Trusting Tristan (River's End Ranch Book 24) Page 3

  Apparently his sincerity was lost on her though. She stared suspiciously at him. “You just asked me out on a date?”

  “Yeah. Dinner? Tonight, maybe?” He thought about the amount of cash he had in his wallet. “Nothing too fancy or anything. I mean, just real casual.”

  Then, to his surprise, she smiled. Not just smiled, but laughed.

  Only problem was…it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. Or laugh. It looked more like she was making fun of someone, and he got the uncomfortable impression that the one she was making fun of was…herself.

  “What?” he asked, defensively.

  “Sorry.” Her smile slipped. “It’s just that, even though I’ve heard stories about it happening to other female officers, I’ve never once met anyone who had the guts to ask me out while I was arresting him.”

  Arresting me? Tristan reared back, his chest tightening. “Is that what you’re doing? Arresting me?” he asked cautiously. Could security guards arrest people for taking photos?

  She flushed and looked down. “No, I guess not. Sorry. Security guards don’t have that authority, unless it’s a citizen’s arrest, under Chapter Six, section nineteen-dash-604 of the Idaho Criminal Code.” Clearing her throat, she gestured towards the building they were standing in front of. “But, uh…”

  He looked up, and took an immediate step backwards. Then another. The wooden building was two-stories tall, with a set of barred windows on either side of an innocuous door, and the word “Jail” emblazoned in paint across the second floor.

  Despite the ranch’s profanity rule, Tristan thought a very bad word.

  Maybe she couldn’t arrest him, but she’d just led him to this hokey movie-set’s version of a jail. And the hokey movie-set’s equivalent of a sheriff was gesturing him towards the doors.

  There was no way he was going in there, even if it wasn’t a real jail. Never again. Tristan dug in his heels and shook his head. “Listen, Charley—”

  “Officer Easton.”

  “Right, sorry.” Apologizing to a cop again? He took a breath. “Officer Easton, I’d really rather not go in there, if it’s all the same to you.”

  She cocked her head to one side and lifted a brow. “Why?”

  Why? Her question derailed his train of thought. Why? He didn’t need to explain that to her, did he? “I—uh. It’s not import— I mean, never mind.” He shrugged. “But I can answer your questions out here just as easily.”

  After staring at him for just too long to remain comfortable, she nodded. “I see.”

  And to his chagrin, he thought maybe she could see. See his fear and embarrassment. He scrambled for something to say. “But I’d be way more likely to chit-chat over dinner. There’s a decent Chinese place in town, the Golden Palace. Six-thirty tonight, maybe?”

  She started to chuckle. “You mean it? You’re really asking me out on a date? Now?”

  “Yeah.” He was getting desperate, and not just to stay outside the jail. He wanted her to agree. “No one’s really ever asked you out like that before?”

  “Never. Not too many men have ever asked me out, period.”

  Even though his heart was pounding double-time, his brows lifted in surprise. “Really? I would’ve thought—” He bit down on what he was going to say. Complimenting her, no matter how true it was, would make him sound like he was sucking up. To a cop. “I mean, that’s kinda hard to believe.”

  Her gaze shuttered. “I don’t lie.”

  “Good,” he said quietly. “I don’t either.”

  They stared at one another for a long moment; the tourists moving around them as they stood in the center of the main street. After close to a minute, she finally nodded. “Okay, Tristan. The Golden Palace at six-thirty tonight.”

  “Really?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, cool. Awesome. Thanks.”

  “But!” She lifted a finger. “This isn’t a date.” A second finger joined the first. “I’m paying for myself.” A third finger. “And I’m just doing this to get some answers.” She glared at him, as if waiting for confirmation him to argue

  He nodded instead, a little faster than he probably should. “Sure, yeah. I mean, that’s fine.” He was going out to dinner with the cute girl who’d had her arms around him last week, and he was surprised how happy that made him. “Not a date.”

  Her eyes narrowed, like maybe she was expecting him to make fun of her or something. But then, she nodded once, firmly. “Good. Now, get off my ranch.”

