Tempting The Sheriff
Tempting The Sheriff
Kathy Altman
The hardest person to serve and protect is herselfShe didn’t ask for a new deputy. Well, technically, she did ask. But Lily Tate didn’t expect city cop Vaughn Fulton to come swaggering into her sheriff's office, making her feel things she has no right to feel. Not since she lost what she loved most in a tragedy she should have seen coming. Lily can see exactly where she and Vaughn are headed. As hard as he is to resist—and as much as he seems to want her—Vaughn plans to ditch the small-town life when his stint at the Sheriff’s Department is over. Lily’s already handled enough heartbreak. What kind of fool would make the same mistake twice?
The hardest person to serve and protect is herself
She didn’t ask for a new deputy. Well, technically, she did ask. But Lily Tate didn’t expect city cop Vaughn Fulton to come swaggering into her sheriff’s office, making her feel things she has no right to feel. Not since she lost what she loved most in a tragedy she should have seen coming. Lily can see exactly where she and Vaughn are headed. As hard as he is to resist—and as much as he seems to want her—Vaughn plans to ditch the small-town life when his stint at the Sheriff’s Department is over. Lily’s already handled enough heartbreak. What kind of fool would make the same mistake twice?
A deep, unfamiliar voice rumbled along Lily’s spine.
She curbed her irritation. Time to make nice. She had no choice. If she didn’t honor the mayor’s request to hire Vaughn Fulton as her deputy, he’d only saddle her with a seventy-year-old retiree. Or he’d veto every candidate she put forth. When Mayor Whitby was coming off a sugar high, that was just the way he rolled.
So suck it up, Lily Anne.
She swiveled toward the counter that separated the office space from the reception area.
A man wearing jeans and a short-sleeved navy T-shirt that barely concealed a hip holster stood in the doorway, shoulder propped against the jamb, posture as cocky as his voice. Midtwenties, six-one or so, trimmed dark hair and troublemaker eyes. One look and she was as clear about who he was as the muscles stretching his shirt. If the man were in motion, he’d be swaggering.
Beside her, Clarissa hummed her approval. Lily could practically hear the drool hitting the floor.
Yeah. Swagger. He planted his palms on the countertop, locked his arms and leaned in.
“Vaughn Fulton reporting for duty, ma’am.”
Dear Reader (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89),
It’s wonderful to have you back in Castle Creek! You caught a glimpse of the prickly Sheriff Lily Tate in Staying at Joe’s, and learned of her tragic history in A Family After All. In Tempting the Sheriff, Lily continues her fight to keep everyone at arm’s length—especially city cop Vaughn Fulton, a temporary deputy with a hefty chip on his shoulder. Eventually these two crazy kids fall head over heels, but Vaughn isn’t interested in staying in Castle Creek, and Lily herself won’t consider moving to the city. So now what?
When I started writing Lily’s story, I had already decided which character would risk their entire way of life to make couplehood happen. Imagine my surprise when the other character insisted on being the one to make the sacrifice! I hope you find Lily and Vaughn’s journey as gratifying as I did.
I always enjoy hearing from readers! You can email me at kathy@kathyaltman.com, or visit me at www.kathyaltman.com (http://www.kathyaltman.com), where you can find the recipe for gobs, those Devil Dogs–type treats Vaughn reminisces about. Depending on where you’re from, you may know them as whoopie pies, but they’ll always be gobs to me, and one of my sweetest memories of Johnstown, PA, where my dad grew up.
All my best,
Kathy Altman
Tempting the Sheriff
Kathy Altman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATHY ALTMAN writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense and the occasional ode to chocolate. She’s also a regular contributor to USATODAY.com’s Happy Ever After blog. Kathy prefers her chocolate with nuts, her Friday afternoons with wine and her love stories with happy-ever-afters. Find Kathy online at www.kathyaltman.com (http://www.kathyaltman.com). She’d enjoy hearing from you!
To Toni Anderson, outstanding writer, critique partner and friend. Here’s to the next dozen years of buddy-ship (and all those bug hugs that keep me going)!
Acknowledgments (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
I owe a great, big, humongous THANK YOU to editor Claire Caldwell, who is unfailingly gracious, encouraging and all kinds of savvy. Claire, I’m a better writer thanks to you, and I’ll miss working with you!
As always, I’m grateful for my entire family, who are even more supportive than they are screwy. (Seriously, folks, that’s a lot of support.)
And many, many thanks to the readers who appreciate happy endings as much as I do. I cherish every one of you!
Contents
Cover (#u7ccbd001-f871-5121-a1f4-a965a99ad526)
Back Cover Text (#u15d018fe-ff6b-5fab-813c-fe2d2b63690e)
Introduction (#u3ddc00f3-2f82-54c5-ae2f-7e3c017a74f0)
Dear Reader (#u6873f8fc-4a66-553d-a86e-63889ef1a7bc)
Title Page (#u27f4c7f9-98c9-5c55-86b2-0ee7973011a3)
About the Author (#ua76ecef4-5d7b-59c4-a8cc-1a2aefecf664)
Dedication (#u83099587-1e50-55ae-8e1e-b83f15cd7022)
Acknowledgments (#u00b3d075-8bfd-5148-9b9d-8cac3282d463)
CHAPTER ONE (#ud04ec13a-96da-51ef-b764-5bb066322759)
CHAPTER TWO (#u2cd748e0-5aed-565e-9eb3-a22619dd917b)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucd50ef1b-9d0c-5f01-9393-b3058eb06332)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uebb00750-c43d-59be-8008-b26df9fb6cf7)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
VAUGHN FULTON TOSSED his shades onto a box marked Kitchen Crap and turned in a slow circle. He’d been played. Suckered, by an eighty-four-year-old man. If Emerson Fulton were still alive, he’d be smirking his ass off because he was about to make good on his promise to see that his nephew stayed in Castle Creek longer than it took to eat a rib eye at the diner and watch a ball game for dessert.
He pushed a breath through his nose. Yeah, he should have visited more often. No doubt about it. He’d let down the old man.
And his uncle had plotted one hell of a payback.
“Bits and pieces, my ass,” Vaughn said aloud. The echo he should have heard failed to bounce back at him. No surprise, considering the ceiling-high jumble of boxes and furniture crowding the room. A jumble that hadn’t been there two months ago, when he’d stopped in to check on the old man. A week later, Uncle Em was gone.
Vaughn pinched the bridge of his nose.
Near the end, he’d promised to handle the property side of things. Stay at the house as soon as he could manage it. Clear it out and see it sold. Two days max to empty the place, Uncle Em had sworn.
Two days, like hell. It would take two weeks to go through everything on the first floor, and that was just the sorting—he’d have to make arrangements for transportation to the landfill and find a charity to take the rest. No way could he take more than one or two items for himself. His apartment in Erie wasn’t much bigger than a square of toilet paper.
So much for cranking this out over the weekend.
Vaughn linked his fingers behind his neck and exhaled. He missed his uncle. He missed him bad. His aunt, too. He’d spent a lot of uncomplicated summers in this house. But as grateful as he was that the old man had remembered him in his will, he didn’t have time for this. Well, technically he did, since his jackass partner had earned him a thirty-day suspension, but he’d wanted to spend it clearing his name, not clearing a dozen rooms crammed with someone else’s crap.
