The other woman, presumably Sam, gave Julian his water. “Here you go. Can I get you anything from the bar—a sampler of one of our brews, perhaps?”
There was no mistaking the interest in her eyes.
It was flattering to think that a woman in her early twenties found him attractive. He’d turned forty this year, and some of his whiskers had gone gray. Still, Julian hadn’t been interested in another woman since the day he’d kissed Tessa in that hospital linen closet. She had loved him when he couldn’t love himself. He couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
“I’m good. Thank you.”
Sam gave Deputy Marcs her water without saying a word.
“Aren’t you going to flirt with me or ogle my physique?” Deputy Marcs flexed a bicep.
“Sorry, Julia,” Sam answered with a smile. “You’re hot, but you’re not my type.”
Cheyenne and Sam stayed to take their orders, while Marcia turned to give McBride his water, her gaze still on Hunter. In the next instant, she tripped, dumping ice water down the back of Hunter’s shirt.
He gasped, shot to his feet, caught her.
She stared at him where he held her, eyes wide. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay. I was hot.”
Julian wasn’t sure that was the best choice of words in this situation.
“I’ll get you a towel.” Cheeks pink, Marcia hurried back to the bar.
Deputy Marcs seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. “She’ll name a drink after you.”
Julian couldn’t help but grin. “You should have seen the look on your face.”
“You think this is funny?” Hunter raised a brow at him.
Julian nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
Marcia returned with a terry cloth towel, her cheeks still pink. “Sorry again. I’m happy to pay for your meal.”
“You don’t have to do that. Accidents happen.” When Marcia started to dry Hunter off, he took the towel from here. “I can handle it. Thanks.”
“Sorry!” She looked like she was going to say something more, then turned and hurried off, probably still feeling embarrassed.
They placed their orders—mostly burgers, but a personal pan pizza for McBride—and talked over the day’s training while they ate. Deputy Marcs was eager for them to see the devastation at the county’s campgrounds and along Magnolia Road.
“The fire burning west of town right now was almost certainly started by transients, so that’s another danger these illegal campsites pose to those of us who live here. People who don’t obey camping regulations are unlikely to respect fire bans.”
Julian could see that. “Where is the nearest homeless shelter—Boulder?”
Deputy Marcs nodded. “Some are afraid to go to the shelters because they don’t feel safe there. Some refuse to stay in shelters out of fear of being picked up on outstanding warrants or because they don’t want to follow the shelter’s rules about drugs and booze.”
“This problem isn’t going to be easy to solve,” McBride said. “That’s why I brought you all up here. Apprehending fugitives is on the top of the Marshals Service’s list. As for the rest—well, we don’t want to demonize people, but public safety and resource protection take precedence.”
The food arrived, Sam and Cheyenne carrying large trays covered with plates. A dark-haired young woman in a chef’s uniform followed them, carrying McBride’s pizza.
“I hear we have a Chicagoan at the table,” she said.
McBride held up a hand. “That’s me.”
“I’m Victoria Hawke, owner of Victoria’s Chicago-Style Deep Dish Pizza.” She set the personal pizza in front of him. “Here’s a taste of home. Enjoy.”
McBride inhaled the scent. “It smells like the real deal.”