“Come see for yourself.” Jesse leads us in, a slight swagger in his step, suggesting he doesn’t have a care in the world. Or that he has everything he wants. Another glance around this ranch would make me believe it.

At the far end of the spacious garage is an old pea-green Mustang, its engine out and in pieces beside it. Jesse and Luke stop in front of a Corvette with faded red paint and rust panels, its hood up, an array of tools lying all around.

Are these stolen cars? Are they fixing up stolen cars? What exactly is going on? A horse ranch with boarders and children coming in and out, and a small car theft ring in operation right here, out in the open with the doors rolled up? That doesn’t make any sense.

Jesse leans in and cranks the engine. It comes to life in a loud purr.

“Wow. Sounds a helluva lot better than before,” Luke exclaims, his face lighting up with childish excitement.

“I’ll need another week, probably,” Jesse answers, offering the tiniest smile of pride. Even covered in black grease, he’s an attractive guy. And perhaps another criminal.

“That’s fine.” Turning to me, Luke says, “Jesse’s somewhat of a god when it comes to engines.”

“Is that who I think it is?” a female voice calls out. A few seconds later, a pretty blond rounds the corner and heads straight for Luke, throwing her arms around his neck in a friendly embrace.

“Oh, man. Are you two dressing the same now?” Luke jokes, peering down at her red-and-black checkered jacket, that typical cockiness suddenly edged out and replaced with something soft. “This is what happens when you move out to the mountains, isn’t it?”

“She keeps stealing my clothes,” Jesse mutters, but his eyes are twinkling as he takes her in, all pretenses of being aloof vanishing.

Luke gestures to me. “Rain, this is . . .” He holds his hands out, palms up, in question. “How should I introduce you?”

What?

“Hi, Rain, I’m Alex.” She smiles and turns to face me, giving me full view of the thin scar that runs down the right side of her face, from temple to jaw. It’s a clean line, like that from a blade or a sharp piece of glass. Something she was slashed with. I avoid gawking openly at it by focusing on her eyes instead, the color a mesmerizing reddish-brown, reminding me of rich terra-cotta tiles.

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Alex stands behind Jesse, wrapping her slender arms around his waist, resting her head against his back. Jesse may be complicit in something illegal, but they make a really cute couple. “What color are you going to paint this one?”

Luke kicks the tire gently. “Red. Should get a good return on it.”

“Well, we appreciate it. It gives Jesse and Sheriff Gabe something to do.”

Sheriff Gabe?

A scuff of boots against the gravel announces someone new a second before I hear, “When is she going to stop calling me that?”

“Never. You’ll always be the sheriff to me,” Alex answers, smiling at an older version of Jesse.

There’s a sheriff involved in whatever scam this is? I shouldn’t be surprised. Small-town law, keeping the peace, no one the wiser. Still, this is getting more interesting by the minute.

“I wish he was still sheriff. Then he wouldn’t be in here, fucking up my engines,” Jesse says, turning to lay a tender kiss on Alex’s cheek. If her scar bothers him, he doesn’t let on.

Maybe he’s the one who gave it to her?

Jesse heads for a rustic sink beside the wood table that runs along the entire back length of the garage, neatly lined with tools and jars of small bits.

“So you finally got rid of the Mustang, did you?” Gabe reaches, patting Luke on the shoulder with a “nice car,” before sticking his hand out in front of me. “I’m Gabe. And you are . . .”

Screwed, if this guy has radar for fellow law enforcement. My biggest selling point is that there’s absolutely nothing about me that hints “cop,” and yet all I can think about right now is a story about this one guy on the D.C. force who had the uncanny ability to peg every last undercover he ever met.

I hope to God Sheriff Gabe isn’t that talented.

I smooth away my internal struggle with a smile as I return the handshake. “I’m Rain. Nice to meet you.”

As he walks past Luke, I hear him throw a low mutter of, “Well, it’s about time.”

Luke smirks. “How’s your restoration going?”

“It’s coming. I’d be driving it by fall, if you’d stop giving Jesse all these cars to fix up.”

“Better money than what I’ll make in town,” Jesse throws back.

Luke pats the back of the Corvette like a proud parent. “This one will go up for auction in a month if it’s ready.”

Gabe knocks the side panel with his knuckle. “And it came from . . .”

“I already told you, Dad,” Jesse protests but Gabe ignores him, black eyes just like his son’s leveled on Luke. His voice overly calm.

And I realize what this is. An impromptu interrogation. Gabe wants to see if Luke’s story matches his son’s. He’s asking the questions that I want to, but can’t. Which begs the question: how much does the retired sheriff know about what Luke and his son are involved in?

Luke smiles easily. A smile that says he knows exactly what Gabe’s getting at and it doesn’t faze him. “For three grand, off some old guy in Boise who bought it thinking he could fix it up before he realized that not everyone is meant to rebuild cars.”