Don’t be a dick.
He dropped his arms and carefully wound his way back to the foyer. The afternoon light spilling in through the strip of stained glass in the front door scattered jewel tones across the floor and over the toes of his boots. Along with the faint smell of almond pound cake that was baked into the very walls, it made him nostalgic for a childhood he usually did his damnedest to forget.
Sudden exhaustion tugged at his shoulders. He would have leaned against a wall if it weren’t for the piles of junk. Instead he leaned back against the front door and surveyed the hardwood floor, barely visible beneath stacks of old magazines and newspapers, towers of rust-rimmed paint cans and heap after heap of wrinkled clothing.
How had his uncle found the energy to collect all this? What had he done, put up a notice at Cal’s Diner? Help me show my nephew what a jackass he is. Bring your unwanted items, large or small, to 16511 Paisley Place and make him deal with it.
Vaughn huffed a reluctant chuckle. He’d bet his service weapon that was exactly what Uncle Em had done. He could see the old man now, fixing his invite to the corkboard just inside the diner’s door, tongue between his teeth and that tickled-with-himself gleam in his eyes...
Abruptly, Vaughn swung toward the kitchen. He could use a drink. The dust was making his throat scratchy.
The kitchen was the only room in the house that didn’t harbor a maze of boxes. Vaughn grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the tap. After downing it he poured another, butted a hip against the sink and took stock. The room—hell, the whole house—was way overdue for a face-lift. Battered white cabinet doors and a scuffed linoleum floor needed to give way to solid maple and Mexican tile, but Uncle Em hadn’t wanted to change anything with Aunt Brenda’s stamp on it. Vaughn couldn’t blame him. Even the thought made Vaughn want to check the wide-eyed ceramic owl cookie jar, see if it held any of the ginger crisps his aunt used to make.
He was stretching toward the jar when his ringtone jolted him upright. Just as well. Considering his aunt had died four years earlier, he doubted he’d enjoy whatever the owl guarded.
He dug his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans. “Fulton here.”
“Vaughn? This is Rick Whitby.”
“Mayor.” Vaughn braced a hand on the edge of the counter. He gazed through the window, studying the generous stretch of brown-tipped grass desperate for a mowing and the intersecting rows of hornbeams that screened the yard from the neighbors. The trees were in serious need of pruning.
For the hundredth time, Vaughn wondered what had drawn his uncle to Whitby, a fifty-year-old player with too much time on his hands, considering he had a county to run. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Son, let me say again how sorry I am about your uncle’s passing.”
“I appreciate that.”
“It’s been a lot of years since he retired as clerk of the court, but folks at the courthouse still talk about him.”
The funeral had been well attended. Vaughn had been touched. “What can I do for you, Mayor?” he asked again.
“In a hurry, are you, son?”
Whitby’s chuckle had Vaughn jonesing for a cup of coffee. Hell, even a soda would do. Anything to wash away the taste of ulterior motive. He pushed off the counter and opened the fridge. Nothing but baking soda and a sheet of paper. Vaughn picked up the paper, hip-bumped the door shut and took a closer look.
An estimate, for replacing the roof. It wasn’t the fact that his uncle had left it in the fridge that sent Vaughn’s oh-shit factor sky-high. It was the total on the dotted line. Five figures.
Vaughn dropped into a chair and double-checked the math.
“Son? You still there?”
“I’m here.”
Whitby cleared his throat. “Listen, give me a call when you get into town, will you? I’d like to set up a meeting. Discuss a proposition.”
Vaughn fought the urge to admit he’d already arrived. “What’s on your mind?”
The mayor hesitated. “What I have to say deserves a face-to-face.”
Vaughn’s Spidey senses started to tingle. “I’d appreciate a heads-up.”
“All righty, then. Our sheriff’s department is understaffed. I’m hoping you’ll help us out while you’re in town.”
He had to be kidding. “You want me to be a deputy?”
“I’d make you sheriff if I could.”
Vaughn wasn’t surprised. He’d never met Sheriff Tate, but he knew she was a hard-ass. From what he’d heard, a man could drop dead in the street and she’d write him a ticket for jaywalking.
Thanks, but no thanks.
“I’ll only be around long enough to clean out the house,” Vaughn said. “Unless I decide to sell it as is.”
“But that’s against the terms of your inheritance.”
Vaughn shifted his weight, and the chair groaned a threat to break into pieces and dump his ass on the floor. “How do you know that?”
“I helped Emerson draft it. Listen, your uncle wanted the house to stay in the family. More than that, he wanted you to stay in Castle Creek. I promised I’d do my best to talk you into both.”
Tension threaded its way through Vaughn’s muscles. “He knew better.” Besides, the old man had left only half the house to Vaughn—the rest of the estate went to charity. Even if he wanted to, there was no way Vaughn could raise the money to buy the house outright. If Uncle Em had been so gung ho about Vaughn staying, the old man should have left him the whole house.
Not that Vaughn deserved it.
When Whitby spoke again, his voice carried a pout. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m sorry you’re understaffed, but I don’t have time to help, and I have no interest in relocating.” Even if he did, it would be to another city, not to a geriatric community that was about as dangerous as a stuffed animal. Yeah, Uncle Em had made noises about Vaughn holding on to the house, but he’d been well aware his nephew could only take so much quiet. By the end of every summer visit, Vaughn had been twitchier than a teenage girl caught speeding in her daddy’s brand-new Beemer.
Vaughn liked crowds. Traffic. Noise. Action.
“Emerson said you were going to take a leave of absence.” The mayor’s tone bordered on accusatory.
“I did.” Sort of.
“At least let me set up a tour. Show you the facilities, introduce you around.”
“Maybe another time.”
Vaughn ended the conversation and tossed his phone on the table then zigzagged his way back to the living room. After snagging a box cutter off the tattered seat of a bar stool, he sliced open the Kitchen Crap box. Might as well locate the coffeemaker, because no way was he going to check out the second floor without a hefty dose of caffeine. And maybe a shot of whiskey, if he could find it.
In the dining room behind him, something heavy tumbled to the floor. Vaughn whipped around, automatically slapping a hand to his empty hip. Easy. He squinted across the hall and saw that a box had fallen off a stack. Obviously the contents had shifted and gravity had taken over.
Guilt niggled. Had his uncle really counted on his settling here?
He shook his head. Way to let the mayor work you.
Ten minutes later, he was rifling through dish towels and pot holders when he heard another thud. Next came a series of scraping sounds, like something being dragged across a sandy floor. What the hell?
He grabbed the box cutter and strode into the dining room. “Who’s in here?” he demanded.
More thumping, muted this time. He looked to his right. Another box had landed on its side, spilling half-empty bottles of lotion and shampoo. A third carton had fallen behind it. Whatever was in here had to have been inside for a while—the place had been closed up for weeks.
A vision of a rabid raccoon latching onto his jugular while blood sprayed everywhere had him thinking about calling 911. But only for a split second. He couldn’t let the overzealous sheriff lock up another Fulton for no good reason.
