I check the front door and it’s locked with the shades pulled down. When I go around back, I see the door is ajar and Juno’s car is parked nearby. I knew she bought the place, because the bank came to the sheriff’s station to get the paperwork notarized. I asked around, but nobody knew why. Her grandmother's place is not too far from downtown, and from what I remember it’s plenty big for Juno and her. Why the hell would she move out and to a business downtown? Did she really need to be closer to work?
Lux told me about her parents a long time ago, so I always kept an eye on her Grams. I send one of the boy scouts in town to cut her grass in the spring and summer, and I have the local builder clean her gutters out twice a year. We got some pretty bad ice a couple of times this winter, and I made sure to salt her steps before she woke up to go get the paper. They didn’t have anyone else looking out for them, and I wanted to help in some way. If I’m honest with myself—which I don’t like doing—I know I’m pretending when I say I’d do it for anyone else in town.
I push the door a little and look at the stairs that lead up to the apartment. I’ve only been up here one other time, but that was before it was sold. One last look over my shoulder and then I decide I should check on Juno just to make sure she’s safe. I know I said I’d keep my distance, but I’m also the sheriff.
The stairs are narrow, but I take them in no time and see the apartment door is wide open. “Jesus, it's like a neon sign for crime.”
Without thinking, I walk in and I’m struck silent by the image that greets me. Juno is standing there in short shorts, a hot pink bra, and a glass of wine. She looks up at me and freezes for only a second before she puts a hand on her hip and raises that damn stubborn chin of hers.
“You make it your business to walk into people’s homes now?” Her eyes narrow like she’s pissed, but I see the blush creeping up her neck.
“I do if their fucking doors are wide open. Why are you half naked for the whole damn town to see, Juno?”
“You got a warrant?” She takes a sip of her wine and raises an eyebrow.
“I could take you in right now for underage drinking and indecent exposure.”
“I dare you.”
“Put some clothes on.” I glance around the apartment for something and see a sweater on top of a cardboard box. I pick it up and toss it to her, and she just lets it fall to the ground out of spite. “Damn it, Juno.”
“I can’t decide if you like saying my name or if you can’t stop yourself.”
I take a step toward her, and she places her wine on the table next to her. She grabs the sweater and slowly lifts it over her head and makes a show of covering up.
“Happy?” she asks as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Not in a long fucking time.” I clench my fists at my sides because she’s undoing me again. “Not since the day you walked into my life.”
She flinches, and I wish I could take the words back because they didn’t come out how I meant for them to. Since the moment I met her, she’s been driving me crazy, and I have no control. I wish I could go back to a time when I could have more than a single thought without her invading my mind. But there’s a dark part of me that whispers I’d never let that happen.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Why are you here?”
“The lights were on, and the door downstairs was unlocked. I thought maybe someone had broken in.” The lie rolls off easily, but she doesn’t believe it.
“A chicken can’t take a shit in this town without you knowing about it.”
“Watch your mouth.” It’s out before I have a chance to think about it, and she smirks with the challenge.
“It’s my fucking house,” she taunts, daring me to do something about it, and God, how I want to.
“So it is.” I tighten my jaw so hard it cracks. “You should lock your door; someone could break in.”
“When exactly was the last time Pink Springs had a breaking and entering, Sheriff Cross?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her just last week, but we both know it’s been longer than we’ve been alive. The worst thing that happens in this town is kids getting drunk on the football field after hours and throwing up in the bleachers.