’Course, I’m a little too busy to hang out at a luncheon. I need to shed a few pounds before the campaign pictures. And figure out a snappy slogan. What do you think of ‘Listen to Your Mutter, Vote for Harley Sutter’?”
Dusty couldn’t bring himself to reply to that question. “I’m assuming that the Reverend Jessup is the one behind your desire to become the next governor of Texas.”
Harley nodded. “I have to admit that I hadn’t even thought about it until the reverend brought it up. I had planned on retiring and letting Hope Lomax take over. But the reverend made me realize that a man can’t just give up his political duties and spend his days fishin’. He has a responsibility to the people. And if I can help the folks of Texas, I’m more than willin’ to jump into the race.”
Dusty could only imagine what would happen to the state of Texas if Harley Sutter became governor. Damned good parades and total chaos. Of course, the mayor would never get that far. And Dusty wasn’t about to let the man suffer that kind of embarrassment.
“So was this Reverend Jessup there when Sam was shot?” he asked.
“I would imagine so. He was at Sam and Myra’s when it happened. And speakin’ of Sam, that’s why I stopped you.” He adjusted the strap on his bike helmet. “I wanted to talk with you about helpin’ out while Sam is laid up. The doc said it would be at least a month.”
“I don’t have a problem helping out until Sam can get back on his feet,” Dusty said. “So when is this luncheon at Wilma’s?”
“This afternoon.” Harley reached out and thumped him on the back. “I knew I could count on you, son. And it won’t be like you’ll have it all on your shoulders. I swore in a deputy just this morning.”
As if on cue, a siren blasted and a patrol car came barreling down the street with lights flashing. Dusty had only a moment to close his eyes in exasperation before the car swung into the parking lot of the diner.
The siren had barely cut off before Kenny’s head poked out the open window. “Lookee at me, Sheriff. I got me a si-reen and everything!”
Chapter Eleven
B Y THE TIME B RI FINISHED CLEANING Dusty’s house, she needed a shower in a bad way. As she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tiny stall, she couldn’t help feeling a deep sense of accomplishment. A feeling she hadn’t felt since college.
While the rest of her family worked—her parents still ran the farm equipment business in Dogwood; Brant, Billy, and Beckett worked at C-Corp; and Beau had the Henhouse and Jenna’s new nonprofit organization—Bri didn’t have anything to do.
She would like to blame her sedentary lifestyle on her overprotective family who seemed happiest when she was doing nothing more than planning a party or getting her nails done, but the truth was she was still looking for her true calling. Thinking she would work at C-Corp, she had decided to major in business. After failing statistics, she dropped that major and went into architecture. When those classes bored her, she moved on to web design. Then interior design. Then engineering. Six majors later, she finally graduated with a degree in university studies. Which qualified her to do absolutely nothing.
But today, she hadn’t done nothing. She’d done something. And she had a clean house to prove it.
The hot water felt wonderful, and she stood for a good five minutes under the showerhead. It was the perfect height for her, but she had to wonder how the sheriff managed it. He would have to scrunch clear down to get his head wet. The thought had her smiling. The smile faded when her imagination took a curve and she found herself knee-deep in a shower fantasy. She visualized the sheriff completely naked, imagining a body as tanned and muscled as the forearms displayed by his cuffed shirts. Once she had a good picture in her mind, she added her soapy hands skating over his hard flesh. Molding to the knots of his biceps.
Dusty couldn’t bring himself to reply to that question. “I’m assuming that the Reverend Jessup is the one behind your desire to become the next governor of Texas.”
Harley nodded. “I have to admit that I hadn’t even thought about it until the reverend brought it up. I had planned on retiring and letting Hope Lomax take over. But the reverend made me realize that a man can’t just give up his political duties and spend his days fishin’. He has a responsibility to the people. And if I can help the folks of Texas, I’m more than willin’ to jump into the race.”
Dusty could only imagine what would happen to the state of Texas if Harley Sutter became governor. Damned good parades and total chaos. Of course, the mayor would never get that far. And Dusty wasn’t about to let the man suffer that kind of embarrassment.
“So was this Reverend Jessup there when Sam was shot?” he asked.
“I would imagine so. He was at Sam and Myra’s when it happened. And speakin’ of Sam, that’s why I stopped you.” He adjusted the strap on his bike helmet. “I wanted to talk with you about helpin’ out while Sam is laid up. The doc said it would be at least a month.”
“I don’t have a problem helping out until Sam can get back on his feet,” Dusty said. “So when is this luncheon at Wilma’s?”
“This afternoon.” Harley reached out and thumped him on the back. “I knew I could count on you, son. And it won’t be like you’ll have it all on your shoulders. I swore in a deputy just this morning.”
As if on cue, a siren blasted and a patrol car came barreling down the street with lights flashing. Dusty had only a moment to close his eyes in exasperation before the car swung into the parking lot of the diner.
The siren had barely cut off before Kenny’s head poked out the open window. “Lookee at me, Sheriff. I got me a si-reen and everything!”
Chapter Eleven
B Y THE TIME B RI FINISHED CLEANING Dusty’s house, she needed a shower in a bad way. As she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tiny stall, she couldn’t help feeling a deep sense of accomplishment. A feeling she hadn’t felt since college.
While the rest of her family worked—her parents still ran the farm equipment business in Dogwood; Brant, Billy, and Beckett worked at C-Corp; and Beau had the Henhouse and Jenna’s new nonprofit organization—Bri didn’t have anything to do.
She would like to blame her sedentary lifestyle on her overprotective family who seemed happiest when she was doing nothing more than planning a party or getting her nails done, but the truth was she was still looking for her true calling. Thinking she would work at C-Corp, she had decided to major in business. After failing statistics, she dropped that major and went into architecture. When those classes bored her, she moved on to web design. Then interior design. Then engineering. Six majors later, she finally graduated with a degree in university studies. Which qualified her to do absolutely nothing.
But today, she hadn’t done nothing. She’d done something. And she had a clean house to prove it.
The hot water felt wonderful, and she stood for a good five minutes under the showerhead. It was the perfect height for her, but she had to wonder how the sheriff managed it. He would have to scrunch clear down to get his head wet. The thought had her smiling. The smile faded when her imagination took a curve and she found herself knee-deep in a shower fantasy. She visualized the sheriff completely naked, imagining a body as tanned and muscled as the forearms displayed by his cuffed shirts. Once she had a good picture in her mind, she added her soapy hands skating over his hard flesh. Molding to the knots of his biceps.
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