The Cowboy And The Cop. Christine Wenger

      “Why, Luke Beaumont.” Marv Chapman pulled him into what Luke assumed was the family room. “Welcome.”

      He shook his hand. “Thanks, Mr. Chapman.”

      Amber gave her father a hug. “I brought Luke with me. He just got the ranch back at auction, and he’s going to be hanging around town for a while fixing it up.”

      “Great to see you, Luke. Sorry about your ranch,” Marv said. “Me and the boys hung up some plywood on your windows. Hope it did some good.”

      “I have you to thank?” he asked. “I really appreciate it.”

      “You have Amber to thank. She nagged us until we did it.”

      He looked over at Amber. She was shifting on her feet and looking uncomfortable.

      He had her to thank for a lot of things. If she hadn’t come to the autographing, the developers from Texas would be the new owners of the Beaumont Ranch.

      There was so much more to her than the girl he once knew, and he’d like to get to know her better. He already knew that she had principles and loved Beaumont, and followed bull riding. They had that in common.

      “Sit down, Luke. Sit down.” Amber pointed to a chair.

      He had to step around a motor hanging from a rack. After he sat, he saw hundreds of wooden crates containing canning jars in various sizes.

      Amber must have noticed his surprise. “They’re not moonshining anymore,” Amber said again, apparently feeling the need to explain. “So, then, Dad, what the hell are all those jars doing here?”

      “Storage. I’m simply storing them for now.”

      “I swear, Dad. If you are moonshining, I will—”

      “Amber, stop. Will you quit being a cop for a while and just enjoy the evening with your family and Luke?”

      “I can’t. I know my family and what they’re capable of. That’s why Mom isn’t here. Don’t you get that?”

      Marv Chapman swore under his breath and disappeared into the kitchen.

      “Sorry, Luke. It’s just our usual disagreement that we have to go through. I accuse and Dad denies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

      “I’m fine. Matter of fact, when we visit my father later, I’ll bet that our disagreement will make yours seem like a little speed bump.”

      Her father returned with a six-pack of beer. “I also have soda,” Marv said. “But the beer is nice and cold. Luke?”

      “A beer sounds good to me.”

      Luke popped the top and just about drained the can. It was cold and refreshing, and he didn’t realize how thirsty he was.

      There was a commotion on the porch and Amber’s three brothers came crashing in. Luke remembered the ribbing they’d given him in high school. They’d continually called him the “Prince of Beaumont” and “Your Majesty.” There was more, but he didn’t want to go there. He remembered Amber telling them to be quiet, and she tried to move them along, but they’d pulled out of her grasp and shushed her as if she were a bothersome fly.

      Maybe the Chapman Clowns—what he’d immaturely used to call them—had grown up.

      The Chapman brothers each carried takeout bags. “Well, if it isn’t Luke, Prince of Beaumont,” said Ronnie.

      Some things never change.

      Mr. Chapman gestured with his hand. “You know my boys, Aaron, Ronnie and Kyle?”

      Luke nodded. “Sure I do.”

      There were handshakes all around—strong, manly, hand-pumping handshakes.

      Luke couldn’t figure out if it was a show of strength or if they were actually glad to see him.

      He’d never hung around with the Chapman brothers in school, all three were younger than he was, but he knew their reputation throughout the years. He remembered that Big Dan had hired them to work as barn hands, stating that they needed legitimate jobs. But when they’d learned they could make more money selling hooch than shoveling manure, they’d quickly quit.

      “How ya doing, Your Majesty?” Kyle asked.

      Aaron was not to be outdone. “We are your three humble subjects, Majesty.”

      Ugh!

      “How’ve you all been?” he asked. “It’s been a while.”

      “You’re the one who has been shaking up the PBR. You’re riding hot.” Ronnie pumped his fist.