With a tight grip on the box cutter, Vaughn carefully skirted the mess on the floor, bent down and peered into the upended box.
A black cat stared up at him while kneading the lace tablecloth Aunt Brenda had saved for holidays. Sheepishly, Vaughn retracted the blade on the box cutter and slid the tool into his back pocket.
“Uncle Em might be smirking down on me, but Aunt Brenda’s trying to swat you with a broom,” he told the cat. The animal yawned and tugged a paw loose from a clinging thread. Vaughn squatted. “How the hell did you get in here?”
The cat hissed and backed farther into the box. Vaughn held up his hands. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to make you nervous.”
Jesus. He was talking to a stray cat.
He headed back to the kitchen. As soon as he made this call, the entire county would know he was in town. But someone was missing a pet, and he didn’t have time to go knocking on doors.
“Hello, Miss Catlett? This is Vaughn Fulton, next door.”
“How are you, Vaughn?”
“Good. Thanks. You?”
“Better if you call me Hazel, sweet cheeks.”
While Hazel shared the details of her plantar fasciitis, the cheese ball recipe she’d recently tried and something about a new boyfriend and old lube—wait, what?—Vaughn returned to the dining room and checked on his intruder. The cat remained crouched in the corner of the box.
Hazel took a breath and Vaughn took advantage.
“Did my uncle have a cat?”
“No, hon, not that I know of. You have one hanging around outside?”
“Inside, and I have no idea how long he’s been in here.”
“Oh. Well, if I were you, I’d avoid going barefoot.”
“Thanks,” Vaughn said dryly. “Any clue where he might have come from?”
“What’s he look like?”
“Black, with a white diamond on his chest.”
“That could be Franklin. He belongs to the Hockadays, two doors down. But how on earth would he have managed to get in?”
“Probably through one of the big-ass holes in the roof,” Vaughn muttered.
“Beg pardon?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
“Like my Pete.”
“Pete?”
“My sweetie. Pete Lowry. Remember him? Runs Lowry’s Garage?”
“Sure do.” With a silent huff of relief, Vaughn perched on the windowsill. That explained the lube comment.
“And yes, we do enjoy wild grease monkey sex.”
Or not.
“Hazel. I have an idea.” Please stop talking about your sex life. “Mind coming over and taking a look at this cat? See if you recognize him?”
She gave a knowing chuckle. “Sure thing, hon. I’ll be right over.”
Vaughn returned the cat’s wary stare. “Franklin. That your name?” When the cat started working his paws into the tablecloth again, Vaughn nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He went back across the hall and resumed his quest for the coffeepot.
It took him a few seconds, but he finally recognized that half-buzzing, half-wheezing sound as the doorbell. He set aside the coffee filters he’d discovered in a box marked Cleaning Crap and maneuvered his way back to the front door.
The Catlett sisters stood on the porch, each holding a foil-covered plate, their grins as wide as their makeup was bright. He smiled back, careful not to peer directly into their eye shadow.
The seventysomething Hazel and June, or Hazel and Nut, as some called them, couldn’t have been kinder to him when he was a kid. They’d made numerous trips across his uncle’s yard during Vaughn’s summer visits, toting cakes and casseroles and platters piled high with those round Devil Dog things they called gobs. It wasn’t until after Aunt Brenda died that Vaughn realized the sisters had probably used his growing-boy stage as an excuse to help out his aunt and uncle while they struggled with his aunt’s cancer.
Aunt Brenda’s death had hit Vaughn almost as hard as it had hit Uncle Em. He hadn’t handled it as well as his uncle, though. He’d thrown himself into his job as a patrol officer with the Erie PD, with his sights set on becoming a detective. His visits to Castle Creek had been irregular at best. He wasn’t proud of the distance he’d kept, but it had helped him manage his grief.
“You just going to stand there, Vaughn Fulton, or are you going to give us some love?”
Vaughn started. “My apologies, ladies. Please come in, but watch your step.”
They followed him down the hall and into the kitchen, tut-tutting as they passed the leaning tower of pizza boxes and five buckets of rags that were at the top of his list to go to the dump. The last thing he needed was a fire.
His visitors set their plates on the kitchen table and exchanged nods of approval.
Hazel beamed at him. “Looks like Emerson achieved what he set out to do.”
“It’ll take you weeks to sort this mess.” June lifted her arms. “Hug time.”
Vaughn’s narrowed gaze traveled from Hazel to June and back again. Their sweetly familiar, brightly painted faces made him want to smile, but he suppressed the urge. Coconspirators, both of them.
“You were in on it,” he said sternly.
Hazel blinked her carrot-colored eyelids and pursed her turquoise lips. Vaughn couldn’t help wondering if she’d confused her lipstick for her eye shadow and vice versa. June had avoided that problem by painting both the same color—light purple. Vaughn had to admit it went well with her pink pantsuit.
Hazel patted her short, white hair. “Maybe we were and maybe we weren’t,” she said cagily.
“Oh, we absolutely were,” June said. She wore her silver hair in the same pixie cut as her sister’s. “And we loved every minute of it. Emerson let us take a peek at what people were bringing in and I scored two plastic tubs of summer clothes. I’m going to do a reverse Julie Andrews and patch together a set of curtains out of gym shorts.” Vaughn let loose his laugh and stepped into her hug. She smelled like peppermint, just as he remembered. Nostalgia backed up in his throat as he bent toward Hazel. She pinched his ass.
“You haven’t changed,” he said, stepping out of reach.
“You have. You’ve been working out. That’s one fine caboose you have there, Officer.”
He gestured at the chaos in the hallway behind them. “You can help yourself to anything here, except my caboose.” He saw her expression and rushed to add, “Or any other body part.”
“Fine,” Hazel sniffed. “Then I suppose we should go find Franklin.”
Vaughn led them to the dining room, where he crouched down to see inside the overturned box. When Hazel and June crowded in behind him, the cat erupted from the box. Front paws scrabbled on dust-covered hardwood as he made for the doorway. The back paws weren’t as efficient, and as the cat shuffled past him, Vaughn discovered why. The animal’s rear left leg hung at an odd angle, slowing his progress up the stairs.
“I wonder if he hurt himself getting in.” He pulled out his cell. “Do you know the Hockadays’ number? They’ll have better luck getting hold of him.”
“I do have their number, but I’m afraid that’s not going to do any good.” June’s hand fluttered to her neck. “Sorry, dear, but that’s not Franklin. Your he is a she. And she’s about to have kittens.”
Vaughn staggered back a step. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Hazel eyed her sister with pride. “Wilmer Fish always said a vet could never ask for a better assistant than June.”
While June preened, Hazel started rummaging through one of the boxes toppled by the cat.
Vaughn pushed a hand through his hair. “Neither of you has any idea who that cat might belong to?”
Hazel looked over her shoulder. “I’m thinking it’s you.”
“The cat seems to be thinking the same thing.” June sidled around Vaughn to select her own box to pick through. “Ooh.” She held up several pads of paper and a stack of multicolored Post-its. “Would you mind?”
Vaughn shook his head. “Anything else catches your eye, please take it. That includes the cat.”
