Texas Grit

Dade ignored the stirring in his chest that tried to convince him being around her again was a good idea.

“Take my arm.” He held it out, and she took it. More of those frustrating zings of electricity coursed through him. Way to keep the hormones in check around a beautiful woman, Butler.

Reporters tried to follow him and Carrie inside the lobby, but a deputy quickly reacted, forcing them outside.

In the next minute, he and Carrie were being ushered into a hallway. He recognized the building all too well. He’d been there countless times since his father’s murder. Always with the same result—no solid leads. A conference room had been converted into a makeshift command center where volunteers took shifts answering phones, jotting down leads. At least a dozen intake spots were set up around the long mahogany conference table. The room sounded like a Jerry Lewis telethon with the constantly ringing phones, hushed voices and volunteers with their heads hunkered down, speaking quietly into receivers.

The sheriff’s office was large, simple. There was a huge desk, also mahogany, with an executive chair and two flags on poles standing sentinel on either side. A picture of the governor was centered in between the poles. Two smaller-scale leather chairs nestled near the desk. A sofa and table with a bronze statue of a bull with rider sitting astride it—commissioned by Dade’s father—sat to one side of the room. Dade had been surprised to see the statue in the sheriff’s office. But then, Mike Butler always had a few cards up his sleeve, and he’d been a complicated man.

Dade’s oldest sibling, his sister Ella, kept talking about how she felt like their father was still watching over the family. She’d gotten closure from a note their father had given her days before his death. Dade was happy for his sister—finality and peace were two very good things—but his relationship with the old man couldn’t have been more different. And he’d known the minute his father snatched a toy away from him at age seven and told him to quit wasting time and get to work that his father didn’t look at him in the same light.

Expectations for Mike Butler’s sons took on a whole new level. Dade and his twin brother, Dalton, had endured, not enjoyed, childhood. Both had been forced to grow up fast. And neither could really wrap his mind around the fact that the big presence that was their father was gone. A pang of regret hit Dade. He wished he could go back and have the conversation he’d needed to have with his father. Now it was too late.

“I wish I had news for you,” the sheriff started as he took his seat in his executive swivel.

More useless wishes, Dade thought.

“I’m not here to talk about my family’s case.” Dade tried to mentally shake himself out of his reverie. Chewing on the past wouldn’t make it taste better. Reality was bitter. His father was gone and their relationship was beyond repair. Case closed.

Dade focused on the sheriff, noticing the wear and tear on his features as his office continued to be inundated with phone calls, questions and leads about the Mav’s murder. Deep lines bracketed the sheriff’s mouth, and worry grooves carved his forehead.

“Would either of you like a cup of coffee before we get started?” Sheriff Sawmill asked, gripping his own mug of still-steaming brew. There was a packet of Zantac on top of his desk. “Janis would be happy to get it for you while we talk.”

“No, thanks,” Carrie said.

“I’ll get a cup on my way out,” Dade stated, not wanting to waste time.

“What brings you to my office?” Sheriff Sawmill took a sip and set the mug down. He picked up the packet and tore the corner. He dumped the small pill onto his palm and then popped it into his mouth, chasing it with water from a bottle on his desk.

“When I was closing my store earlier, I was cornered by one of the festival workers in the alley.” Carrie crossed her legs and rocked her foot back and forth. Dade remembered her nervous tic from high school.

“Did he touch you or hurt you in any way?” The sheriff’s gaze scanned Carrie as though looking for any signs of struggle.

“Not exactly.” The admission seemed to make her uncomfortable, considering the way she started fidgeting.

“Threaten you?” Sheriff Sawmill leaned forward, making more tears in the corner of the empty Zantac packet.

“He backed me up against the wall but was interrupted be—”

The sheriff’s desk phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “Excuse me for a minute while I take this.”

Carrie nodded.

Dade could see where this was going, and regret stabbed him for dragging her here in the first place. The sheriff, his staff and the volunteers were overwhelmed. The festival worker hadn’t exactly threatened Carrie—intimidated was a better word. Her neighbor had interceded, and then Dade had arrived on the scene. The worker had left without so much as making a threat for anyone else to hear. As frustrating and scary as this whole situation was for her, nothing illegal had happened.

