“You don’t get to waltz in here with your fancy sheriff badge and that big brother smirk and boss me around,” she yelled. “I have my shit together, and I don’t need you or anyone else lecturing me on what I do in my free time.”

“You’ve got nothing but free time,” Vaughn hissed as quietly as he could manage. “You have nothing going for you at all.”

“Screw you!”

“Kinda feels like that’s what you’re doing—screwing me over at my job, putting me in a position where I either got to sit on my hands while the police arrest you over and over again, or set aside my ethics as a sheriff to keep you out of jail.”

“I don’t need your help,” she shouted, shoving him again.

He planted his feet right in the middle of her room, his hands in his pockets, and let her push on him. It wasn’t like his little sisters hadn’t beaten on him a million times when they were kids, and maybe it would wear her temper out faster. “Is that right? Then tell me how you’re going to play it the next time Wallace Meyer or one of his gophers arrests you for possession of drugs or stolen merchandise? Because, right now, they want to catch you. They’re on the hunt.”

The head of steam she’d worked up deflated. “You don’t know that.”

Vaughn scoffed. “You know what I’m doing as soon as the warrant comes in from the judge? I’m going to the hospital to arrest Wallace Jr. for a violent crime. Chief Meyer knew it was coming to this, and the first chance he had, he got in my face with a threat against you.”

She dropped to her bed again and wrapped her arms around her knees. “What?”

“That’s why I’m here. You think I want to talk to you about this shit? Wallace Meyer told me straight up that if he catches you with so much as one foot stepping outside the law, he’s putting the full power of his position into prosecuting you. I came here to warn you. If you feel the sudden need to go shopping, or however the urge starts inside you, do me a favor and head to Albuquerque, okay? Stay out of Tucumcari.”

She hugged herself tighter. “I live in Tucumcari.”

“Okay, well, don’t go shopping. And for the love of God, no more parties with Wallace Jr.’s crowd.”

“Fine.”

“And while we’re at it, how about you show a little respect for the people who raised you and hand over any pot you have in the house.”

Her eyes turned wide and innocent. “I don’t have any.”

“Give me a break, Gwen. Hand it over or I’ll search your room. Because I’d rather you be pissed at me than be storing drugs right under the noses of our parents.”

After a minute’s deliberation, she opened her closet and scrounged around in a drawer. Blank-faced, she handed a baggie to him.

He pocketed it, nodding. “Thank you. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Are we clear about things?”

She picked at a fingernail. “Yes.”

He put his hand on the doorknob, then stopped. “I know you don’t think you need me, but I can list a hundred different ways you might get into hot water fast, now that Wallace Meyer has it out for you. If you have a problem, you call me, okay? If you think you’re being tailed or harassed by the Tucumcari police in any way, you let me deal with it. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“If you ever get to thinking about doing stupid shit again, drugs or shoplifting—whatever—think about Mom and Dad, will you? Think about what this is doing to them.”

She stalked up to him, indignation written all over her face. “You have no idea what I’m going through. No idea what it’s like to have a problem you can’t control.”

He opened the door, the itch for a smoke burning in his throat again. “Yeah, sis. You’re right. I have no idea what that kind of impulse control is like. You’re such a special snowflake.”

She threw something at him, a book or folder. He wasn’t sure which because he ducked, then scrambled out, shutting the door. A second something thunked against it.

“Were you two arguing?” It was Mom in the living room, her apron bunched in her hands, her face anxious.

Turning on his brightest smile, Vaughn swatted the air as he walked to her. “Sibling squabble. I suggested she work with Dad at the college to earn her keep around here. She told me to butt out of her life.” He slung an arm across her shoulders and guided her to the kitchen.

“She doesn’t want anybody’s advice, Vaughn. You know that. I’ve been praying for guidance, but that’s about all she’ll let me do to help her.”

Seems like Gwen was letting Mom do plenty, providing her with free boarding and food, and probably doing her laundry too, but he’d never call Mom out about it. “You get any answers from the Big Man on High yet?”

“Not yet.”

He rubbed her shoulders. “Whatever you do, keep trying.” He glanced at his watch. Five o’clock. “Any chance you’ve got some extra cookies to spare? I’m going to check in with Dad, then I’ve got to get on patrol.”

