“Oh.” The relief in Erin’s voice was palpable. “So then, could you tell your mother that I did call to invite you and that you turned me down?”
“As opposed to me telling her you don’t want me there?”
“I think I have the right to decide who I want in my home.” Erin seemed to catch herself on that harsh tone of voice. When she continued it was all southern charm. “Your mother’s a lovely woman who’s been through a lot. She’d be devastated if your presence was to take the focus from the couple on their special day. That’s why I thought you might be willing to help me spare her feelings with a small white lie.”
“Good-bye, Erin.”
Jori lobbed her phone across the seat. It took a lot of nerve, even for someone like Erin, to call to uninvite her to her brother’s wedding. As if she wanted to be anywhere near Erin and Luke, with the history they shared.
It just pissed her off to think that Erin thought she had the right to dictate Jori’s behavior because … because.
She didn’t realize tears were slipping down her face until one dripped off her chin onto her chest. She swiped her chin with the back of her hand. This wasn’t the first time she’d wished she never heard of Erin Foster, Brody Rogers, or Luke Tice. And she’d already come to the conclusion on her own that her presence at her brother’s wedding would be disruptive.
But damn! She didn’t want to be told what to do. By anyone. Ever again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“What you got there, Trooper? Some kid lose their pet?”
Law looked up from his desktop at State Troop L headquarters in Springdale, Arkansas. Another trooper stood over him, a smirk on his broad face. Law had noted the man’s arrival but hoped to avoid him.
He swiveled his chair toward the man. “Trooper Pecker. What can I do for you?”
Trooper Ron Becker grimaced at the misuse of his name, something he’d endured since elementary school. “Looks like they put you on poodle patrol, Battise.” He pointed at Sam. “You paint her toenails pink all by your lonesome?”
Law rocked back in his chair, his expression neutral. Since returning to work as a state trooper two weeks earlier, he’d heard just about every possible joke about his service dog’s girlie looks.
He gave Becker the quick once-over. Fifteen years older than Law, Becker had a broad face with features bunched together in the middle, making him look permanently constipated. He had been on the job out of Troop L’s Springdale office when Law joined the force. Three years later, when Law joined the State Police Criminal Control Unit as a K-9 handler, they’d quickly discovered they didn’t like each other. Becker was a bully who didn’t believe in breaking a sweat over anything less than the hot pursuit of a suspect.
“You still assigned to the Little Rock office, Becker?”
“Yeah.” Becker lifted his Smokey Bear trooper hat from his head, revealing closely shaved blond hair with a bright pink scalp shining through. “Got a call about a suspected meth cooker we’ve been tracking for a month. He got himself arrested at a cousin’s place over by Bob Kidd Lake. Came to transport him back to Little Rock.”
“Running errands? Thought a transfer to main headquarters would have upped your profile. Governor’s motorcade, at least.”
Becker sneered, his gaze narrowing in calculation. “Must be kinda hard for you, coming home from the war a hero and all. Criminal patrol trooper reduced to doing criminal background checks for potential cashiers at Walmart. They ever let you out from behind that desk to do something exciting like noise checks or alarm installations?”
Law didn’t bother to answer. Becker wasn’t the first to bust his balls over his desk assignment. It just dug a little deeper coming from The Pecker.
Becker glanced again at Sam, dozing in the alcove beneath Law’s desk. “What the hell kind of dog is that?”
“A doodle. She’s on the job.”
“You’re shitting me? I mean, honest to God, the least they could do is give you a decent dog. Looks like that one couldn’t protect you from a rash.”
Law reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty. He called Sam to his side and tucked the money in a pocket of Sam’s service dog vest, wrapped saddle-like around her middle. He looked up at Becker. “You can have that twenty if you can get it from Sam.”
“You’re joking, right?”
Law shrugged. “You asked what she does. Let’s find out.”
Becker hitched up his pants and snorted. “You know I work a bit with dogs?” He gave Sam a bright smile, his voice rising and excited, the way K-9 officers speak to their canines. “How you doing there, girlie? Here, sweetheart. Show Papa what you got there in your fancy little vest pocket.”
He reached toward the vest but Sam blocked him with her big head. When he shortened his reach, as if to pet her, Sam again blocked him with another sharp jerk of her head.