When I was on the police force in Denver, one of the other officers had been in the military before joining the force, and he got that expression when he was about to go out on a call.
I’m not a dummy—I’ve read the report my dad had pulled on Luke and his two friends, Jake Callahan and Mason Rivera, when they bought Blackthorn Ranch and moved to town. I know the three are retired from the Army’s Delta Force—the elite of the elite. I just have a hard time remembering Luke’s not only some charming asshole who likes to push my buttons. He’s trained to kill and must have focus and intelligence.
The “trained to kill” part bothers me, obviously, because I’m in law enforcement.
A couple months ago, Eli Turner disappeared—poof—seemingly into thin air. I know deep down that Jake had something to do with it, and by extension, Luke and Mason. I decided to look away, because the Turners are bad news and the sheriff—my dad—hasn’t done anything about them. Plus, Jake was protecting his now wife, my friend Emma.
Oddly, the only other close female friend I have, Lily Carter, our town vet, just moved in with Mason a few weeks ago.
Even if I could get past Luke’s wildness, I’d never be able to get past his blatant disregard for the system. Whatever Luke’s involved in, I doubt it’s legal or safe. Because do I believe the three special forces guys bought a ranch so they could babysit cows? No fucking way.
If only he weren’t so damnhot.
Sometimes I wonder if a weekend with him would be so wrong.
I’m not sure a weekend would be enough—which is exactly why I steer clear of him.
Luke slides off his stool, way too graceful for being as big as he is, that happy-go-lucky expression back in place as he puts his phone away. “Well, Officer Hot Stuff, I’m calling it a night.”
“Hot date, huh?” I say, watching him closely. It’s past eleven on a Wednesday night—where could he be going after getting a text?
He shoots me a smirk as he pulls out his wallet. “Not compared to you.”
Wait—is he actually going on a date?
Sitting back, I frown as he tosses enough bills on the counter to cover both our drinks and then some, trying to find a trace of that operational focus again, but all I see is his swaggering confidence and that grin I want to knock off his face.
Jealousy hits me like a physical thing, sharp and blistering and completely irrational. Because of course there’s someone else. A guy like Luke doesn’t spend his evenings with a deputy sheriff when there are other options—lots of other skank ho options.
Unless it’s a specific skank ho.
I grip my glass because I can’t grip her neck. “Must be important.”
He looks at me, and for a second it almost seems like he looks apologetic. But I know I misread it when he leans in and says in an unfairly husky voice, “Miss me, sunshine.”
Then he’s moving toward the door.
And I’m sitting here like an idiot, watching him go, feeling the sting of rejection I have no right to feel.
I should finish my beer, pay my tab, and drive home—which is my father’s house, because I’m a loser. I should crawl into my empty bed and live my perfectly reasonable life that doesn’t involve following ex-Delta Force operatives into the night.
I should.
But I’m already standing up. I’m already striding to the door, my cop brain screaming at me that this is a terrible idea, that I’m off duty, that I have no jurisdiction over Luke Bennett’s personal life, that following him is crossing about seventeen professional lines.
My cop brain is right.
But I do it anyway.
5
LUKE
As I step outside the Rusty Spur and head to my truck, I hit Jake’s number.
He answers on the second ring. “What?”
“Your people skills remain inspiring,” I say, unlocking the door and getting in.