“Nice try, hon. Our Baby Blue would foam at the mouth if we tried to expand our little family. Schnauzers aren’t usually superpossessive of their owners, but ours certainly is.” Hazel patted him on the cheek. “We need to go. We have a fund-raiser to finalize. Good luck with the house. I’m sure you’ll get a fine price for it after all the repairs are made.”
Vaughn frowned down at her. “I know about the roof. Don’t tell me there’s more.”
“I’m afraid so.” June hugged to her chest the office supplies she’d scavenged. “Your uncle had an electrical fire upstairs a few months ago, and there’s a problem with the plumbing in the master bath.” She squinted up at him. “He didn’t tell you?”
Vaughn shook his head. What else had the old man kept from him?
Hazel grimaced. “The way the market is around here, you’re not going to find a buyer if they have to invest in major repairs.”
Vaughn barely refrained from rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. His halfhearted search for Uncle Em’s whiskey stash had now become critical. He didn’t have the money to invest in major repairs. His chances for getting a loan weren’t good, either. Not when he was already stretched thin. Rent ate up most of his pay.
He thanked the sisters again for the food, apologized for not being able to offer them coffee and walked them out, then shut the front door and glanced at the second floor. That cat could be up there having kittens right this moment. In his bed.
Oh, hell, no. Vaughn grabbed his cell and headed for the stairs. Why hadn’t he asked June for the vet’s number? Before he could do a search on Wilmer Fish, he noticed a text from Whitby.
Forgot to mention it’s a paid position. Let’s talk salary over dinner. Cal’s Diner @ 7? I’m buying.
He hesitated on the top step. As his thumb hovered over Reply, his ringtone blared into the silence. With a sigh, he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Mom.”
“You said you’d call.”
“I got caught up in something.” He worked his way toward the room Aunt Brenda had assigned him during his summer visits. So much for hoping the second floor wouldn’t also be packed to capacity. It was standing-room-only up here. And it reeked of mothballs.
He stopped in the doorway of the guest room and exhaled. Even his bed was piled high with crap. Though maybe that was a good thing, considering the twin-size mattress looked about five times smaller than he remembered.
His mother gave a disapproving huff. “Do whatever it is you need to do and spend the rest of your break with us. Your father has someone he’d like you to meet.”
Vaughn tightened his grip on his phone and swung toward the master bedroom. “I thought I made it clear. Enough with the ambushes.”
“Don’t be stubborn. So we scheduled a few dinners. You have to eat.”
“Mom. I have a job waiting for me in Erie.” At least, he hoped he did. “I’m not changing my career.”
“Plenty of people your age and even older have made the decision to steer their professional lives in a new direction. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed, I’m resolved. I’m proud of what I do. I plan to continue doing it.”
“Vaughn.” His mother’s voice gentled. “You know your father and I would rather you find a job with actual earning potential. We’re trying to look out for you. Don’t you want to be able to afford a house someday? A family? Don’t you want to have money to travel when you retire?”
He did have a house. His uncle’s house. But it was only partly his, and it wasn’t in Erie. Not for a moment would he consider staying.
As his mother talked about the trips she and his dad had taken and all of the places they planned to go, Vaughn peered into his uncle’s bedroom. Score. The bed was empty. No junk, no cat in labor.
He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and listened to his mother describe the luxury car he could afford if only he earned a decent paycheck.
Most law enforcement parents would worry about their son or daughter getting hurt in the line of duty. Vaughn’s folks worried what the neighbors thought of their blue-collar son.
“So when can we expect you?” his mother asked. “I think you should talk to the man from the securities firm first—he has a personal driver and a summer house in the Hamptons.”
“Not interested, Mom.” Did she ever get tired of hearing it? ’Cause he was sure as hell tired of saying it. “Even if I were, I don’t have the time.”
“You don’t have the time to visit your own parents?”
“Not when they won’t stop campaigning against my job.”
“And anyway, how complicated can it be to put up a For Sale sign?”
Basically what he’d said to Whitby. So why didn’t the suggestion sit well?
“It’s more involved than that.” Just to be difficult, Vaughn added, “Plus they want me to pinch-hit as a deputy while I’m here.”
Her reaction didn’t disappoint. “That’s not going to happen,” she said flatly. “As if wasting your potential chasing hardened criminals around the city isn’t bad enough.”
Vaughn rolled his eyes. “There’s a lot more to the job than that. By the way, crime rate’s a lot lower here.”
“So is the standard of living. What’ll I tell the securities broker, that you’re busy breaking up a moonshine ring? Please be serious. You’ll damage your prospects. You know very well your father and I are not going to let you bury yourself in the country playing cops and robbers with your uncle’s cronies.”
She wouldn’t let her uncle’s arrest go. Never mind that Vaughn was still holding his own grudge. His mother didn’t blame Sheriff By-The-Book Tate, but Vaughn sure as hell did. “I’m twenty-eight, not twelve,” he said. “If I want to play cops and robbers, I’ll play cops and robbers and you can’t stop me.”
He winced at his juvenile tone. After muttering his goodbye, he straightened, drew in a breath and prepared to flush a pregnant cat from her hiding place.
Or maybe he’d just join her there.
* * *
WHEN SPEEDY PETE drove past Lily Tate sedately enough that she had time to register his smirk, she realized she’d been had. Squinting after his faded gray Jeep as it disappeared around the bend, she lowered the radar gun and swore. The last time Pete Lowry had driven that slowly, he’d been bringing up the tail end of the Christmas parade, putt-putting down the center of State Street hauling a flatbed crammed with the high school football team, the cheerleading squad, three dozen bales of hay and a celebrity Holstein named Priscilla Mae.
Somehow the smug so-and-so had known Lily was parked at the entrance to the old logging road. But how? The only vehicles she’d seen that afternoon had all been headed in the same direction, away from Castle Creek.
She lifted her hat and blotted the sweat clinging to her bangs. She blinked against the perspiration that stung her eyes and wriggled her shoulders, desperate to free her skin from the short-sleeved uniform shirt plastered to her back. But that wouldn’t happen until she was back in the air-conditioned courthouse, and that wouldn’t happen until she managed to actually write a citation.
Two hours in the August sun and she hadn’t issued the first ticket. Today’s lack of revenue would not please the mayor. He’d probably auction off her parking space again. Not that she minded the walk, but it always seemed to rain the week she’d been relegated to the back of the lot.
She huffed in exasperation and grabbed at the car door. Time to find out why everyone was driving like the road was coated in ice.
The moment she dropped into her seat, she heard a rattling sound. What the—oh. She plucked her cell free of the plastic cup holder. When had she put it on Vibrate? A glance at the screen had her wincing. Burke. Again. She pressed Ignore. The man had to be as tired of hearing no as she was of saying it.
She started the car, then lightly bounced her forehead against the wheel. All she wanted was to do her job. Stay busy. Enjoy her privacy.
Forget.
But the mayor was determined to make her job harder, Burke Yancey wouldn’t stop asking her out and every time she heard a child laugh—
She pressed her hands against her chest, where sudden pain sliced deep. After a few breathless seconds, she filled her lungs, sat up straight and reached for her seat belt.
