Her camera bag bumped into her as she held onto Fort's waist. Feeling ridiculous and like a little girl, she tried to covertly move away from the embrace, but he held on. He tucked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Real close. Under his armpit close and, stupid as she was, she didn't mind.

One time in high school she'd seen him making out with some big-breasted cheerleader. The way he'd leaned into her, his leg between her knees, his arms around her, had been Cori's first up close and for real display of foreplay. Seeing couples make out on TV hadn't been the same after, less heated, and she'd spent many restless nights going over it all in her head. She'd always been curious about what it would feel like to have his affection and undivided attention. Sniffing his pit was likely the closest she'd get, and so be it. She'd check it off the list of things she'd been inquisitive about.

Touch alone was heady stuff, made her feel loopy as though she'd chugged a growler or something. Not that she ever had, but she'd seen people do it. When they'd stagger away, stupid grin on their face, she imagined it felt much like this moment.

For a second, she imagined how awesome it would be if Fort was the sort of guy she could really get into. Or more specifically, she was the sort he liked, but Cori was too short and not blond enough for him. Plus, she had no boobs. Zilch. She let the fantasy deflate like a balloon.

Deke's sudden movement toward them, the thrusting of his hand toward Fort, broke Cori from her mental wanderings.

They were talking about the special election.

“Don't get it stuck in your head that I'm running because you want me to. I'm running because I'll make a darn good Sheriff and you won't. I'm running because—”

“You can't see me get something you want," Deke said and flashed a crooked grin. “I look forward to running against you.”

The two shook hands, neither smiling, though there was a lift to Deke's mouth. It puzzled Cori he wasn't more upset to find out he was now running against someone versus unopposed.

She reached into her camera bag and pulled out the people seer—as she liked to call it— aimed it at Deke, and held down the shutter release. The camera hid nothing, and she couldn't wait to see these pictures.

“Smile, Deke,” she said. “If any of these are good, I'll send them your way. Maybe you can use them in your campaign.” She wagged her brows and kept her finger on the button.

“I would love that, Cori,” he said and waved over someone from behind them.

A thick-around-the-middle man approached them. He was older, his hair combed over to one side to hide the undeniable thinning, and his eyes were narrowed slits. There was something smarmy about him. It was the same gut-churning warning she would get when her father's “colleagues” would come to the house and they'd lock themselves in his office for hours. Fort must have felt it, too, since he stiffened beside her.

“This here is my campaign manager,” Deke said. “Fort, Cori, this is Conway Witty. He's going to spearhead my campaign. Con, this is Cori…” He gestured to her to fill in the blank.

“Walters.”

“And Fort Besingame, my opponent.” Deke made the introductions.

Cori leaned toward Deke. “Did you say Conway Twitty?” It took a lot not to laugh out loud.

It was then Cori saw the man had a wad of chew in his cheek. He produced a plastic water bottle from his back pocket and spat in it. “It's Witty. My folks were big country music fans.”

Having a politically aspiring con man for a dad and a wannabe actress for a mom, her BS meter was finely tuned, and Mr. Witty was sounding it something fierce. “You don't say. They must have really loved him, and how fortuitous your family surname is Witty. Like it was meant to be.” She squeezed Fort's side, hoping he'd do whatever lawman did and come away with some clues about Mr. Witty.

“And you're hanging out at the airport with your opponent because...?” Witty asked Deke.

“Oh, I happened to come upon them. Lame-oh Fort here was proposing.”

“Actually, that's not true,” Fort said. “I'd already asked Cori to marry me a while back. I'd just picked up her ring from the jewelers.” Fort nudged her, and she sprang into action.

“Right!” She'd been clutching the ring and its cotton bed in her hand and now showed them to the men.

Deke whistled. “Look at that rock.” He rubbed his chin. “I sure hope he was romantic, Cori, and glad he wasn't proposing here in this dirty, busy airport.”

Cori gave him a smile. She wasn't about to create any more lies than she had to.

“Because when I proposed to my wife, it was perfect. Took me two weeks to plan out.” Deke looked away, perhaps lost in a memory, then suddenly jerked his attention back to her. “It should be special and a memory you can hold on to forever. Congratulations,” he said and clapped her on the back.

