helping.”
Joanne’s mind spun, but her heart leaped. She could do the job, without question. It was time for her to take control of her life and stop letting everyone push her around. “I accept.”
Chapter Two
Tate left Joanne’s home and jumped in his black SUV, heading into town for something quick to eat. Once again, he’d forgotten breakfast. He punched in a phone number on his cell phone.
“Yeah?”
“It’s a done deal. I offered her the job, and she accepted,” Tate said, turning toward Murphy’s Pub to drop off his new flyers for his mayoral campaign and hopefully bum a sandwich.
“Thanks,” Sheriff Dillon Murphy said over the line.
Tate nodded. “Oh, cousin. You are definitely going to owe me one.”
“Agreed. Besides, after she’s worked for you a while, you’ll owe me a favor. Joanne will do a phenomenal job for you.”
Tate grinned. “That’s your dick and not your brain talking, but it doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” He and Dillon weren’t just cousins, they were friends. That meant they didn’t need to mess around with niceties.
“I’m sorry about any flack you’ll face from the Rushes.”
Tate lost the smile. “That’s all right. At some point, I need to distance myself a little bit. First to get away from the scandals, and second to show that I’m my own man. This is one way to do it.”
“Yeah, I get that. Do we need to talk about Tucker and Hannah again? I mean, have you tried to forgive your brother?” Dillon asked after a long pause.
“There’s no forgiveness, and no, I do not want to hash this out again. Not unless we have a gallon of Cooder’s moonshine to split between us.” Even now, the wound was still too raw, and he was too angry to talk it out.
“Cooder’s moonshine is illegal, dumbass,” Dillon snorted. “I’m the sheriff, and you’re running for mayor. It’ll have to be good old Jack Daniels when you want to hash this shit out.”
“When I’m ready, you’re the first guy I’ll call.” Hell, it had been that way almost since Tate was born. When Tate had fallen off the monkey bars at a family picnic at the tender age of six, Dillon had all but carried him to his mother, and then later sworn, on the soul of every dead person who’d ever died in Storm, that Tate hadn’t cried at all. Not one tear. Of course, he’d sobbed like a wounded old lady.
Tate pulled to the curb next to the pub, and there was Dillon, leaning against his squad car, grinning.
Tate sighed and jumped out. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“We’re meeting for lunch,” Dillon responded with a head jerk toward the restaurant.
Tate should never have given Dillon his schedule for the day. He crossed around his vehicle to the sidewalk. “I told you that I’m fine.”
“Yeah. Fine. Except it’s been over a month since you found your brother in bed with your girlfriend, and you’re still working like a fiend. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t you be fine?” Dillon asked.
Tate stomped inside the pub with the damn sheriff on his heels. “You’re a busybody, Dillon Murphy.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Logan Murphy, Dillon’s youngest brother, said from behind the bar as he wiped the polished oak to a fine shine. “The guy has to know everything about everybody, and then he has to figure out a plan to fix everything.”
Dillon shot his brother a look. “We can move on to you and your problems, if you’d like.”
Logan held up both hands in mock surrender. “No. Bug Tate for a while, would you? We have clam chowder almost ready in the kitchen. I’ll go grab a couple of bowls.” He disappeared into the back room.
Tate scooted around a high booth, wishing he could escape into the kitchen. “How’s he doing?”
“Shitty.” Dillon hefted around the other side. “He’s angry and hurt and still won’t talk about it. Won’t even think of going to Ginny and giving her a chance to really explain. Poor kids.”
Tate reared back. “Explain?
Joanne’s mind spun, but her heart leaped. She could do the job, without question. It was time for her to take control of her life and stop letting everyone push her around. “I accept.”
Chapter Two
Tate left Joanne’s home and jumped in his black SUV, heading into town for something quick to eat. Once again, he’d forgotten breakfast. He punched in a phone number on his cell phone.
“Yeah?”
“It’s a done deal. I offered her the job, and she accepted,” Tate said, turning toward Murphy’s Pub to drop off his new flyers for his mayoral campaign and hopefully bum a sandwich.
“Thanks,” Sheriff Dillon Murphy said over the line.
Tate nodded. “Oh, cousin. You are definitely going to owe me one.”
“Agreed. Besides, after she’s worked for you a while, you’ll owe me a favor. Joanne will do a phenomenal job for you.”
Tate grinned. “That’s your dick and not your brain talking, but it doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” He and Dillon weren’t just cousins, they were friends. That meant they didn’t need to mess around with niceties.
“I’m sorry about any flack you’ll face from the Rushes.”
Tate lost the smile. “That’s all right. At some point, I need to distance myself a little bit. First to get away from the scandals, and second to show that I’m my own man. This is one way to do it.”
“Yeah, I get that. Do we need to talk about Tucker and Hannah again? I mean, have you tried to forgive your brother?” Dillon asked after a long pause.
“There’s no forgiveness, and no, I do not want to hash this out again. Not unless we have a gallon of Cooder’s moonshine to split between us.” Even now, the wound was still too raw, and he was too angry to talk it out.
“Cooder’s moonshine is illegal, dumbass,” Dillon snorted. “I’m the sheriff, and you’re running for mayor. It’ll have to be good old Jack Daniels when you want to hash this shit out.”
“When I’m ready, you’re the first guy I’ll call.” Hell, it had been that way almost since Tate was born. When Tate had fallen off the monkey bars at a family picnic at the tender age of six, Dillon had all but carried him to his mother, and then later sworn, on the soul of every dead person who’d ever died in Storm, that Tate hadn’t cried at all. Not one tear. Of course, he’d sobbed like a wounded old lady.
Tate pulled to the curb next to the pub, and there was Dillon, leaning against his squad car, grinning.
Tate sighed and jumped out. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“We’re meeting for lunch,” Dillon responded with a head jerk toward the restaurant.
Tate should never have given Dillon his schedule for the day. He crossed around his vehicle to the sidewalk. “I told you that I’m fine.”
“Yeah. Fine. Except it’s been over a month since you found your brother in bed with your girlfriend, and you’re still working like a fiend. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t you be fine?” Dillon asked.
Tate stomped inside the pub with the damn sheriff on his heels. “You’re a busybody, Dillon Murphy.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Logan Murphy, Dillon’s youngest brother, said from behind the bar as he wiped the polished oak to a fine shine. “The guy has to know everything about everybody, and then he has to figure out a plan to fix everything.”
Dillon shot his brother a look. “We can move on to you and your problems, if you’d like.”
Logan held up both hands in mock surrender. “No. Bug Tate for a while, would you? We have clam chowder almost ready in the kitchen. I’ll go grab a couple of bowls.” He disappeared into the back room.
Tate scooted around a high booth, wishing he could escape into the kitchen. “How’s he doing?”
“Shitty.” Dillon hefted around the other side. “He’s angry and hurt and still won’t talk about it. Won’t even think of going to Ginny and giving her a chance to really explain. Poor kids.”
Tate reared back. “Explain?
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