Blood Moon (Bear Sheriff Book 1) Read online

  The bullet took the man in the thigh. He screamed, dropping to the ground, and Marcus closed in on him. He speared the man with his shoulder, driving it hard into the man’s chest and knocking them both to the ground. Marcus tossed his revolver away and then grabbed the man’s rifle, throwing that out of reach, too.

  The man tried to fight, but he was in too much pain to put up much of one. Marcus subdued him and wrestled him around, using the same handcuffs he’d used on Lester Hayes only hours earlier to lock the gunman up tight.

  He hoisted the man to his feet, supporting him with one hand as the man collapsed trying to put weight on his bad leg.

  “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Marcus said. His heart was pounding, his chest hurt, but he smiled. He couldn’t help it; the adrenaline rush was too much.

  He liked this part of his job. The action – which was too few and far between – was what he lived for.

  Not for arresting drunks. Thinking of Lester was enough to make Marcus angry, but when he looked down at the gunman and thought of what had just happened, he smiled.

  He grabbed his revolver, holstered it, and led the man out the front of the gas station. The same three officers were out front; backup had yet to arrive. The two younger men looked impressed, while Officer Tancredi looked angrier than he’d been before.

  “The rifle’s in the back room,” he informed.

  Marcus shoved the man into Tancredi’s arms and then walked over to the hose hooked up to the side of the gas station. He turned on the faucet and began rinsing off; soda, chips, and even some of the gunman’s blood began rolling off of him in waves.

  “What were you thinking?” he heard from behind him.

  Marcus turned, the hose high above his head, showering him in cold water. He turned it off, wiped his face clean of water, and asked, “What?”

  “You could have got killed in there. Whaddaya got? A death wish or something, man?”

  Marcus didn’t answer.

  Chapter 4

  Angie had been banging on Erica’s room door for nearly five minutes before she finally answered. Erica unlocked the door, cracked it open, and then disappeared back into the darkness of her room. Angie pushed the door open, flooding it with bright sunlight.

  “Uhhh,” Erica said, stumbling over to her bed and collapsing face first into it.

  “You’re not ready?” Angie asked. “Erica, we’re meeting with Copeland in half an hour!”

  “Do I have to go?” she muttered into her pillow.

  “Yes, that’s why I’m paying you,” Angie said, exasperated. She was used to Erica acting like this by now, though she’d be lying if she said she enjoyed having to always poke and prod her into doing her job. “Now get up and get ready so we can leave.”

  “I need to take a shower first,” Erica answered, rolling over and rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  “We don’t have time for that!”

  “It takes two minutes to get from one side of this town to the next. I think we have time.”

  Angie threw up her hands and sat in the chair as Erica went to get ready. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, just as Erica had done moments ago, but for all sorts of different reasons. She had enough to deal with without Erica making her life that much more complicated.

  Luckily, Erica must have noticed just how short they were running on time, and she got ready in record time. They were pulling out of the Great Southern at a quarter till noon. And, Angie had to admit, Erica was right. They arrived at the Mayor’s office with five minutes to spare. Angie would have preferred to be a little more punctual, but how much could it matter? They were there and they were there in time.

  Angie gave the receptionist her name and they were immediately rushed into a huge office within seconds. The first things she noticed after walking through the double doors were the three massive floor to ceiling windows along the back wall that gave a fantastic view of Charming’s main street.

  Huge paintings of fancy looking men from the 1800’s lined the wall, and when the man in the chair turned around, Angie could only assume they were Mayor Copeland’s ancestors.

  He caught her looking at one of them and said, “That was my grandfather. He didn’t found Charming, but he sure as hell helped make it what it is today.”

  Next to her, Erica stifled a chuckle. Angie shot her a glare that she hoped went unnoticed by Mayor Copeland, though by his look, he didn’t miss a beat.

  “It’s a pleasure, Mayor Copeland. I’m Angie Campbell and this is my assistant, Erica.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, coming around the desk and taking her hand in his own. Angie felt his handshake linger for just a bit too long – and then he said, “And call me Irving, I insist. Please, please, sit down.”

  “Thank you,” Angie said, taking a seat in front of the massive, richly colored mahogany desk. She studied it as Erica sat next to her and Irving Copeland moved around the desk. It was immaculately neat, without a single trace of clutter.

  As Copeland sat down, Angie studied him as well. He was just over middle-aged, with graying hair at his temples. He was overweight, though there was still the hint that at one time in his life, Irving Copeland had been a strong man. There was a twinkle in his bright blue eyes that screamed confidence. At one time, Angie surmised Copeland must have been one hell of a catch. She saw the massive golden ring on his finger and wondered if he wife thought he still was.

  He smiled, a smile that she assumed put most people at ease, but Angie wasn’t buying it. She’d dealt with all sorts of people in her line of work and she saw straight through Irving Copeland. He wanted progress at any cost, though she knew that didn’t make him a bad man by any means. In a way, it made her respect him a little more.

  “So, Erica has been telling me about our coffee shop.”