Focus. She had a job to do. And doing that job meant finding out why every driver in Castle Creek had suddenly developed a feather foot.
It didn’t take long.
CHAPTER TWO (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
HALF A MILE past the curve that prevented Lily from seeing oncoming traffic—and prevented oncoming traffic from seeing her—she spotted the problem. Jared Ensler.
She should have known.
The skinny preteen stood on the shoulder, his back to Lily. Wincing at his camouflage pants and dark green T-shirt, she pulled off onto the opposite shoulder. At least the kid’s blazing orange skullcap made him stand out. Well, that and the poster-sized sheet of cardboard he was toting.
The sound of her engine must have finally registered because he turned. His eyes went wide, his mouth went slack and his arms collapsed. The bottom third of the sign buckled against his shins. Lily eyed the bright red, hand-painted letters and suppressed a grudging smile.
Speed Trap Ahead.
Jared chewed his bottom lip and let the sign drop to his side, but he stood his ground. Ignoring the hat she’d tossed on the passenger seat, Lily pushed herself once more into the thick, sticky heat of the afternoon. A farm stand just down the highway was selling peaches, and she breathed in the heady scent. A mental image of a bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with juicy slices of the ripe fruit was almost enough to forgive the sun for its enthusiasm today.
Almost, but not quite.
The harsh cry of a crow on the power lines overhead had her rolling her eyes at herself. Food fantasies were so not her thing. That’s what she got for skipping lunch. And leaving her hat in the car one too many times. With a wistful glance at the distant, dark blue wedge of Lake Erie, she adjusted her sunglasses and crossed the road.
Jared kicked at a dandelion sprouting at the pavement’s edge. Bits of white fluff exploded into the air. When the crunch under Lily’s boots signaled she’d moved from asphalt to gravel, he lifted his head. His mouth formed an arrogant slash, but his eyes held a hint of panic.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked gruffly.
“Depends. Your mother know what you’re up to?”
“I’m used to that kind of trouble. I need to know about the jail kind.”
“Why are you out here, if you thought you might be arrested?”
He stacked his hands atop his skullcap. “Am I? Under arrest?”
“Jared.” Lily bit back her impatience as sweat dripped down the back of her neck. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”
He gave her an odd look and shook his head. He wasn’t wearing shades, either, but at least he’d been smart enough to bring something to drink. A battered handheld cooler rested on the shoulder behind him.
Lily sighed. “What are you doing out here?”
He glanced around, as if for inspiration. “Something’s wrong with our Xbox.” When she crossed her arms, he shrugged. “We got bored watching TV. We heard my mom talking on the phone with someone who’d seen you out here—”
“And decided it would be fun to warn everyone I was using radar.”
“Yeah.” The word carried a lot of duh.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
He hesitated. “Scottie’s out here, too, down the road a ways.”
His younger brother, on the road by himself. Fantastic.
“There hasn’t been any traffic from that direction,” she said. “How is that less boring than watching TV?”
Jared smirked. “He’s doing okay.”
“How do you know?” When he pulled a smartphone out of his pocket, Lily nodded, barely resisting the urge to say this duh for him. “Let’s go get him. I’m taking you two home before you get heatstroke.”
“You’re not taking us to jail?” His mouth tipped up and then down, as if he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“I have a feeling any punishment your mother dishes out will be worse than a stretch in one of my holding cells. What you’re doing isn’t illegal, but it is dangerous. What if a car came around that corner too fast and swerved onto the shoulder? What if a driver wasn’t paying attention and drifted off the road?” She broke off. The possibilities had her lungs floundering.
Jared looked unimpressed.
She breathed in, then out. “How did you even get out here?”
“Our neighbor brought us.”
Right. Lily did remember seeing Mrs. Yackley drive by in her lime-green Beetle. “She didn’t ask why you and your brother wanted to be dropped off in different locations?” Or wonder if she should leave a twelve-year-old and an eight-year-old out on the highway alone? “What’d you do, tell her you were on some kind of secret mission?”
Jared shook his head. “We told her the truth. She was cool with it, but she said if her taxes went up she wouldn’t knit us any more hats.”
Lily huffed a laugh. “Okay, then.” Apparently Mrs. Yackley had an issue with authority. Or maybe just a soft spot for restless preteens.
Jared picked up his cooler and followed Lily to her patrol car. She agreed to let him sit up front until they collected his brother. After that, the boys would have to share the backseat—no way was she going to play referee while they argued about who got to sit where.
She drove back to the logging road and eased around the curve beyond it. There stood fair-haired Scottie, wearing a banana-colored T-shirt that hung to his knees and holding a sign identical to his brother’s. Except for the message.
Lily snorted. These kids had the perfect setup. After Jared warned drivers of the speed trap, Scottie asked them to show some gratitude.
He held a bucket in his left hand and in his right a sign that read Tip$.
The moment it registered exactly whose car he was signaling, Scottie dropped the sheet of cardboard. The bucket he hugged to his chest.
Once again, Lily steered the car onto the shoulder. This time she parked behind Scottie on the left, so he wouldn’t have to cross the road. “Clever scheme,” she said.
Jared never glanced up from his perusal of the switches, lights and video screens on her dash. “I know, right?”
Less than five minutes later, Lily had both signs tucked away in her trunk and both Ensler brothers buckled up in her backseat. She nodded in approval at the sound of plastic crackling as they guzzled water. She cranked up the AC and pulled back onto the road, then checked out her passengers in the rearview mirror. “You two trying to earn money for something in particular? A birthday gift for your mom, maybe?”
Jared shot her a disgusted look. “I told you, our Xbox isn’t working.”
“The red ring of death,” Scottie said. His voice was closer than it should be. A glance to her right showed he had his head thrust between the front seats, wide eyes glued to the same panel of switches that had fascinated his brother.
“I need you to sit back, buddy. I know you’re curious, but the time to look around isn’t when the car’s in motion. Jared, make sure your brother’s buckled in. So what’s the red ring of death?”
“Happens when your console’s broke,” Scottie said. “The red lights around the power switch come on. When Dad couldn’t fix it he said it was about as useful as tits on a boar hog.”
Jared hooted, and the sound had her shoulders curving in, her stomach muscles bracing against a surge of acid regret. Stop that, she told herself firmly.
She swallowed the misery coating her throat and forced a chuckle. “I doubt your dad would appreciate you repeating that. How much did you make today, anyway?”
Paper shuffled as Scottie counted. After a whispered consultation in the backseat and a muffled “No, give it back” and “It’s not a secret,” he announced, “Forty-five dollars.”
Good God. How many tickets should she have written this afternoon?
Jared grunted and crossed his arms. “You gonna confiscate that, too?”
“Not if you promise never to pull something like this again.”
“Aw, man.” Scottie threw his head against the seat back and groaned up at the roof. “But we don’t have enough money yet.”
“I’m sorry,” she said firmly. “You’ll have to find a safer way to earn it.”
“Shit,” Scottie mumbled, and it was so unexpected, Lily was hard put not to laugh. She pressed a palm to her chest again, this time wishing she could trap the unfamiliar lightness there.
“Shh.” Jared darted a worried glance at the rearview mirror.
