Dear God, if I'd wanted to break up elementary school fights, I would've become a teacher.
Headed into the second leg of a double shift, Officer Judd Hamilton tried his best to clamp down on the irritation. He had, after all, volunteered to organize FountainFest safety for the police department. And if that meant keeping Jim Vernon and Neil Faber from coming to blows over who got to kick off the 1—mile Fun Run, then that's what he'd do.
Beyond the two geezers, he caught a glimpse of his girlfriend, Mary Alice, smiling at him. Her group of third graders was obviously excited about the race but behaved themselves. Unlike these two. He really wished he could put the pair of them in time out.
Instead, he tried his best to channel the calm, reasonable tone he'd heard Mary Alice use on her class. "Look, gentleman, I respect the fact that you were both told you could fire the starter pistol. I know it's a big honor—" for the three seconds it will take for everyone to forget you were ever there, "and neither of you wants to be disappointed, but let's have a little bit of perspective and festival goodwill, okay?"
"I'm not giving up my place!" Jim bounced like a banty rooster.
Neil's age—spotted hands curled to fists. "Why you old—"
Judd inserted himself bodily between them. "Y'all simmer down, or neither of you is doing anything." His over—tired mind raced, looking for a solution that didn't involve him plunking both of them in a cell for the duration of the festival. Somebody somewhere had to have some more blanks. "Look, if we can come up with a second starter pistol, you could both take the shot starting the race simultaneously. Equals. Is that acceptable?"
"I don't know…" Jim waffled.
Recognizing an opening when he saw one, Judd pushed. "Wouldn't it look good to the townspeople to see the presidents of the Kiwanis and Rotary Clubs joint officiating?"
Neil crossed his arms, rocking back on orthopedic—sneakered feet. "Well, I suppose that might be okay."
"As long as we both get to have our banners," Jim insisted.
"One on each side of the starting line," Judd promised.
"I can live with that," Neil allowed.
"Good. Great. Y'all do that. Banners in place on those barricades, and y'all get in position. The race should be starting in fifteen minutes."
Lord have mercy. Was all this extra crap really worth enduring for the chance to be Chief of Police?
Of course it was. Because being Chief wasn't the end goal. It was just a means to an end.
He waited until the combatants scurried off to their respective civic groups, then radioed to find some blanks. Couldn't very well have civilians firing actual shots, when town was crawling with pedestrians for the first annual Wishful FountainFest. Looking at the throngs of people, Judd couldn't help but wish their city planner wasn't quite so good at her job. The department didn't have the manpower to adequately police this many people.
Should've called in some of the off—duty deputies from the county.
But the departmental budget couldn't afford that either. Still, he'd seen at least two of the deputies in the crowd. Men he trusted, who could handle themselves. If anything went down, they'd lend a hand. Not that anything was likely to happen, but Judd had plenty of personal experience that made him less complacent than most.
As soon as the starter pistol situation was taken care of, Judd walked over to Mary Alice. Her sunny hair was pulled through the back of a FountainFest ball cap, and she was dressed to run in a t—shirt and shorts that showed off her toned legs. The sight gave him a bit of a jolt. He was so used to her conservative, elementary school attire, he often forgot what was underneath. Which was a terrifying sign of exactly how much he'd been working these last few months.
Need to rectify that.
"Kyle, pull your shorts up. Does anybody have to go to the bathroom before we get started?"
"Everything under control here?" Judd asked.
She looked up, blue eyes twinkling. "As in control as it ever is."
"At least they're better behaved than the race officials," he observed.
"You get whatever that was sorted?" Her gaze slipped past his shoulder. "Danielle, stop picking your nose."
"Barely. Race will be starting in just a bit." A jaw—splitting yawn interrupted the statement.
She gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. "Hang in there. Once this double is over, you'll be off for four whole days."
"Thank God." The prospect of eight straight on a horizontal surface was more appealing than Venus herself.
With a quick glance at her charges, Mary Alice stepped into him, rising on her toes. Judd still had to lean down so she could whisper in his ear. "Maybe after you've slept, we could spend some quality time together. Do a little catching up."
He hummed a noncommittal noise, wondering why he couldn't drum up any enthusiasm about getting reacquainted with those legs of hers. It was the double shift. Had to be. A flash of red hair distracted him from the suggestion of what they could do with some of that quality time.
Autumn Buchanan, his oldest, dearest friend, cut through the crowd with Boudreaux, Judd's massive bloodhound—mastiff mix, trotting beside her on a leash. While he'd been on nights the last week, she'd been dogsitting. Livia Applewhite, the children's librarian and one of her closest girlfriends, trailed in her wake. Judd straightened, eyes zeroing in on the number pinned to Autumn's chest.
"Good morning, y'all!" She immediately launched into cheery greetings to the children she and Livia knew from the library, introducing them to Boudreaux. The dog sat, patiently enduring the kids' adoration, his big tail slowly sweeping the sidewalk.
"Are y'all looking forward to the race?" Livia asked.
As she drew the children into excited conversation, Autumn stepped forward, extending the to—go cup in her hand. "I come on a mission of mercy. A Zombie Killer from The Grind. Extra shot of caramel, just how you like it. Figured you'd be dragging about now. Plus, Boudreaux's missing his daddy."
Judd automatically took the cup in one hand, and gave his dog a head rub with the other, but he couldn't tear his eyes off of Autumn. "Thanks. What are you wearing?"
She glanced down at her shorts and fitted tank top, which displayed miles of lean, toned legs and arms that he forced himself to ignore. "I realize you're on a double, but if you're so tired you don't recognize running gear, I'm not sure you should be on duty."
"I'm talking about the race number."
She deliberately widened her green eyes at him. "It's called participation."
"You're not running." With a struggle, he managed to make it a question rather than an order.
"I am, actually. Livia, Riley, and I are doing it together."
Frustration whipped through him. "You aren't supposed to exert yourself. Dr. Webb said—"
"That exercise is good for my heart."
"He meant yoga or swimming." Hadn't he? Nice non—competitive stuff that wouldn't get her heart rate or blood pressure up. Nothing that might aggravate her heart condition.
"It's a one mile fun run, not a triathlon. Besides, Boudreaux is looking forward to some exercise. Aren't you, boy?" She scratched behind his ears, and Boudreaux pressed into her touch, eyes rolling back in bliss.
Missing his daddy, my ass.
"Boudreaux's idea of exercise is walking from the sofa down to the end of my dock."
"Which should be proof enough that I won't be over exerting myself. Stop worrying, Grandpa."
That was like ordering him not to breathe. He couldn't just turn off twenty—five years of protective instincts. Not when he could still so clearly see her lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to half a dozen monitors and machines.
Someone's voice boomed over a bullhorn. "Everybody participating in the Fun Run please take your position behind the starting line. The race will begin in five minutes."