“Yours sounds very special. I'm sure it means just as much to her as it does you.” Cori patted his arm. How wondrous would it be to have someone make a grand gesture for her? She couldn't even imagine it.

Fort took the ring from her and untied the ribbon. He picked up her left hand and slid on the heavy stone. Cori refused to look at it. Instead, she preferred to see things through her camera. After lifting it from the bag, she snapped a few shots of her hand and then went for her main target. Good old Conway.

“Say cheese, boys. I'll make sure to send you copies for posterity.” She got in several shots before Conway threw his arm in front of his face.

“Lady, no one gave you permission to get our pictures,” he bit out.

Cori dropped the camera back into the bag. Conway struck her as the sort who'd rip it from her hands and smash it on the ground. “Oh, well, technically I don't need your permission to take a photo, only if I intend to use it for monetary purposes, which I'm not.”

Fort reached across her and slid the camera bag from her shoulder. He zipped it up and then set it over his shoulder so the bag was resting against his back. “She takes tons of photos, dumps most of them. Don't you short-stuff?”

Cori nodded.

“Now, if you'll excuse us, I need to get Cori home so Ma can gush over her.” Fort steered her around the two men while shifting the bag so it wasn't in direct reach.

“It was nice meeting you both,” Cori called over her shoulder as Fort hustled her back to the escalators.

They didn't say anything, just kept their large smiles plastered to their faces until they were at the bottom and Deke and Conway weren't right behind them. They stayed silent as they picked up her luggage and made their way toward the exit.

They were outside when Cori scanned the area before saying, “Conway Witty, my aunt Fannie. That's no more his name than my dad was an honest politician.” She smirked.

“Agreed,” Fort said. “Something wasn't right about him.”

Cori had her phone out, searching. When she found it she said, “Well, for starters, my guess is that he and Conway Twitty made their appearance around the same time. Our Mr. Witty is no spring chicken, and to say his parents were huge fans when the singer only had a few songs out…nah, I don't buy it.”

“Me either. And I don't buy him being Deke's campaign manager. Those two are up to something.”

“Yup. My bet is there's something going down in your town. Like my rhyme?” She grinned and pointed her finger at him. “That's the only thing that could bring Mr. Witty to the area. A guy like that lives for get-rich-quick opportunities. Like a rat on a greasy Cheetos, he'd be all over it. I should know. I've seen enough of it in my lifetime.”

They were walking to the parking garage, Fort leading the way, when he stopped short. “Yeah,” he said. “You would know.” He looked at her as if he was working a puzzle. “Any chance you have connections that you could send old Conway's picture around and find out who he really is?”

Cori couldn't believe her ears. Did he think she knew all the crooks her dad associated with on a personal level? “Any chance you could run him through some federal system and find out who he is?” she said, trying to keep things civil. They were on good footing right now, not fighting.

Fort shook his head. “I intend to, but my gut says nothing will pop. What about asking your dad? Or any of the guys who worked with him?”

Cori stared up at him, incredulous. She crossed her arms and said, “What do you think I did for my father? Kept his books? Hooked him up with the other crooks he hung out with? I was a kid, Fort. Not his secretary or assistant. Besides, I don't speak with my dad.” She rolled her eyes. “How about you? Can't you ask your dad if maybe he's seen him at any of his poker games? Maybe Conway also conned your dad. He does have a history of repeatedly being taken.” She had chucked civility out the window. It was a low blow but, man so was what he’d said.

He narrowed his eyes, and like a superhero with powers to see the invisible, she watched him construct a wall between them.

“This isn't going to work,” he said.

“Too late.” She wagged the ring in his face. “You just told Deke you were running and we're getting married. How will you explain that to the town?”

Fort groaned and looked up at the ceiling of the parking garage.

“No man is an island, Fort. I'm here. I'm ready to help, and after meeting Nit-Witty, it looks like you could use someone.” She looked at her shoe, knowing what she needed to say. Man, she wished her life had been totally different, and thus her experiences. She wished she had no knowledge about such things as cattle rustling or running cons. She wished she had a squeaky clean, blissfully naive life. Instead, she said softly, “Besides, why not get help from someone who's been down the road before lots of times? I have personal experience.” She snapped her head up to look at him, or more like his chin, and poked her finger at his chest, and said firmly. “Meaning, I lived with a con man, that's my experience. Not that I ran the cons with him. Know the difference.”