“What? Not like she can arrest us for cussing.” A brief pause. “Can she?”
Wait for it...wait for it...
“Sheriff Tate?” Scottie asked meekly.
There it is.
“Yes, Scottie?”
“Can you get arrested for using a bad word?”
“Not unless you’re threatening someone. It’s never a good idea to be mouthy around the police, though, and it is bad manners. I doubt your parents would approve, so why don’t you try and keep it clean, okay?”
He sighed, then grudgingly muttered, “Okay.” Neither brother said a word after that.
The sullen silence lasted until she pulled into the Enslers’ driveway. “Your mom or dad inside?”
“Dad is,” Jared said morosely.
“Before I walk you to the door—” Scottie groaned “—let me set you straight on something.”
“He only said that one word and he’s sorry,” Jared said quickly.
“I’m really sorry,” Scottie squeaked.
“Neither of you is in trouble.” She retrieved her wallet from the center console, pulled out a twenty and dropped it in Scottie’s bucket. “I didn’t confiscate your posters,” she said. “I bought them.” Even though they were about as useful as tits on a boar hog.
Twenty minutes later, Lily had just backed into a new hiding place and pulled out the radar gun when her cell vibrated again. She picked it up and immediately wished she hadn’t. The mayor’s office. Shouldn’t his staff be at Hazel’s barbecue?
She swallowed a groan. Chances were that’s what they wanted to ask her. If the mayor summoned her, she’d have to go. A drop of sweat skated down her temple and she swiped it away with the heel of her hand.
Maybe she’d get lucky and they’d assign her to the dunk tank.
She took the call and moments later dropped her phone back into the cup holder with a scowl. The mayor had summoned her, all right—to his office. On a Saturday?
This did not bode well.
* * *
LILY PARKED HER patrol car behind the courthouse, a single-story, faded brick building the sheriff’s department shared with the county clerk, the treasurer, the commissioner of revenue and the mayor. With the colossal, pineapple-shaped sugar maple that for decades had served as the front lawn’s centerpiece, and the surrounding century-old oaks and lush camellias scattered like guests at a cocktail party, the property was lauded as being especially eye-catching in the autumn. Lily no longer paid attention. Fall had officially become her least favorite season.
The mayor’s assistant wasn’t at her desk—not surprising, since it was Saturday—so Lily knocked twice on Rick Whitby’s open door and strode into his office. Or candy store, as Lily’s dispatcher, Clarissa, liked to call it, since the mayor had a credenza lined with clear glass jars he kept well stocked with sweets. Licorice sticks, mini chocolate bars, lollipops, jelly beans—his sweet tooth provided a clever means of staying informed, since the addicts he created couldn’t stay out of his office.
As long as he didn’t start dealing peanut M&M’s, Lily had no problem resisting temptation.
He hadn’t heard her knock. He stood with his back to the door, right hand dipping a paper cup into the jelly beans while the left held the lid aloft.
“Mayor Whitby,” she said.
The clatter of jelly beans told her she’d startled him. With a muffled clank, he replaced the lid on the jar and turned to face her.
The mayor was a lanky, languid man in his fifties with thinning blond hair and a perpetual flush on his face. His title was actually County Executive Officer, but “mayor” was much less of a mouthful. He was popular, a shirtsleeves-and-cold-brew kind of politician, but his hard-at-it look was an act—the man was lazier than an overfed hound sleeping away a hot summer afternoon.
Lily had always suspected he’d run for mayor solely as a means to jump-start his love life. Not long into his term, he’d ended his relationship with his assistant, Paige Southerly, a woman several years his senior. Paige still worked for him and Lily didn’t know how she did it, every three or four months taking the newest girlfriend’s calls, scheduling dinner dates and sending flowers. Paige insisted their affair had run its course and as long as her boss kept the dish of butterscotch candies stocked, it was all good.
“You’re not dressed for the fund-raiser.” The mayor gave Lily a once-over as he fished a yellow jelly bean out of his cup.
Yeah, she’d known that was coming. Hazel Catlett and a handful of volunteers were hosting a barbecue to raise money for the citizens’ center. As sheriff, Lily should be there, but it was hard to drum up the enthusiasm to mingle with a bunch of happy families.
She needed to get over that. And she would. Just not today.
“JD will be there,” she said. “There are only two of us now and you know we can’t both go.”
When Whitby failed to scold Lily for complaining about her long-ignored deputy vacancy, her stomach did a little side step. Whatever he was about to say would not be pleasant. Not for her, anyway. The gleam in his bright blue eyes indicated he was looking forward to it. Either that, or those were damn good jelly beans.
Her fingers curled around her equipment belt and she pulled in a stealthy breath. “What did you want to see me about?”
He held out the cup and rattled it. When she shook her head, he set the cup on the credenza, brushed his hands together and strolled to his desk. “I have something important to discuss with you.” He scraped a fingernail over a front tooth to loosen a green gummy wedge. “Here’s the thing. I’ve decided to fill that deputy position like you’ve been asking.”
Lily blinked. “Thank you. JD hasn’t had a real vacation in over a year. I’ll get busy writing up an ad for the paper—”
“That won’t be necessary. I already hired someone.”
Damn it. “Without consulting me?”
“I am the mayor.” His grin revealed he’d missed a sliver of purple.
“What about the town council?” The mayor did have the right to hire and fire county employees, but he didn’t ordinarily do it without the council’s okay.
“Bought ’em each a steak dinner and one of Ivy Walker’s cheesecakes.”
“You bribed them?”
“I distracted them.” He wilted into his leather club chair, as if her resistance had exhausted him. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d pressed the back of a hand to his forehead. “Your new deputy is Vaughn Fulton, on temporary loan from the Erie police. He reports on Monday. I asked his captain to email you his qualifications so he can get right to work.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the back of the padded chair.
Lily tightened her grip on her rig. “May I ask how this Officer Fulton of the Erie PD heard about little ol’ Castle Creek and its three-man department?”
“Four again, with Deputy Fulton, and I invited him to apply.”
“You mean you offered him the job.” She frowned. “Fulton. Any relation to Emerson?” She’d liked that old son of a gun. He’d died a few months back, the weekend she’d been taking her recertification training in Harrisburg. She’d regretted not being able to attend the service.
Slowly, Whitby pushed himself up out of the chair and slid his hands into his pants pockets. “Emerson Fulton was his great-uncle. He was also a good friend of mine. His nephew is on a temporary leave of absence while he handles his uncle’s affairs. I gave him a call, asked if he’d be willing to help us out for a while.” His voice tightened. “He’s a decorated city cop. You should be pleased.”
Pleased that he’d casually made her a victim of the old-boy network? That he was forcing her to work with, to entrust JD’s life—her life—to someone she’d never even met, let alone interviewed?
He had to be kidding.
Too bad he didn’t look like he was kidding.
For a while. He’d used the phrase for a while.
“So we’re only talking a few weeks here,” she said carefully.
He shrugged and grabbed his suit coat. “I imagine he’ll be around for a month or two. Maybe even until Thanksgiving.”
Oh, come on. The first throbs of a headache tapped at her temples and she forced her jaw to unclench. “That’s three months away.”
