Page 74 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

Smiles aimed my way were rare in the station. They normally only came from Janice. And Mitch. He always had one waiting when I walked into the station in the early-morning hours before the shift change.

As we passed the last cell, the man who’d been hauled in first was on his cot, snoring louder than a bear.

Mitch simply shook his head and hit the button on the wall to signal we were ready to come out.

Allen was waiting on the other side to buzz us through the secure door. He’d swapped out of day shift to help tonight on patrols.

Every member of my staff had been on duty today, even the office crew. The county sheriff and his team had come into town to help manage the crowds and patrol the streets. The Quincy Independence Day celebration had been a whirlwind of activity. We’d been prepping for it all week, and in just a few more hours, it would be over.

Thank God.

I yawned and dug a set of keys out of my pocket. They belonged to the cruiser I’d taken out for a two-hour patrol shift.

“It’s all yours.” I handed them to Mitch. He and Allen would be taking the next patrol shift together.

“Thanks, Chief.”

“Winslow,” I corrected.

He nodded but I suspected he’d keep calling me Chief. “Heading home?”

“Yeah.” I yawned again and glanced at the clock on the wall. Three in the morning. I’d come in at four, yesterday morning. “Call me if you need anything.”

He nodded. “Will do.”

“Night, Allen.”

“Night, Chief,” he said. “See you Monday.”

“That’s technically tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Guess so.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not cut out for the night shift.”

“Me neither.” I waved, ducking into my office to collect my purse before heading outside, where my Durango had been parked for nearly twenty-four hours.

Sliding behind the wheel, I let my shoulders slump. “What a day.”

The festivities had started with a parade on Main. My team had barricaded the road and put out detour signs for the traffic needing to pass through Quincy. Officers had been stationed at both ends of the street to guide pedestrians and wave through cars. I’d missed most of the parade—floats and horses and classic cars—too busy walking the sidewalks and surveying the crowd.

Cleanup had followed, and I’d found thirty minutes to scarf down an early lunch at my desk. Afterward, while half of the officers had set out in cruisers on patrol, the rest of us had made our way to the fairgrounds to prepare for the evening rodeo.

During the barrel racing, I’d visited with the county sheriff, learning more about him and his team. During the steer wrestling, I’d escorted a drunken cowboy who’d been vomiting behind the porta-potties off the grounds to sleep it off in the back of his horse trailer. And during the team roping, I’d helped a little girl who’d gotten separated from her family find her parents.

But toward the end of the night, as the sun had set and with it the temperature, I’d found a quiet moment to stand against the fence and breathe. The overhead lights had cloaked the arena in their blinding glow and obscured the stars above. Bull riding had been the final event, and as young men had climbed on the back of massive beasts, hoping to make it eight seconds, I’d focused on the stands, searching for Griffin.

He’d sat toward the bottom rail, and even from the opposite end of the fairgrounds, his smile had made my heart skip. Every row had been crammed, the space around Griffin no different. I’d recognized his family sitting close by.

The Edens had drawn nearly as much attention as the bull riders. People had passed, waving and stopping for a quick hello. Like he’d known I was watching, Griff had searched the fence line and found me.

In a sea of people, above the noise and below the lights, one look from him and the world had melted away.

The Fourth of July meant trouble.

In that moment, with that single look, I’d known I was in trouble.

Casual was becoming a craving. We’d sailed past uncomplicated weeks ago. Whatever boundaries we’d erected had been destroyed. I’d peeled my life away from Skyler’s after eight years together. Eight years. Yet the idea of letting go of Griffin seemed impossible

and it had only been a month.