  “It’s been a roaring success!” Copeland said. “People in and out, day after day. It’s the hottest business in town.”

  “And how are the locals taking it?”

  “There’s been some…” Copeland began.

  “Hesitation?” she prompted.

  “Hesitation,” Copeland agreed. “Opposition. A few of the residents aren’t too happy to have a coffee chain here in Charming. They say it doesn’t fit in here.”

  “Like we discussed on the phone, that’s to be expected,” Angie said. Erica handed her a folder, which Angie took from her. She leaned forward and opened it up, spreading it across the desk. “Here’s the coffee shop’s profits for the last three months. As you can see, it’s below our projected income.”

  “Yes,” Copeland said, taking a sheet that Angie handed him. “This is a little bit… disappointing. I expected more than this, frankly.”

  “Honestly, I did too,” Angie admitted. She was never afraid to admit she was wrong, and now was no different. “But look at these numbers.” She slid more papers across to Copeland. “These are numbers from surrounding stores. The little antique shop two doors down? Even the gas station here.”

  “How’d you get these figures?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “We’re good at what we do, Irving. Our projected sales with our new coffee shop are a bit lower than I had expected. I’m not going to sugarcoat that whatsoever. They’re disappointing. But look at these numbers here. Other businesses are doing more sales now just by being in proximity. People are stopping to grab a cup of joe and they’re driving more business to your other businesses. Maybe they’re buying antique coffee cups, maybe they’re just buying a donut – but it’s working.”

  “And did you expect this?”

  “To some extent,” Angie said, leaning back. “But not by this much, this early. And the coffee shop is operating at way above baseline to make it profitable. It’s a success. Maybe not the one we wanted or hoped for, but it’s working.”

  “That’s great news,” Copeland breathed, leaning back in his seat and lacing his fingers above his stomach. “So, this can work?”

  “It can, and it will,” Ang
ie said, grabbing another folder from Erica. “This is our plan. We talked about it on the phone a little bit, but I want to sit down and really talk about it. I have some ideas for some new businesses, restaurants, maybe even a new housing development that I think can truly put Charming on the map.”

  “You can do all of this?” Copeland asked.

  “We can, and we will – if that’s what you want.”

  “Yes, it is!” and Copeland smiled.

  “It’s not going to be easy,” Erica said as they climbed back into the rental car. “And it’s going to take a lot of time. A lot of time, Angie.”

  “It’s our job,” she reminded Erica. “And it’s what I’m paying you for.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Are we going to get some food? I’m starving. And if you say we’re going to get some of those sandwiches from your coffee shop, I’m walking home.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s a bar up here. I’m sure they have some kind of food,” Angie offered.

  “As long as they serve cold beer, I’m game.”

  Angie pulled away from the Mayor’s office. They’d spent nearly the last six hours in his office talking about Angie’s plans for Charming. She found herself explaining the same idea to Copeland five different ways, but she didn’t fault him for that. He wanted to be sure that Angie’s plan was going to work and that he understood what was going on, even if she assured and explained what was going to happen.

  The first part of the plan was simple, at least in theory. They needed to open up at least one, if not two chain restaurants in town. She had a list of potential restaurants ready to go. One would be good since it would create new jobs and create new buzz in town, bringing in more money. But two would be better and it would create competition between the two businesses, which would create even more money and buzz for the town.

  But that was just the first step. Charming had few suitable living accommodations. New ones would be needed to bring in new blood to the town. She’d proposed renovating a few older homes on the north side of town as a cheap, cost effective solution to this problem. There was also plenty of available farmland that could be bought out to build a new development as well. She’d also proposed an expensive new set of apartment complexes. Copeland wanted to do all three.

  She would be here for the foreseeable future, but when she was done with Charming, she had the suspicion that she wouldn’t even be able to recognize it anymore.

  There would be those in the town that would disagree with what she was doing, but that was okay. It was her job to make it happen and if they wanted to try to stop her, more power to them. But she wouldn’t fail here, and she’d never failed anywhere else, either. She was committed to turning Charming around.

  By the time she was done, Charming would be a place she would be happy to live in.

  Though I never will, she knew. She pulled up to the bar and killed the engine. Next to her, Erica made a disgusted noise. From the outside, the place looked rough; an open sign with half its letters burnt out, two drunk men leaning against the outside of the building, and more cars than she’d counted since arriving in town all parked out front.

  “This is the place to be on a Tuesday night,” she observed.

  “Let’s just hope their beer is good,” Erica said, hesitantly getting out of the car. “Because I know I’ll need it once I step foot inside of there.”

  “It won’t be that bad.”

  “Oh, yes, it will,” Erica said.

  Stepping inside, Angie was pleasantly surprised to find that for once, Erica was wrong. The bar was, for the most part, well lit. The bar top itself was packed, but most of the booths were open. Angie and Erica sat down in a booth farthest from the door and almost immediately a young waitress came up and got their drink orders. Angie ordered a water and Erica, of course, ordered a beer.

  “See?” Angie asked. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

  Angie couldn’t help but smile when there was nothing for Erica to complain about.

