A Baby For The Deputy

“You look pale.”

“Do I?” Mel touched her face, only to let her hand drop. “I got up early. And,” she added, suddenly recalling, “I missed lunch.”

“You work too hard.”

It was true. She did. But she had no choice. Not if she expected to make her monthly payments to Doc Palmer.

“Speaking of which, I’d better go. I have another appointment.” She smiled, wished for just a moment they were alone and started to slide in behind the steering wheel. She didn’t suggest calling him later. Chitchatting on the phone wasn’t something they did.

Aaron’s next words stopped her. “See you tomorrow. At the party.”

“You’re going?” That was a surprise. Mel had reviewed the guest list last night and knew his name wasn’t on it.

“Dolores invited us. She and Nancy are in the same Bunko group.”

“Right. I forgot.”

“You don’t mind?”

Mel dismissed his concerns with a nonchalant wave. “Dad’ll be glad to have you there. All of you.”

By all of you, Mel meant Aaron’s almost three-year-old daughter and his mother-in-law, Nancy, who’d lived with him and his daughter since the death of Aaron’s wife.

Granted, their arrangement might seem a bit unconventional to some, but apparently it worked. Nancy’s late daughter had been her only child. Watching her granddaughter during the day, sharing Aaron’s home, allowed her to stay connected while also providing him with a trustworthy and devoted caregiver. At least, that was how he’d explained it to Mel.

All at once, Ethan returned from wherever it was he’d gone and hailed Aaron.

“Go on,” Mel told him, and hopped in her truck. “I’m running late as it is.”

“Do me a favor. Eat and get some rest.” Before she could start the ignition, he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

She wanted to be mad. He was breaking their strictest rule. Except it was hard to be mad when her shoulder tingled deliciously at his touch and continued to even after he’d moved off.

Mel shut the truck door and drove away, almost forgetting to drop off her invoice with the horse owner on her way out.

Reaching the end of the long drive leading down the mountain from the ranch, she stopped and let the truck idle. Since she and Aaron had begun seeing each other, they’d both worried how people, like Nancy for instance, might be hurt. It was yet another reason for the two of them to keep their relationship casual and private.

Lately, however, Mel worried about her vulnerable heart. She hadn’t counted on her feelings for Aaron growing and did her best to hide it from him.

She let out a long sigh. What had seemed so simple at first was slowly becoming complicated. Aaron and his family attending her father’s party, and his mother-in-law developing a friendship with Mel’s stepmom certainly wasn’t helping matters. Neither was her upset stomach, which gave another lurch.

Nerves. And stress. Those had to be the reasons. Mel refused to consider anything else.

* * *

AARON WAS MAKING his third trip of the day to the Sanford place. The first time he’d arrived at 6:20 a.m. in response to the 9-1-1 call. He’d returned at 9:50 a.m. when Ken Sanford, Sr. called to say he’d discovered fresh tire tracks behind their far pasture—no one had driven the dirt road since before the last rains.

Now, Aaron was heading to the ranch for another look around, planning to focus on the cut fence where the thieves had entered the property. When his cop’s gut told him to persist, he usually did. There was always the chance he’d missed something during his previous inspections.

Horse rustling. Who’d have guessed he’d be investigating a crime of that nature in this day and age? A search of records at the station revealed the last such incident committed in Mustang Valley had been in the 1930s. Wow.

Aaron observed every detail as he drove, despite frequently traveling this road. He couldn’t help himself—too many years on the force. That didn’t stop the other half of his brain from wandering. Specifically to Mel. Not that he didn’t always think of her when they weren’t together.

She’d looked unwell earlier, and that bothered him. He understood the lines of fatigue on her pretty oval face. With her demanding schedule, that wasn’t uncommon. Rather, it was the lack of color in her cheeks and slowness of her steps concerning him.

She was almost always happy and vivacious—a ball of energy contained inside a petite package. Those qualities more than her sparkling brown eyes and curvy figure were what caused him to notice her two winters ago at the community’s Holly Daze Festival.

After that, it was hard not to keep noticing her and, eventually, talk to her. Just being in her proximity breathed new life into parts of Aaron’s heart and soul he’d thought forever darkened.

Dangerous feelings and ones he shouldn’t have. Not if he wanted the life he’d scraped together for him and his daughter, Kaylee, to remain calm, quiet and stable. Emphasis on the last word. That was why he’d quit the Phoenix Police Department and taken the less demanding job of deputy sheriff.

His phone abruptly rang. The personal one he kept in his vehicle, strictly for family and close friends. Snatching it from the cubby, he glimpsed his sister’s name and photo on the display. The picture of her and Kaylee was one of his favorites, taken during his sister’s last visit.

“Hey, Pickle.”

She groaned expansively. No secret, she hated the childhood nickname. Which was why Aaron insisted on using it.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Bad time to call?”

Hearing Joanna’s voice immediately thrust him back in time to their family’s rural home in Queen Creek and their life together growing up. She’d moved to Seattle a year ago, and he missed her terribly. She’d been his rock, his staunchest supporter and his sounding board during the many difficult months Aaron’s wife was ill and every day since she’d died.

“I’m on the road,” he said. “Have about ten minutes.”

“Don’t tell me.” Joanna laughed, the sound rich and vibrant. “A rancher let his hound dog run loose, and it got in with the lady down the street’s King Charles spaniel.”

He pretended to be affronted. “Believe it or not, there’s real crime in Mustang Valley.”

“Riiiiiight.” She drew the single word out over three syllables.

“We’ve had a recent rash of horse thefts.”

“No fooling? That actually sounds serious.”

“I’m on my way now to talk to the third victim.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“Not yet. I’ve been interviewing the locals.” Most people didn’t realize that 90 percent of good detective work was questioning potential witnesses.

“Locals like Mel?”

Aaron paused, not wanting to give his sister any ideas. “She’s a regular at most of the ranches in the valley and might run across something.”

“How you two doing?”

“We’re not dating.”