He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket and gave them a jangle before shooing Lily toward the door. “I’m locking up.”
For a lazy man, he sure was moving fast.
“I’m the one who’s responsible for those in my employ,” she reminded him as he herded her into the hallway. “The people of Castle Creek elected me to keep this county safe, and you’re making it hard for me to do my job.”
“No. You’re making it hard for me to do mine.” He frowned at the wall, shoved his suit coat at her and straightened a painting. When he turned back around, he caught her off guard with a wink. “And I outrank you.”
Hot prickles of resentment chased across Lily’s skin and she thrust his jacket back at him. “What if I talk to the council?”
He brushed past her, heading for the front entrance. “How impressed will the people of Castle Creek be when they find out their sheriff refused to work with a fellow officer—an officer who recently lost a well-known and beloved uncle to kidney disease—simply because she couldn’t bring herself to trust the word of their mayor?”
“That was a pretty energetic threat,” she muttered.
“I know, right? Must have been the jelly beans.”
She wasn’t going to win this argument. Not when he was in one of his autocratic moods. She chewed the inside of her lip.
If she didn’t manage to get reelected, what would she do? Work for her replacement? That would be awkward, to put it mildly. What, then? Move out of Castle Creek?
Her eyes began to sting. She could never do that.
“Fine.” Rubbing her temples, she followed the mayor outside and blinked in the sunlight. “Fulton’s nephew it is,” she said resignedly. “But I’ll continue to take applications for when his leave is up.”
The mayor gave her the side eye as he aimed his key fob at his Prius.
Lily scowled. “Let me guess. You hope to talk him into staying.”
“I’m going to give it a try. You should think about doing the same.”
“Staying in Castle Creek?” Her voice was so dry, the words practically scuffed her throat.
“Giving him a try.” He rummaged in his suit coat pocket and pulled out two lollipops. He pulled the bright red wrapper from the first, popped it into his mouth and pressed the second into her hand. She waited until he’d left the parking lot before opening her fingers.
Root beer.
Her favorite.
Damn him.
* * *
LILY HAD ALREADY switched to decaf by the time her dispatcher came in to start her shift on Monday. Metal clanked as Clarissa deposited her purse in the bottom left drawer of her desk, then came her usual Monday morning sigh, then the click of high heels and the distant clatter of ceramic as she moved into the small break room beside Lily’s office and poured herself a cup of coffee.
When the dispatcher appeared in Lily’s doorway, she had both hands wrapped around a fading Hello Kitty mug. She looked like a 1950s’ starlet with her black-rimmed cat-eye glasses, her I Love Lucy hair pulled back in a high ponytail and her plush body showcased in lime capris, a pink-and-lime-striped top and a sheer silk scarf.
While Lily resisted glancing down at her own tan uniform shirt and mud-colored tie, Clarissa checked out the crumpled sub wrappers in the trash can. “Have you been here all weekend again?” she demanded.
“No.”
“Are you lying to me?”
Lily shrugged.
Clarissa narrowed her eyes and sipped her coffee. “The only reason I let you off the hook about girls’ night out is because you promised you’d do something fun this weekend.”
“I remember.”
“So what’d you do?”
Lily dropped her pen, tugged off her reading glasses and leaned back in her chair. “Drove up to Erie for the day. Wandered around Presque Isle, treated myself to lunch and did a little antiquing.”
“I forget. If someone who’s right-handed looks up and to the right when they’re talking, does that mean they’re lying, or telling the truth?”
Lily shot her dispatcher a wry glance. “If you suspect I’m lying, why would you think I’d answer that question with anything but another lie?”
“Good point.” Clarissa tugged at the hem of her top. “Did you find anything? When you were antiquing?”
“I did. I found a vintage set of salt and pepper shakers that’ll make a great gift for my mom’s birthday. They’re cloisonné. She’ll go wild.”
With a growling sigh, Clarissa plopped down into the chair opposite Lily. “Now I know you’re lying. You hate your mom’s collections.”
“Busted.”
“You do realize that being a workaholic is a pathetic cliché?”
“Maybe that fact will sink in the day you realize that what I do when I’m off shift is my own business.”
“That’s the trouble,” Clarissa said. “You’re never off shift.” She caught Lily’s look. “And yes, you’re right, it’s way past time for me to start mine.” In the doorway, she pivoted. “I get why you’re grumpy. When is the mayor’s ‘personal favor’ supposed to get here?”
Lily tossed her glasses on the desk. “I don’t know when he’ll be here, but I do know JD’s about to earn his vacation all over again. He can take Fulton for the week, get him acclimated to the area before we let him handle calls on his own.”
“Sounds like a plan.” With a wink Clarissa disappeared into the outer office. Two minutes later, she was back. “You should come listen to this voice mail.”
Lily did, and wished she hadn’t. “Fudge,” she said flatly. Poor JD. Felled by a bad batch of macaroni salad.
She crossed her arms and stared out the windows at the tree-rimmed parking lot behind the sheriff’s office. More specifically, she stared at the space where JD’s cruiser would not be parked for the next few days.
Double fudge.
“Looks like you just lost your rookie wrangler.” Clarissa made a sympathetic face and set down her mug. “Tell you what. As soon as this guy shows up, I’ll check him out. If I like what I see, I’ll gladly play tour guide for you. How’s that?”
“If you don’t like what you see, I can always use GPS.”
The deep, unfamiliar voice rumbled along Lily’s spine. She curbed an irritated shudder. Time to make nice. She had no choice. If she didn’t honor the mayor’s request he’d only saddle her with a seventy-year-old retiree once this Fulton guy was gone. Or he’d veto every candidate she put forth. When Rick Whitby was coming off a sugar high, that was just the way he rolled.
So suck it up, Lily Anne.
She swiveled toward the counter that separated the office space from the reception area.
A man wearing jeans and a short-sleeved navy T-shirt that barely concealed a hip holster stood in the doorway, shoulder propped against the jamb, posture as cocky as his voice. Midtwenties, six-one or so, trimmed dark hair and troublemaker eyes. One look and it was as clear-cut as the muscles stretching his shirt. If the man were in motion, he’d be swaggering.
Beside her, Clarissa hummed her approval. Lily could practically hear the drool hitting the floor.
He moved into the office. Yeah. Swagger. He planted his palms on the countertop, locked his arms and leaned in. “Vaughn Fulton reporting for duty, ma’am.” One eyebrow raised, he made a show of glancing around the area behind the counter then turned a grin on Clarissa. “Looks like I’m first in line for the tour. Guess that means I’ll get a good seat.”
Clarissa giggled and Lily heaved an inward groan.
Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Whitby. The seventy-year-old retiree would have been a better bet. She’d wanted someone with intelligence, but this guy seemed to carry all his smarts in his ass.
CHAPTER THREE (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
“THIS IS ONE good deed I’ll gladly take the punishment for,” Clarissa murmured.
Lily kept an eye roll to herself, but her mind was made up. Whoever ran against Whitby next term—even if ninety-year-old Larry Katz threw his fedora in the ring—Lily’s vote was a sure thing.
Kind of like Clarissa, when it came to their new deputy.