  “Now?” His brows rose.

  “Now. You’ve made one of my people uncomfortable, and I’m going to stand right here and watch you walk away.”

  Watch you walk away. Tristan’s lips quirked at the way she said it, but he tamped down on his inappropriate humor. She probably meant “I’m going to make sure that you leave,” rather than “I’m going to stare at your butt,” but one could always hope…

  “Fine,” he said, and took two steps backwards. Towards his bike. Away from the jail. “Sure. Six-thirty tonight, right?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I’ll even change into a pair of clean pants.” He’d have enough time to duck back to camp after his appointment with Maury out in Athol, and he had one more pair of jeans that weren’t too dirty.

  Her eyes dropped just briefly to his legs, then snapped back up. Was it his imagination, or had she blushed? Good. He finally grinned.

  “See you later, Officer Charley.”

  She didn’t correct him this time, but nodded firmly. “Not a date.”

  “Not a date, right.”

  Then he walked away from the Old West Town jail, and the most intriguing cop he’d ever met. Ever wanted to meet. And as he walked, he felt her gaze on him and tried to pretend that it was wistful instead of glaring.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and snorted under his breath. “Head in the game, kid.” It was what Pop used to say to him, right before he’d send Tristan out to pick up a drop. What would the old man say if he knew his only kid had just asked an officer out on a not-a-date? Maybe it was a good thing they hadn’t had any contact in years, huh?

  Dinner tonight with a cute girl and the promise of an interesting conversation. Was it any wonder there was a spring in his step as he crossed the parking lot? His phone rang, and he pulled it out to see Maury’s number. Probably about the photos of the windows.

  Tristan sighed and pressed the “talk” button. Head in the game, kid. Right.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He was waiting before she even arrived. Charley pulled up short when she saw that same black motorcycle parked in the street out front of the Golden Palace. Old habits made her check the distance of the tires from the curb, and flick her gaze over the inspection sticker. When she realized what she was doing, she flushed, but lifted her chin.

  She might not be a police officer anymore, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care deeply about law and order.

  Forewarned that he was inside, she tugged down on the light sweater she wore with her jeans and sneakers, then pulled open the door. To her chagrin, she’d actually tried on three different outfits that afternoon, trying to decide what one wore on a not-at-all-a-date with a handsome trouble-maker. She honestly felt most at home in her uniform, but that didn’t stop her from trying on a totally inappropriate sundress and an old pantsuit she’d had from her days on the force. Standing in front of the mirror in her apartment, she’d stared at the uncomfortable eyes of the woman in the reflection, before huffing and pulling it all off. Charley Easton was a no-nonsense sort of girl, and if she wasn’t wearing her uniform, she’d wear something else no-nonsense.

  And maybe it didn’t matter what she wore, because his eyes still lit up when he saw her. He was sitting at a booth, using the chopsticks like drumsticks on the edge of the table, when he looked up and saw her. His smile was enough to make her tummy flip-flop, and she offered him a cautious smile in return.

  Right up until the moment when she remembered she was here fo
r information. Nothing else. Oooh, and maybe some moo goo gai pan. Lin could stirfry a mean mushroom.

  No, information. Totally information.

  Oh no, he’s still smiling at me. Why was he looking so happy to see her? Charley almost turned around to see if someone was behind her. Had he ordered without her? Was Lin behind her with the moo goo gai pan already?

  No, no. She took a steadying breath. Tristan was smiling at her. “Hello.” There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

  “Hello, Officer Charley.” He gave one more staccato flourish with the chopstick, then pointed across the booth, as if inviting her to sit down with a drumroll.

  Sliding into the seat, she felt a little better. Like there was a barrier between her and him and the way he made her feel. Which was decidedly uncomfortable. She knew he was a trouble-maker, and someone she didn’t want on her ranch…so why was her stomach and her heart and her brain—traitors—trying so hard to convince her she wanted to spend time with him?

  Stupid brain.

  “Have you been here before?”

