Aequitas by Hope Anika (best classic books of all time .txt) 📕

worming its way through her.

What was he getting at?

“I can always talk to them instead,” he said.

“You leave them alone,” she warned. “They’ve been through enough.”

“The woman who answered the door—Esme—said you’d lost one recently?”

A sudden, unexpected swell of emotion thickened her throat. Damn it, Esme. Always gossiping. The woman simply couldn’t help herself. “Mr. Sanders.”

In the hallway, the clock began to chime.

“I’m sorry,” the new Sheriff said quietly.

Wynn only blinked at him.

He folded his arms on the table. The muscle that roped his forearms shifted and flexed, and an awareness she didn’t at all appreciate flared deep within her. Stupid man. Like a mountain, alright. Dwarfing her kitchen and sucking out all of the oxygen.

“How many tenants, Wynn?”

She regretted telling him to call her that. She should have left it at Ms. Owens. Because who was Ms. Owens? No one she knew. “Five.”

“And Esme mentioned your sister, Jenna?”

The dread turned to sharp, piercing fear. “Spit it out, new Sheriff.”

“It seems like a lot of responsibility,” he continued. “A younger sister, half a dozen elderly tenants. Leaking pipes. Livestock. A farm is a lot of work. Running this place can’t be easy.”

Again, Wynn said nothing and stared at him.

He looked around the kitchen, taking in its battered white cupboards and scarred linoleum floor, the ancient appliances and ugly florescent lights. He lingered on the cheerful, sunflower-strewn curtains—courtesy of seamstress Esme—and the pot of stew simmering on the stove before moving his gaze to the small disaster under the sink. “Money must be tight.”

She didn’t like the opaque surface of his gaze; the cold expression on his face; the indecipherable, unspoken question he was asking.

“You have a tenant named Earl Barry,” he said. “Is Earl here?”

She sipped her coffee with false calm. “Why? Did he hit the Post Office sign again?”

“No.” The new Sheriff scrawled something unknown into his notebook, his mouth a hard line, and she wanted to grab him by his ugly shirt and shake the stiff out of him.

What the hell was going on?

“You’re certain you don’t know where Mr. Barry is?” he asked again, that brilliant gaze clashing with hers.

Wynn said nothing. Of course she knew where Earl was; her boarders weren’t just tenants, they were family. They didn’t go anywhere without telling her. But she would eat her left boot before she spilled those beans.

The back door suddenly flew open and smacked the wall. Jenna breezed into the kitchen, clad in her soccer gear. She stopped short when she caught sight of the new Sheriff.

“Holy shiny shirt,” she said. “Who are you?”

He pushed himself to his feet, shifting his weight carefully, and Wynn found herself watching him closely. Wondering what had happened. How.

Silly goose; he’s the enemy.

“This is the new Sheriff,” she told her sister. “He was just leaving.”

“The new Sheriff?” Jenna eyed his shirt dubiously. “Are you sure?”

Wynn only arched a brow. The new Sheriff gave her a dark look and lifted the tail of his shirt; a shiny silver badge and a large black Glock decorated the belt he wore.

“I’m looking for Earl,” he told Jenna shortly.

“Earl’s gone,” she replied. She bent down and rubbed Beowulf’s head; his tail wiggled in delight. Thump, thump, thump. “He went fishing up in Canada.”

Wynn was surprised by the sardonic look the new Sheriff shot her. So a human being lurked in there, after all.

“Canada,” she said. “Huh. Who knew?”

“When did he leave?” the new Sheriff wanted to know.

Jenna shrugged. “Monday, I think. He said he’d be back Thursday. Griff went with him.”

“You’re not respecting our tenant’s privacy,” Wynn chided.

Another dark look.

“Did he hit the Post Office sign again?” Jenna demanded. “Why do you want to talk to him?”

“Yes, new Sheriff,” Wynn added. “Why do you want to talk to him?”

“That’s Earl’s business,” was the new Sheriff’s brusque reply.

Jenna frowned. With her sleek, corn silk blonde hair, slender build and refined features she was the mirror image of their mother. Sometimes the resemblance was so close it hurt to look at her. “Did you tell him?”

Wynn blinked. “Tell who what?”

Jenna rolled her eyes toward the new Sheriff. “You know what.”

Uncertainty flickered across her face, and Wynn realized abruptly what she was talking about.

“No,” Wynn said.

The new Sheriff looked up to pin her with that glinting green gaze. “Tell me what?”

“Nothing you need to worry your big surly self about, new Sheriff.” She gave him a wide, phony, prom queen smile. “I’ll tell Earl you came by.”

“You’re sure?” Jenna asked doubtfully.

Wynn shot her sister a quelling glance. “Tell the new Sheriff goodbye, Jen.”

He turned and set his gaze on Jenna. “Tell me what?”

But Jenna just sighed. “Nothing.”

“Buh-bye, new Sheriff,” Wynn said. “It’s been real.”

Real crappy.

He made a sound like a growl. Then he turned and looked at her.

She only lifted a hand and waved. “Thanks for coming by.”

He leaned toward her, and her kitchen table suddenly felt like a school desk. He was far too big. Far too intense. And he smelled like…fresh cut cedar?

His gaze crashed into hers. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then he leaned closer and snarled, “Wynn.”

Beowulf made a surprisingly sinister sound in response, and something foreign and thrilling and terrifying rippled down Wynn’s spine.

This man was dangerous.

In more ways than one. She wanted him out of her house.

Now.

Jenna’s phone rang; she pulled it from her pocket and answered it. A moment later, she was gone.

But the new Sheriff didn’t move.

“You need to tell me what that was about,” he ordered softly, his gaze like green fire.

Wynn had assumed it was anger that he stirred; annoyance, fear, the history she couldn’t seem to bury. But something deep within her shivered beneath that look, and it had nothing to do with anything other than the agitated, electric current that crackled between them. Which was a shocking and unnerving revelation; one she didn’t at all welcome.

It just a made her want him even more gone.

“I need a lot of things,” she told him. “An oil change. A pipe wrench. But the new Sheriff sticking his big, fat nose into my business isn’t one of them.”

For an intractable moment, they stared at one another. And then, abruptly, he straightened. He shoved his notebook into his pocket, and pulled out a business card, which he held out to her.

“For Earl,” he said.

“I’ll pass it along.” Wynn reached out and took the card. But as she moved to pull it away, he held on, until her gaze lifted to meet his.

“You do that,” he said.

Something unspoken smashed into the space between them, and awareness licked through her, as hot and searing as any flame.

His lashes flickered, as if he felt it, too.

“I’ll be back,” he warned.

Wynn pulled the card from him and crushed it in her palm. “I’ll be waiting.”

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