  Chapter 5

  Marcus was exhausted. He stood in front of his microwave, watching a TV dinner he’d fished out of the bottom of his deep freeze spin in circles. Looking at the food made his stomach churn, but he couldn’t bring himself to cook an actual dinner.

  He looked down at his bare chest and touched the massive bruise tenderly. It looked bad, and it was painful, but he knew that the black and blue bruise that covered his entire chest would be completely gone in a few short days. He took a deep breath and winced; even that hurt.

  He’d come home after leaving Haven, the windows rolled down and his adrenaline ebbing, to find that Teddy Cooper hadn’t pick up Lester Hayes’s crashed car from the night before. He dialed him, was told that Cooper would get to it when he had the chance, and then Marcus had hung up.

  From there, he’d went down to the little sheriff’s station to check any messages. There’d been only one: old Potter had left a nasty voicemail about the overturned car in his field of dead hay. Marcus hadn’t even bothered to call him back.

  Instead, he’d locked up and headed to the grain elevator. It wasn’t much of one, and had definitely seen better days, but it had what he needed. He’d picked up a couple sacks of grain and made his way home. He’d mended the fence he needed to and just an hour ago had fed his cattle. He didn’t have too many of them, but they still had to eat, and he was happy to oblige.

  Then he’d headed inside, rinsed off in the shower, and decided to make dinner when he’d finally hit a wall. There were a couple of steaks in the fridge that he needed to eat, but he couldn’t be bothered to fire up the grill. He could have eaten them raw, he knew, but he’d instead grabbed the TV dinner and got to making dinner.

  The microwave beeped at him and he opened the door, grabbing his meal. While it was cooling, he walked over to his fridge and opened the door, scanning the contents. There was a half drank half gallon of milk, a tub of butter, some ketchup and other condiments, and some wilting salad.

  He reached for the salad and at the back of the fridge saw two bottles of beer. He took a deep breath, but instead of grabbing one, he just grabbed the salad instead and slammed the door shut harder than he’d meant to. A few of his dusty magnets fell to the floor of the kitchen.

  His house wasn’t much, but it was his. He had a small kitchen that doubled as a dining room, though he never ate there and never had guests over. He grabbed his TV dinner and the salad and made his way into his living room. It was dark and dusty, in need of a good cleaning, but he couldn’t manage to care about it. He sat down in the old recliner, flipped on the evening news and started to eat.

  His mind wandered as he ate, barely paying attention to the news. He thought back to arresting Lester Hayes and the amount of anger he’d felt towards the man. Was it justified? Of course. But was it fair for him to take out his anger on the man? He didn’t think so. He reminded himself that the judgment would come from the law, though that didn’t make him feel any better about the situation.

  Then he remembered the shootout – if he could call it that – in the gas station. Just thinking about it made his heart beat a little bit faster, brought the beginning of a smile to his lips. He didn’t know why he was like that – maybe it was just in his nature – but he had enjoyed risking his life.

  He thought then about Officer Tancredi’s words.

  Do I have a death wish? He asked himself the question, though he found that he couldn’t come up with a good answer. What else do you call it?

  He hadn’t wanted to die, that much he was certain of. But he certainly wasn’t thinking of his safety or what could have happened to him. He’d just smiled, busted down the door, and did what he did best. Who could fault him for that?

  He was an instant away from discovering some painful truths about himself he didn’t want to admit, he could feel it deep inside of him, when his radio buzzed from the kitchen.

  “Shit,” he growl
ed, putting his barely touched TV dinner on the coffee table in front of him and making his way back into the kitchen. “Stone here.”

  “Sheriff, it looks like we just got a call from Butch Miller, down at the bar,” the dispatcher said. “We figured it was in your area and you’d want to take a look.”

  Marcus paused a second before answering. He was dead tired, had been going nonstop for what felt like days, but he said, “Down at Butchie’s? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing yet. But he said tensions are getting out of hand. He thought you might want to head on down and with any luck you might be able to prevent whatever’s going to happen.”

  “Shit,” he repeated. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s barely 7:00. They can’t be that rowdy already, can they?”

  “Want me to send someone else? It’ll be an hour before I can get anyone out that way, though.”

  “No, no,” he said. “I’ll get over there and sort this mess out. I’ll radio in if the situation changes.”

  He grabbed a white shirt, his belt, and the radio and headed out on his front porch. The sun was shining bright on the horizon, going down, and Marcus wanted nothing more than to sit out on the porch and watch it go down.

  Instead, he pulled on his shirt and walked towards the Bronco, tossing the radio in through his open window, and turned it on. He turned around, went down his long and twisting driveway, and then came out on the old road he lived on. He had a ten minute drive into town.

  I just hope I get there in time before things get out of control.

  At least once a week, he was down at Butchie’s, either breaking up fights or dragging people out of the bar. Butch Miller, or better known as Butchie, owned the only bar in town. Out of all of the people in Charming, Butchie was one of the people Marcus liked best, and he thought that was because Butch actually appreciated what he did. After all, without Marcus’s help, Butchie’s would be a much rougher place.