In a six-man department, the sheriff was on the hook for patrol as much as the most junior members of the team. There simply weren’t enough bodies to cover the shifts while the sheriff sat behind his desk. It was one of the many things Vaughn loved about being a sheriff of a rural county. He loved getting his hands dirty on the job, keeping his finger on the pulse of the community. He hadn’t gone into law enforcement to work a desk job.

“I already packaged them for you.” She presented him with a bag full of snickerdoodles.

“Thanks, Ma.” He took the bag and bussed her cheek. “I’ve been craving cookies since the last time you sent a batch home with me.”

She followed him to the door. “If you had a girl of your own, I’m sure she’d make you cookies whenever you wanted.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the singsongy nag, relieved her anxiety over his argument with Gwen had passed. And yet, he didn’t know how to break it to her that he wasn’t all that attracted to domestic types of women. He didn’t want a rancher’s wife—some cute little thing who stayed home to cook him dinner and wash his clothes. It was a certain truck-driving, ride-the-range sort of cowgirl who’d captured his interest.

He wondered what his mom would think of Rachel. He could almost reconcile it in his head, the two of them bonding. Not over cookies or knitting, but horseshoes and grain feed.

He opened the bag and popped a cookie into his mouth. “You’re not going to rest until I get hitched, are you?”

“I need grandchildren.”

Bam! There it was—Mom’s favorite topic. Uncanny, how she’d weaseled the conversation in that direction. Still, he had the good grace to look surprised by the suggestion. “Wait a gosh-darn minute. Stephanie gave you three grandchildren. Frankly, I thought I was off the hook years ago. I sent Steph a fruit basket to thank her.”

Mom got that twinkle in her eye that only showed up when she found him charming. “You did not send your sister a fruit basket for having a baby.”

“Sure I did. When she popped the second one out and it was a girl. I figured my keister was covered because she’d had one of each, so I sent her another fruit basket. Actually, more like a fruit tower. Boxes of apples and pears and oranges—a whole tower of fruit.”

He’d reeled her in good now. Chuckling as she was, she’d forgotten all about the fact he hadn’t brought a girlfriend around in a long, long time, or that her middle child was a petty thief and all-around loser.

“I’ve always wanted one of those, like from the catalog,” she mused.

He gathered her in a bear hug. “That’s good to know.” He kissed her hair. “See you soon, Ma. Thanks again for the cookies.”

He found his dad alone in the workshop, sharpening a hoof knife. He afforded Vaughn a sideways glance. “Did I hear your mother hassling you about grandchildren again?”

He opened the cookie bag and popped one in his mouth. “Brings her great joy to nag me about it, so I’m hard-pressed to complain.”

“That a boy,” Dad said with a grin. “’Course, if you’re really interested in bringing her great joy, it wouldn’t kill you to bring a woman around for dinner every now and then.”

Vaughn rubbed his eyelid, grimacing. “That might kill me, actually.”

Dad grinned. “Aw, now, I’m teasing you. Don’t get your undies in a bunch.”

Vaughn grinned and nearly choked on the snickerdoodle he was swallowing. “Undies?What am I, eight?”

Dad chuckled and went back to sharpening his knife. “Does that mean you avoided upsetting her with Gwen’s trials, I hope?”

Vaughn settled on a bench. “Tried my best not to, even though Gwen makes that near impossible most days.”

Dad tested the knife edge with his thumb, then sheathed it in a worn leather scabbard. “I take it today was one of those days?”

“I don’t know where you and Mom find the patience to deal with her.”

“It’s called love, son. No use loving someone if you can’t be patient with their shortcomings.”

Snorting softly, Vaughn opened the nearest drawer. The divider tray of horseshoe nails was a mess, with no rhyme or reason to its organization. He set the tray on the counter and got busy sorting.

“Tell me what’s going on with Gwen,” Dad prompted.

Vaughn sighed, “I’ve got something going on at work. A case involving Wallace Meyer Junior. And Meyer told me out-and-out that if I arrest his son, he’ll be looking to repay the favor next time Gwen has a problem.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his dad perch on a stool, shaking his head. “Makes me want to treat her to a month-long cruise in the Caribbean so I can concentrate on the case without having to worry about her.”

“What kind of case are we talking about here?”