Her Cowboy Sheriff

Annabelle stood up. “Just because someone accused her doesn’t mean—”

“—she’s guilty, I know, but she has to answer the charges. And since she’s here in my jurisdiction I’ll have to serve that warrant—which I can’t do until she’s been medically cleared.” Finn leaned over her desk. “Let the system work, Annabelle. If she’s innocent, that will come out in the evidence and I’ll apologize. I wish I could do more to help.”

Annabelle flushed. Her gaze was level with Finn’s yellow shirt, which covered his very masculine chest. “I wasn’t asking for help.”

She could tell he didn’t know how to take that. Finn shifted his weight, his gun belt jangling with the motion, his expression opaque.

He put one hand on the butt of the pistol. “Maybe you should think about your relationship with Sierra. From what you say, she wasn’t exactly grateful to you for taking Emmie. Could be she’s not the person you remember.”

That thought had crossed Annabelle’s mind but she wasn’t ready to condemn her cousin, even when Sierra had all but accused her of neglecting Emmie. Sierra must be in pain. After what had been that near-fatal accident, and with drugs on board, she couldn’t be held accountable for what she’d said. Besides, Sierra knew that Annabelle made an easy target. She had rarely fought back, the story of her life. I stuck up for you...because you didn’t for yourself.

“Not the same person?” Annabelle echoed. “Maybe not, but for now I’m her protector—and Emmie’s. Someone has to believe in Sierra.”

Finn studied the floor. “I have to admire your loyalty.”

“Which you consider to be misplaced.”

He raised his gaze to Annabelle, looking as if he didn’t want to say what came next. “That’s your business. But have you asked yourself the serious questions? What if Sierra stays in that hospital? She’s shown few signs of being able to go home so far. Even if she could, considering that warrant, she might end up in jail. And if you’re gone, what would that mean for Emmie?”

“I haven’t thought that through. The next time I talk to Sierra, I hope to ask her about Emmie’s father. Maybe he could take her and I won’t need to—”

“Maybe you will. Time is short and there’s a three-year-old child to consider here. You can’t just up and leave even if that’s what you want most in this world.”

“You’re saying I’m selfish.”

“I’m saying you need to think of Emmie’s welfare.” This from someone who didn’t have children, but Finn made her feel guilty anyway.

“You sound like Sierra, but I’m doing the best I can,” she said. “I’ll do what’s right for Emmie—and for me.”

Finn put his sunglasses back on, started for the hallway then stopped. “And I’m sure Emmie trusts you to do just that. Sierra, too. Everyone in Barren does, Annabelle, and people rely on you too much. Doesn’t leave you any protection for yourself.” He glanced back over his shoulder, catching her with an astonished look on her face. “But don’t let Emmie down.”

She wasn’t accustomed to validation from anyone—and not from a man who’d also implied she wasn’t doing a very good job. That she didn’t care enough about Emmie. Coming from Finn, rather than Sierra, that hurt even more.

She watched until he disappeared around the corner into the main room of the restaurant, heard him greet the mayor, Harry Barnes, and several ladies who were having a late lunch.

Finn’s department motto was To Protect and Serve. He hadn’t meant anything else. For Emmie. Or her.

* * *

“REMEMBER MISS CLARA’S SHOP, Sierra?” Annabelle asked, having spent the past half hour at her cousin’s bedside. She would have to leave soon to pick up Emmie, who was with Blossom, for her doctor’s appointment. Annabelle’s earlier talk with Finn, except for his parting words, had already ruined her day. “We laughed so hard we couldn’t breathe.”

Sierra waved a limp hand in the air, almost dislodging the IV line in her arm. “Your mother grounded us for the next week.”

Annabelle caught her arm. Sierra had torn out that line before, and half of Annabelle’s visits seemed to involve calling the nurse to redo it. “That was the last time we went to the store,” Annabelle said, “but Miss Clara did have the most interesting things for sale.”

She didn’t go on. All at once the memory didn’t seem funny. At the store, to her horror, Sierra had slipped a cheap, flashy ring in her pocket, and that night Annabelle’s mother had found it. Of course she’d blamed Annabelle, too—Now my daughter is a thief?—and the next summer Sierra hadn’t come to stay. She’d never come again. Better not to pursue this topic, which might bring another angry outburst from Sierra about Annabelle’s parents.

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