I fumbled with my key to the back door. In all the years I lived here, we’d rarely locked our house, but that was one thing Dawson had changed after moving in. I put my foot down at springing for security lights. The strobelike effect was a pain in the ass when raccoons, turkeys, or other critters decided to explore the perimeter of the house.
Inside, I kicked off my boots and headed for the bedroom to store my gun. I had an attachment to firearms, but given that my sister had accidentally killed her best friend when she was a child, and that my niece loved exploring the house, Dawson and I had moved my gun vault into the bedroom.
I shed my unofficial uniform-any color of clean dress pants and a shirt I didn’t have to iron-and hung it up, another habit of Dawson’s I’d implemented. When the work clothes were off and the guns were locked away, we’d separated ourselves from our jobs. Since two of Dawson’s three uniforms still hung in the closet, I knew he’d been called to duty.
After I slipped on my workout clothes, I scooped my hair into a ponytail and rolled out my yoga mat. Asanas would reset my mental and physical balance.
Half an hour later, I returned to the kitchen, my stomach growling. I checked my phone. No text message or missed calls. Strange. Dawson always kept me up to date on his whereabouts.
I checked the fridge and was happy to see that Sophie Red Leaf, the Gunderson family’s longtime housekeeper/cook/counselor/meddler had left a foil-covered casserole on the top shelf with baking instructions.
These days, Sophie split her time between Hope’s place and here, doing household things I could’ve done myself. Sophie was past retirement age, and I was past needing a surrogate mother, but I couldn’t imagine my life without her so I’d keep her on the payroll.
I ate supper while I caught up on e-mail. I watched TV. Then I called it a night around eleven o’clock and crawled into bed.
Around two a.m. the bedroom door opened. I heard a thud as the gun vault closed and caught a whiff of shampoo and aftershave a couple seconds before the bed dipped. Then warm male skin pressed into my bare back as his arms came around me. He sighed.
“Hey, Sheriff.”
“Sergeant Major.”
“I thought you had tonight off.”
“I did. Until Kiki started barfing in her patrol car with some stomach bug. Jazinski had already pulled a full shift, so I had to fill in.”
“Lucky you.” I repositioned the covers over us. “You really need to hire another deputy.”
“I will.”
“Soon.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Sophie made your favorite supper tonight. Corned-beef casserole.”