Arden must sense me stiffen because he squeezes my hand again. “Carly is my girlfriend. You should get used to seeing her around.”

Well, that just happened. And I’m kind of excited about it. And scared.

“Really? Your girlfriend? The same girlfriend who put the For Rent sign in the mayor’s yard tonight? Oh, don’t look so surprised, Carly. Mayor Busch may be on vacation, but he still has a live-in housekeeper. And guess whose truck she recognized? Maybe you know her, Carly. Her name is Carmen. She’s one of your own.”

The housekeeper recognized Arden’s truck! Oh holy crap.

Wait, one of my own? What is that supposed to mean?

“Knock it off, Dad.” The tension radiating off Arden is almost palpable. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He squeezes my hand so tight it hurts.

“Watch your tone, boy. So you think you’ve got a girlfriend? She knocked up?”

“I swear to God if you don’t respect—”

“Careful, son.” Sheriff Moss is a tall man built like a pro wrestler with a receding hairline tinged with gray and a large vein leading from the beginning of said recession to the tip of his left eyebrow. That vein is threatening to bulge out of his face. “Answer the question.”

Arden slowly releases my hand and puts both of his palms on the marble countertop in front of us. I can tell he’s trying to maintain composure. I’ve never seen him this rigid before. This tense. I feel so waylaid by this conversation. Pregnant? Is Sheriff Moss related to Julio? Has Arden gotten someone pregnant before? “You’re not going to disrespect Carly like that. You’re not going to insult her heritage. And you’re going to watch your tone.”

Wait … Insult my heritage?

Mr. Moss crosses his arms. “Is that right?”

“That’s right.” Only, it’s not Arden who says that.

It’s me.

Eighteen

Arden usually admires Carly’s fearlessness. But right now is not the time.

He can see that his prayers for her to back down will not be answered today. Pride mixed with frustration race through him. The recipe for a fight is all over her face. Her nostrils are flaring like the wings of a moth. Her eyes practically glow with ferocity.

Oh geez.

His father seems impressed, for about a half a second. Then his face is all cruel amusement. “Your English is commendable,” he says. “I’ll bet your parents appreciate that when it comes time to ask for a price check on rice and beans at the grocery store.”

Arden nearly springs across the counter, but Carly throws her arm in front of him with the strength of an ox. “Arden, don’t!” But her focus never leaves the sheriff. Her brow arches in defiance, but she says nothing.

Arden slides back. He has no idea what to expect. Is Carly trying to handle this on her own? She’s way out of her league. His dad is ruthless. But then again, Carly is strong. How can you predict what will happen when a tsunami collides with a hurricane?

His gaze shifts from Carly to his father. His weight shifts from one leg to the other. His insides shift with indecision. Should I let them do this?

The sheriff narrows his eyes. “Let me guess.” He taps his chin with his index finger. “You were born here, right? Is that why you think it’s a good idea to mess around with my son? What about your parents? Do they know where you are? Should we give them a call? Tell them what you were doing? Or maybe they’d prefer you were given a ride home in the back of my work vehicle?”

Work vehicle? “Her parents are dead, Dad.” Arden folds his hands atop his head. It’s the only way he can keep from jumping across the counter and wrapping them around his father’s thick neck. That kind of reaction would make the situation ten times worse. It would clue his father in to just how much he cares about Carly—which Arden knows he would use to his advantage. And his father might actually pull his gun out of its holster this time—which would put Carly in danger, because it might misfire while Arden beats his father to the ground.

This is all my fault. He knows how prejudiced his dad is. He knew it was a bad idea to bring Carly here, to the lion’s den. Not just tonight, but any night. Still, he wanted her here for reasons he can’t explain. He’s never brought a girl home before. Never brought anyone into his sanctuary. This house only had room for one girl: Amber. Except that’s all changed. Carly is allowed here. More than that, he wants her here. The house feels less empty with her in it.

But these are the wrong circumstances. He never wanted it to be like this. He wanted their first kiss—because, by God, there was going to be at least one kiss between them if it killed him—to be extraordinary. And it was … until the mighty Sheriff Moss had interrupted it. He thought his dad was supposed to be two towns over, giving a speech at the American Legion.

What must Carly be thinking right now?

And why didn’t I trust my instincts? He knew to keep her away from his father for as long as possible—for forever, if he could pull it off. To hide her—no, protect her—from exactly this. And now he’s blown it.

“That’s a shame,” the sheriff says, his tone full of false sympathy. “Of course, I’m sorry for your loss. I was hoping to have them over for dinner. You know my wife, Sherry—have you met Sherry yet?—she makes the best enchiladas this side of the border. And what’s not to celebrate? It’s not every day my son brings home a girl. He usually reserves this sort of thing for his truck or, more appropriately in your case, an abandoned barn somewhere.”