He leveled his gaze to her. “Maybe with our collective experiences, we can get to the bottom of this.”

“There's more here than us trying to get you elected by pretending to like each other. Something’s going down in Wolf Creek. You feel it, right?”

He nodded. “Yes, I do.” He gave her a measured look from top to toe. “But we can't lose sight of why you're here. If we're going to pull this off, we're going to need some ground rules.”

“Yes,” she said, “good idea. I have one. No being a butthead. That one's for you. Now you give me one.”

Fort briefly closed his eyes; she assumed he was counting cattle, or some other method to collect his cool. He'd done this before with her. Way back in the day when she would pester him about how he was running things on the ranch.

When he returned his attention to her, his eyes were still a steely gray. He probably needed to count higher.

“There’s no denying we don't like each other much.” He didn't wait for her to agree, but she nodded anyway. “So acting like we adore each other might be tricky, but I'm not big on public displays of affection so getting all cozy in front of people isn't something we need to do.” He rubbed his chin. “Rule number one. Keep touching to a minimum. Arms around the waist, occasionally the shoulder. No hand holding.”

She saw where he was going with this. “Rule number two. Kissing should be chaste. Only on the cheek. No lips and certainly no tongue.” She used her finger to pretend like she was gagging herself. “Certainly no S.E.X.”

“Yeah, that's a no-brainer.” He mocked her by pretending to gag himself.

“Ha ha. You're very funny. That's new right? The sense of humor. You never had one of those before. I'll let you know if it's working out. And as for the PDA, who are you? I mean, in high school you were all about public displays.” She looked off to the distance, pretending to search her memory. “I remember you and big-breasted Beth getting all up in each other's tonsils everyday by the lockers.”

Fort smiled. “Ah, Beth. She was quite the woman.” He made the outline of a woman with his hands, one that was very heavy on the top.

Cori snorted her disgust. Had someone made a wager with her that one day she'd be standing in a dark parking garage with Fort Lame-O, talking about sex and getting felt up, she'd have taken that fool's bet. Yet, here she was. Had she liked him or was a forward person, she'd consider indulging in hot, parking garage sex. As it was, she'd stick to pointing out his flaws.

“Oh, and then what about the time you and Carly McAdams were caught in the bed of your truck. Not really worried about PDA then, were you? Or what Beth might think since you were still dating her? There's also the time you and—”

“All right. Enough. That was then. This is now. I'm different.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“We all are,” she said in a huff and grabbed her rolling case. She stalked off past him.

“But thanks for the stroll down memory lane,” he called behind her. “Hey, short stuff, how do you know where I'm parked?”

“I don't,” she called back and kept right on going. “But I bet I can find it. You probably have one of those stupid trailer hitches with the ball sack hanging from it.” She could get a cab or something and just blow out of here. Let him deal with the consequences. This whole thing was his mess, anyway.

“Look who thinks they’re funny now. Turn right at the next aisle. I'm the third truck from the end.”

She did as he said and found his old beater Ford. Second Chance Ranch was painted on the side of the doors and the tailgate over the symbol of their brand. She rested against the back of the truck with arms crossed as he took his sweet time catching up with her.

“Rule number three,” he said as he approached. “Do not get attached to anyone. You're here to do a job. Get in. Get out.”

“Don't you worry, Fort Be-so-lame. That's unlikely. You and your little town probably aren't my type, anyway.” Anger made people say stupid stuff, but she didn't care. Her feelings were hurt. It wasn’t that she wanted Fort to kiss her or feel her up outside the sheriff's office or something. It was that he treated her like doing so was confounding, implausible, and disgusting. “Rule number three for you. Don't get attached to this”—she gestured to herself and cocked her head to the side—“because I'm not staying.”

Fort gave her a blank stare, then lifted his brows as if to ask if she was serious. “Don't worry. You aren't my type, short-stuff.”