Confessions of a Wild Heart by Kade Boehme Page B

dress blues calling this get-up such,” he said, drily. And damn, did he mean that. He’d not been happy when he was given the print-out that listed the dress code for county deputies at social events where they’d be recognized as such: blue button-down with khakis, a bolo tie, black or tan Stetson, boots, and to top it off, their actual deputy tin. Normally the tin didn’t look so “Welcome to Texas,” but with the bolo tie, hat, and boots, the tin star looked like a dude ranch costume. He wondered if he was expected to use a novelty accent as well.
               “I think the Sheriff’s wife made this up as she went for her photo ops.”
               Lacey laughed her honest, hearty laugh. No tittering, giggling princess here, folks. “I wouldn’t doubt that. You’d think we were a county that mattered the way she and the mayor’s wife have been carrying on the last couple years.”
               “Local pride,” Jase teased, giving a fist pump. That got him another laugh. She wrapped manicured fingers around his bicep.
               “Shall we, sir?”
               “Why, yes’m, we shall.” He was glad, now, he’d come with her. He’d decided he’d been out of bounds thinking she’d gotten the wrong idea again. Older and wiser, they could be friends now. She was thirty, not twenty-three anymore. He’d been so tense all day, stressing over getting Mama’s ramps put in after a night of tossing and turning, trying to decide if he should stalk Ase at the hospital so he could apologize for freezing up like he had. Repay the favor, more like it. He tried not to get lost in the same fantasy of four years ago.
               And thank goodness, he had a friend to make him laugh. He’d been trapped at that damn Ranch of Death by himself too damn long, he’d decided.
               They went through a white archway that had vines twining up the sides and tea lights placed in red-and-white checkered jars. There were a lot of people in the picnic area, formerly known as the back lawn of city hall. It’d been fenced in with a faux white picket fence. Tables were hither and thither, covered in the same red and white checkering, meant to look apple pie, all-American but with a touch of class, if the fancy candles and centerpieces were telling. People weren’t out in typical picnicking clothes either, but their Sunday best. Not black tie, by any means, but definitely dressier than a family barbecue.
               “Well, they went all out, huh?” Jase asked, leaning into Lacey’s ear, catching a whiff of cotton-candy perfume. He didn’t comment on how much she smelled like a girl he dated when he was fifteen. He didn’t know if women stuck with one fragrance from high school on, or if her knowledge of such things ended at hair, makeup, and sundresses.
               “Yeah, I’m glad I wore the dress. I almost came in jeans, but I saw a couple of ladies at the salon getting dresses from the cleaners across the street and thought better of it.”
               Jase knew his eyes were probably wide as he took in what some would probably consider an over-the-top presentation for a small county’s local sheriff’s re-election picnic.
               Of course he figured it’d be a little more upscale since they had to dress so silly, and it was being held as the sun went down and into night, rather than just grills and Solo cups at the church. He scanned the area, noting a few coworkers he should probably say hello to.
               “Do you see what I see?” Lacey asked. He glanced at her, then off in the direction she was looking.
               He smiled and side-eyed her. “Booze tent,” they said, almost in unison, before making a beeline for the open bar—the only way the sheriff probably managed to drag half the people there out tonight.
               They were halted a couple times for