I shook my head, but laughed, as much at his comment as the forward feline female with an obvious crush. “Before this, I hadn’t traveled much either.” At all, as a matter of fact. “I’ve liked something about each place, because it’s all been new, but if I had to pick one? Here, honestly.” I set my watering can down and turned toward him.

He looked mildly surprised, but pleased. Clawdia arched her back, delighting in his fingers raking over her spine. Something tightened inside me as I watched his large, tanned hand trail idly over the animal’s fur. “That’s a nice endorsement,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. I took in his expression. He had surprised me. I’d had such a different impression of him when we’d first met. But Travis Hale had layers to him. He was a good listener. He had the ability to laugh at himself and take some good-natured needling, which meant he had at least a modicum of humility. He was a small-town cop who obviously took great pride in his hometown, but it was also clearly important to him to be part of the “in” crowd. He was about as masculine as they came, and yet he was currently carting a disabled cat around, because watching her struggle from room to room behind us had compelled him to assist her. Yes, definitely layers. Wonder of all wonders. Not that I had the time to peel them back, but I could appreciate a person who ended up being more than their first impression. I usually pegged people immediately and I was rarely wrong. It had meant my very survival once upon a time.

For a few moments we simply looked at each other, the sunlight streaming in, and the house just coming alive upstairs, the purr of the delighted cat vibrating softly between us. I closed my eyes and relished the quiet for what it was. Solitude. Well, with my new friend. My onion man.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

My eyes opened as I tilted my head. Travis could have shunned me for what Easton did. He could have made me suffer for it too, others had certainly considered me guilty by association after Easton wronged them. But Chief Travis Hale wasn’t doing that. It said something about him. And I was grateful. “I was thinking that I’m glad we’re friends.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Travis

“Who’s the new guy?” I asked casually, as if I didn’t already know the answer, glancing at Mrs. Hearst, one of the managers of the golf and tennis club.

She looked up from where she was doing paperwork at a table with a large umbrella blocking out the sun and peered toward where I’d inclined my head. Easton Torres lowered a tennis ball hopper over a ball and then moved toward another, collecting it as well.

“His name is Easton Torres. He’s a seasonal employee. One who generally has a line of women trailing behind him,” she said, smiling up at me. “Why, hello, Chief Hale.”

I smiled back. “How are you, Mrs. Hearst?”

“I’m well, thank you. Why do you ask about Easton?” As though he’d heard his name—though that was impossible because the distance was too far and we were speaking quietly—he glanced up, his eyes widening as he looked between me and Mrs. Hearst. I smiled slyly, raising my water bottle. He tucked his head and hurried away, the hopper clutched in his hand, leaving numerous tennis balls uncollected on the empty court.

I tipped my drink to my mouth, giving myself time to consider how to answer her question. Mrs. Hearst was one of the few in the club who hadn’t lived in Calliope when the scandal with my mother occurred. Therefore, if she judged us, it was only because she’d heard the gossip, not because she had a personal stake in Victoria Hale’s numerous betrayals and ultimate ejection. When I’d seen her sitting alone at the table and Easton directly in view, it’d seemed a good opportunity to plant a seed or two. Just in case. I drummed my fingers idly on the brick column next to me. Tap, tap, tap. But what if I did more than plant a seed? What would happen if I told her Easton was under an unofficial investigation—which was true—that might potentially result in a scandal that brought negative scrutiny to the club—which, again, was true. Potentially. The idea knocked around in my brain momentarily. I’d have to word it just right.

A laugh drifted from the direction of the smoothie bar around the corner from where I was standing.

I’m sorry. On his behalf.

If I did word it just right, Mrs. Hearst would likely find a reason to fire Easton, that’s what. Who needed a potential scandal brought on by a temporary employee?

You can’t apologize on someone else’s behalf.

Tags: Mia Sheridan Pelion Lake Romance
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