  She nodded mutely, and scrambled for the menu. Not that she needed it—she just needed something to occupy her hands and hide her blush.

  “Oh, good.” He picked up his menu as well. “It’s been my favorite since I landed in Riston. Cheap, filling, and the leftovers taste okay cold. Most of the crew are in here a few times a week.”

  The crew? Charley made a mental note about his casual reference, and wished she had her little notebook. Honestly, she’d actually considered bringing it with her on this not-a-date, to jot down any interesting clues that he dropped about himself…but had ultimately decided that might make him suspicious and less likely to confess.

  “Sooo…?”

  To her horror, she realized a few minutes had gone by—Lin had even dropped off waters, and she hadn’t noticed!—while she’d been staring blankly at the menu in front of her face. In a panic, she flicked her eyes towards him.

  “What’s good?” he asked with a smirk, as if knowing he made her uncomfortable.

  “Moo goo gai pan.” She slammed the menu closed and slapped it on the table. “Sliced button mushrooms and chicken.” She was blathering. “The ‘moo goo’ means mushrooms and the ‘gai’ means chicken.” Why was she still talking? “In Cantonese.” Shut up, shut up.

  “Wow, really?” He closed his menu and put it on top of hers. “And the ‘pan’ part?”

  The way he was looking at her, all interested and alert, made her even more nervous. “Um. ‘Sliced’, I think.”

  “Makes sense.” His grin was still crooked. He hadn’t magically gotten his teeth straightened since this afternoon, either. And she didn’t mind one bit.

  She groaned under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was making a mess of things, wasn’t she? Stupid brain.

  When Lin returned, Tristan smiled up at the server. “Two moo goo gai pans, please. I have it on authority it’s really good here.”

  The tiny woman smiled hugely, and bowed slightly. “You won’t be disappointed.” As always, her cowboy accent seemed out of place, but the familiarity relaxed Charley a bit.

  “So.” Tristan laced his fingers together on the table and leaned forward slightly. “You speak Cantonese? That’s really cool.”

  “No.” She wasn’t cool at all. “Lin told me what it meant one day when I asked. I like asking questions.”

  “Yeah,” he drawled. “I noticed.”

  She bristled slightly, and strangely, felt more comfortable than she had since she’d arrived. “Well, it’s my job to make sure the guests and employees at River’s End Ranch are safe and happy. I have to investigate all disruptions and complaints.”

  “And someone complained about me?”

  “You were taking photos of our childcare facility, Tristan.” Why did it feel so natural to use his first name? She should be thinking of him as ‘the perp.’ “That was definitely a disruption.”

  “And you didn’t buy my claim that I was an enthusiast of interesting architecture?”

  “I did not, no.” She forced her voice to harden the way she’d done for years when she’d approached a suspected gang member or an erratic driver. “I did, however, buy your claim that you don’t lie. So how about the truth?”

  He stared at her for a long minute, and she forced herself to hold his gaze. He had really nice eyes—brown, with flecks of green and gold. Hazel, almost? Kinda like the trees on the mountains around the ranch, in October—

  Wait, what had they been talking about? Charley shook herself. Focus, Easton.

  Finally, he sighed. “I don’t lie, Charley.”

  She didn’t correct him on the use of her name this time. Didn’t want to correct him, for some reason. She just waited for him to continue.

  “I was taking pictures for my boss. Honestly. That’s it. He wanted some pictures of the place, so he sent me over to get some and text them to him.”

  She was silent for another moment, watching him expectantly. When she realized that was all he was going to say, she let out her breath in a huff. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And why did he need photos of our childcare facility, Tristan?”

  He grinned. “I like it when you call me Tristan.”

  “Instead of what?” Gah, he was confusing.

  “Instead of ‘sir.’ ”

  “Listen, sir…” She sat forward, although she knew the intimidation tactics they’d taught her so long ago at the academy never really worked for a five-foot-one-and-a-half-inch brunette. “I’m going to need you to answer my questions.”

  “I did. My boss needed the photos, so I took them for him.”

