we’re not getting any action here. We’ll go straight to the prosecutor, and we’ll get you, Sheriff, that warrant to make the arrest.”

This pissed Trent off. He stood up, bracing both hands on his desk, and glared at the two men in his office. “I’m in charge of the courts, Mr. Bowman. If Grimes needs to get involved, he does so at my request. I know you’re a distinguished citizen of this county, and with that in mind, I will bring up your case to him, but this is the last time you will be wasting county resources on petty grievances. Everyone knows you’re after Montgomery’s ranch, and if I find out you’re intimidating any county residents, you will be dealt with accordingly, and I don’t give a f—care what your standing is in the community. Clear?”

“How dare you talk to me in such manner?” Bowman sputtered in indignation. Yanking open the door, he jerked his head at his henchman, who walked up behind him. “I shall talk to the DA and it is you who shall be dealt with.”
 

“Be my guest.” The idiot didn’t know it was the governor who had appointed him.
 

After the door slammed behind his unwanted visitors, Trent dropped to his chair and scrubbed his face in frustration, the day’s events catching up with him. He wondered how he could diffuse this situation before anyone got really hurt. He pressed his intercom. “Betty, can you locate Deputy Briggs and have him call me. Also, get the DA on the line.”

“Uh-oh, old man Bowman causing real trouble?” Betty was his sixty-year-old assistant, who ruled the sheriff’s department with an iron fist.
 

“Oh, is there a fake kind of trouble?” Trent chuckled.

His phone rang with an internal call from Betty.
 

“He blows a lot of smoke in different directions to see which one catches fire,” his assistant informed him when he picked up.

“Do you know Cassandra Reed, Betty?”

“Pretty girl. Visited the former sheriff a lot. She’s courteous to me and is friendly with a few deputies, especially the older ones. I know she’s tight with Frank. Otherwise she keeps to herself ...”

Deputy Frank Briggs was the fifty-five-year-old officer who was in charge of court security and warrants. Trent couldn’t understand why he wasn’t the sheriff, because he clearly was the most senior and qualified.
 

“... hangs out with her twin a lot and mostly folks in Misty Grove.”

“She has a twin?” Now why didn’t Brooks mention this.

“Oh, yes. Lucas Reed. Good-looking chap, amiable fellow. When she’s not on the ranch with her twin taking care of the horses, she’s at the garage in Misty Grove.”

“Foster’s?”

“Yep, only garage in that town. Matt Foster. Now I’m not too sure about that guy. I’ve heard some rumors from other deputies that he’s a drug trafficker, but the former sheriff shut that down.”

Misty Grove, for a small town, sure packed its own intrigues, unlike the regular kind of troubles here in Edington, the county seat. Trent wasn’t sure he wanted his assessment to be clouded by hearsay, despite his assistant’s well-meaning intentions.