The sheriff ended the call and shot them an apologetic look. “It’s been a little hectic around here. Please, continue.”

“I was backed up against the wall, so I got ready to use my pepper spray when Samuel Jenkins showed up and interrupted Nash,” she said.

“I know the Jenkins boy,” Sawmill said with a nod of acknowledgment. It didn’t matter how old a man was in Cattle Barge. He would always be known by his family association. The Jenkins boy. The Butler boy. No matter how much Dade tried to distance himself in order to be his own man, he’d always be Maverick Mike’s boy. “And Nash is...?”

“The festival worker,” she clarified.

The phone rang again, and the sheriff let out a sharp sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hold on for one second.”

Dade could see this was going nowhere. He stood and Sheriff Sawmill immediately put his caller on hold.

“I’m sorry about the interruptions,” Sawmill began. “We get several dozen calls a day from citizens who think someone might be following them or their crazy uncle is hatching a plan to murder them and some of those complainants have access to my direct line considering most of us have lived in this town all of our lives. We all go way back.” His eyes flashed at Dade. “The town’s been in a tizzy for weeks and everyone’s on alert.”

“We understand. We’ll give a statement to one of the deputies out front.” Dade waved off the sheriff.

“My office will do everything in its power to ensure the safety of its citizens.” It was the line the sheriff had most likely given to every small-time complainant since his world had blown up.

When Dade really thought about their case, he couldn’t argue. No real crime had been committed, and that tied the sheriff’s hands. Normally, Sawmill would go talk to the offender and that was deterrent enough, but his plate was full and the festival was on its way out of town in the morning. Problem solved for Carrie.

“We’ll check the festival’s schedule and reach out to local law enforcement and ask to be made aware of any similar complaints.”

“Thank you,” Dade said as Carrie stood, seeming to catch on immediately to the underlying current. Anyone could see that the sheriff’s office was being inundated, so a case like Carrie’s would be swept under the rug. Not for lack of concern, but because resources were too thin and solving a high-profile murder would take precedence.

“Everyone holding up okay at the ranch?” Sawmill asked.

Dade nodded as he put his hand on the small of Carrie’s back.

“Anything you can do is appreciated, Sheriff,” he said, leading her toward the same hallway they’d traversed moments before with the knowledge it wouldn’t be much.

* * *

THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE boomed with activity even at this late hour. Carrie was tired. She wanted to go home, wash off the day and cuddle her dog, Coco. Giving her statement to the deputy hadn’t taken long, but it was getting late.

“He can’t help, can he?” Carrie released her words on a sigh. This seemed like a good time to be grateful Nash would be long gone in the morning and her life would return to normal as soon as the situation with Brett calmed down.

“Doesn’t appear so.” Dade seemed as frustrated as she felt.

Bright lights assaulted her the second she stepped out of the air-conditioning and into the August heat. There was so much flash and camera lighting that it seemed like the sun had come out.

The swarm followed them to Dade’s truck, and a couple of cars tailed them even when they got on the road, snapping pictures. It was a dangerous situation. She could certainly see why Dade had taken the alley in order to stay under the radar.

“I’m sorry the sheriff’s office wasn’t more help,” he said. “I should’ve realized what the place would be like.”

“There’s been a crime wave in town following your dad’s...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word murder.

“Seems most of it has been targeted toward my family.” There was an undercurrent of anger in Dade’s voice.

“Have you even had a chance to process any of this?” Carrie wished there was something she could say or do. “Here you’re helping me when you have so much on your plate already.”

“Good to think about something besides my own problems for a change.” He put on his turn signal and changed lanes. “Did you eat dinner? We could stop off.”

“I wish I could.” She started to apologize but he stopped her. “I have a dog that needs to go out. Her name’s Coco and she’s a Sharp Eagle, which is a cross between a shar-pei and a beagle. She has the beauty of a shar-pei and the sweet temperament of a beagle.” Carrie realized about halfway through her monologue that she was talking too fast. Being alone in a truck with Dade shouldn’t make her feel anxious, so she chalked her heightened feelings up to the crazy end of the day and not the electricity pinging through her body being this near him. “I’m talking too much.”