  “What’s he doing with those photos?” She fought to keep her voice steady, when she really felt like screaming at him.

  His grin flashed again. “You’ll have to ask him. Oh look, the food’s here.”

  In the bustle of Lin bringing their plates and them asking for sauces and arranging napkins, Charley took a few deep breaths and sat back in her seat, feeling calmer.

  It wasn’t until the server left them to eat in peace that Charley opened her mouth to ask him once more about his boss…but snapped it shut again when she looked across the table. Tristan’s lips were puckered and thrust out like a duck bill, and he was balancing a chopstick on them like a weird mustache.

  “What are you doing?” she finally asked.

  “Being silly,” he managed to answer, without dropping the chopstick.

  “Why?”

  “Because it was either this or stick it under my lip and pretend to be a walrus.” At the word ‘walrus,’ the chopstick wobbled dangerously, but he tilted his head enough to keep it in place.

  Charley felt a giggle trying to climb up the back of her throat, but she swallowed it down. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Yes.”

  Only it came out like “yesh” and her throat began to itch with the force of not laughing.

  Slowly, slowly, he raised one eyebrow and gave it an absurd waggle, all without dropping the chopstick. “Sure you’re not regretting the fact that this isn’t really a date?”

  That did it. She burst into laughter.

  Officer Charley Easton had a really nice laugh. Tristan started to chuckle along with her, and dropped the chopstick on the floor in the process. Her laughter hitched, and then started again harder. She picked up her fork and pointed.

  “You’ll have—“ It looked like she was making a concerted effort to tamp down on her giggles as she quickly deconstructed her dinner, piling the mushrooms in one area of the plate, and the snap peas in the other. “You’ll have to ask Lin for another set to eat dinner.”

  “Oh no.” He scooped up his fork and dug into his food. “I don’t actually know how to use those things, do you? That’s why I play with them.”

  She was already chewing a big bite of the chicken, but she held up her fork and waggled it as she made a noise that might’ve been “me neither” had her mouth
not been full. What kind of woman separated all of the ingredients of her dinner into their own piles? One who was pretty into order and rules, that was who.

  Trying to distract her from the questions she’d been asking before, he launched into descriptions of different uses for chopsticks. It wasn’t that he or Maury had anything to hide, but the photos were Maury’s business, and Tristan had a deep-seated distrust of answering cop’s questions. Way to instill that, Pop.

  “…and that’s when he pulled out a handful of rubber bands and made a working trebuchet out of our chopsticks!”

  Charley laughed. “I don’t believe you,” she said as she took another bite of snap peas.

  “Hey, I don’t lie.” He placed his hand on his chest in mock seriousness. “Honest to God, a working trebuchet.”

  “Your father sounds pretty amazing.” Was it his imagination, or did she sound wistful?

  Amazing? Pop? “Yeah, maybe. He’s something alright.” When he wasn’t doing stupid stuff, like sending his juvie son out to make drug pick-ups. “How about you? What’s your father do?”

  “He’s a cop.” Her voice—and expression—flattened suddenly, all the laughter gone. She toyed with her fork and her chicken slices. “Back in Coeur D’Alene.” She forced a chuckle, but it wasn’t anywhere as nice as her earlier laughter. “He’s the chief, actually. And my brother is climbing the ranks too.”

  “But not you?”

  She glanced up sharply, then focused on her food once more. “Not me, no. I was ‘the chief’s daughter.’ I couldn’t get anyone to take me seriously, no matter how hard I tried.”

  Tristan slowly lowered his fork to the edge of his plate, disturbed by the bitterness in her voice. “Wait, you used to be a cop? For real?”

  When she met his eyes, he saw the bleakness there. “I don’t lie either, remember?”

  “Right, sorry.” It didn’t seem adequate for the hurt he saw in her expression. Hurt he’d caused when he’d asked about her father. “Sooo…I guess that explains why you take your job as a security officer so seriously, huh? Do you still have access to all of your old tools and databases and stuff?” He asked the questions casually, but his heart was pounding nervously. Had she looked him up already? Did she know about his record?