Lily snapped out of her inertia and strode over to the counter. After lifting up the section that allowed access to the back, she waved Fulton through. “I expected you an hour ago, Deputy Fulton.”
He hesitated. No doubt he was used to hearing Officer Fulton. Too bad. He was hers now. So to speak.
“My apologies for being late, Sheriff,” he said. “And it’s Vaughn.”
“Deputy Fulton will do.” She gestured at Clarissa, who stepped forward with a wide smile. “Clarissa Dodd, our dispatcher.”
He reached for Clarissa’s hand. “I’m not a rookie and I don’t need a wrangler. I do know what I’m doing.”
After reclaiming her hand, Clarissa smoothed both palms over curvy hips. “I’m sure you do.”
“All right, that’s enough.” Lily clapped once and shooed Clarissa back to her desk. “We’re a government office, not a singles’ bar.” She did wish she could let Clarissa have her fun, since the dispatcher was still reeling from a nasty divorce. But though Clarissa had sworn off romance, she remained a big fan of sex, and Lily didn’t need any casual hookups complicating the dynamics of her department.
She turned to Fulton. He didn’t look fresh out of the academy, but it was close.
He also looked exceedingly fine in his jeans. Something you have no business noticing, Lily Anne. Especially when she suspected he was much younger than she was.
“How long have you been on the force?” she asked, speaking more harshly than she’d intended.
“Six years.”
Six years to her eighteen. Damn, she felt old.
He studied her, and one corner of his mouth slanted up. “You plotting revenge against me, or the mayor?”
Both, she wanted to blurt. Instead she said, “What’s done is done,” and waved him over to the office that had remained empty since Sam Weems had retired the year Lily won the election. “This is yours,” she said, and backed away, eyeing his T-shirt. “You’ll need a uniform shirt. JD’s office is the next one over. You can borrow his spare until you get one of your own.”
“JD. He’s out on a call?”
“Out sick.” She exhaled. “Guess that means you’ll be riding with me.”
* * *
OUCH. VAUGHN PUSHED a breath through his nose. The sheriff couldn’t have made it any clearer that she was less than thrilled to have him around. Not that he’d expected any different, but damn, she’d smacked his ego hard enough to make it sting.
Fine with him. Not like he was thrilled to be working with a woman who would arrest a dying man.
With a curt nod, Vaughn maneuvered around the sheriff and let himself into the office belonging to the absent JD. He glanced around the cramped space—battered metal desk, overcrowded bookshelf, spare chair with a faded cloth seat—but didn’t see a coatrack or anything resembling a closet door.
Door. He peered behind the office door. Bingo. A uniform shirt hung on a self-stick hook. Vaughn plucked the shirt free and gave it a sniff. It would do.
He had second thoughts after he’d peeled off his T-shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves of the borrowed shirt. To say it was a tight fit would be like saying Clarissa Dodd was a little friendly.
Or Sheriff Lily Tate a little hostile.
Outside the door, Clarissa belted out a laugh, and Vaughn’s lips twitched at the sound. An odd pair, those two, but the affection between them was obvious. Had they worked together long? Did Clarissa know the reason her boss was such a hard-ass?
Vaughn fumbled a button and swore. Why do you care? Damn it, he didn’t want to be here in the first place. But after tallying the cost of repairs to the house, and to a cat whose owner was nowhere to be found, he’d realized any kind of income would come in handy. The clincher had been his mother ordering him not to take the job.
A paycheck and payback. Childish, yeah, but he hadn’t been able to resist.
And he was already regretting it.
He finally managed to button up the shirt, but only just. Shit. If he wore this for long, he’d lose all feeling in his arms. He considered putting his T-shirt back on and letting the uniform shirt hang loose, but he’d never fit the second set of sleeves over top of the first.
“Having difficulties, Deputy Fulton?” The sheriff’s long-suffering tone seemed to convey that a mere six years on the force wasn’t enough to qualify Vaughn to get into a uniform, let alone wear it.
To hell with it.
He yanked open the door and stepped out. The dispatcher’s eyes went wide and she bounced in her high heels when she saw him. Vaughn was proud of himself for not letting his gaze linger on her...bouncy parts.
A throat cleared.
His eyes met those of the sheriff, who was regarding him in a decidedly non-Clarissa kind of way. Then again, pretty much everything about her was non-Clarissa. Her dark hair was short and tousled, her mouth an unfriendly line, and the energy her slim figure radiated was more impatience than cheerfulness.
But the promise of softness was there, in her big hazel eyes and her pale pink lips. With her pointed chin and wide eyes, she looked like a too-tall elf.
An elf with a tendency to bite, he’d do well to remember.
His eyes dropped to the weapon at her hip. Too bad he never had been able to resist a woman in uniform.
Now was probably a good time to start.
Sheriff Tate shook her head at the fabric stretched over his biceps and muttered something about a waste of a good uniform. “It’ll do for now,” she said.
“I’ll say.”
The sheriff tossed Clarissa a scowl and the dispatcher stopped bouncing. As soon as the sheriff turned her back, Clarissa sent Vaughn a good-natured wink, then dropped into her chair. She scooted in close to her desk and put on her headset.
Vaughn let his shoulders go lax, which improved the fit of the shirt. A little friendly flirting he could deal with. More, he didn’t have time for.
Sheriff Tate was still giving him the evil eye. “Clarissa will give you the grand tour of our offices here,” she said.
“Castle Creek Sheriff’s Department, how may I help you?” the dispatcher lilted into her microphone. When she started tapping at her keyboard, the sheriff shot Vaughn a disgruntled look.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll give you the grand tour of our offices.” She pointed to the left. “My office.” She pointed behind it. “Break room.” She pointed straight ahead, at Clarissa. “Dispatch station.” She pointed to the two offices across from hers. “Deputies’ offices.” She pointed to the short hallway to their right, and the door at the end with the electronic keypad beside it. “Bathrooms and holding cells. Any questions?”
He scratched his jaw. “I feel like I should say no, but...how about a set of keys?”
“I’ll get you a set before the end of the day.”
“Sheriff? That was Mr. Katz.” The dispatcher made a face. “Mona’s being assaulted again.”
“Fudge.” The sheriff turned to Vaughn. “Sounds like the perfect opportunity for our newest employee to show us what he’s got.”
A domestic. Damn, he hated those. He strode toward the exit behind the dispatcher’s station. “I’m ready. Let’s hit it.”
But when he looked over his shoulder, he saw the sheriff hadn’t moved. Instead she watched him with a bemused expression. Meanwhile Clarissa had swiveled in her chair to follow his progress. She batted her eyes.
“Yeah, Deputy Fulton,” she said. “Show us what you’ve got.”
The sheriff made an irritated noise. “What I meant was, we can see him in action.”
Clarissa popped an eyebrow.
“Watch him do his thing.”
The other eyebrow came up.
“Gauge his level of experience.” When Clarissa laughed out loud, the sheriff gave her head a disgusted shake. “Know what? Never mind.”
Vaughn stared at them both in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?” His gaze shifted from the sheriff to Clarissa and back again. “There’s an assault in progress.”
The sheriff pulled a set of keys from her pocket, but she hadn’t taken more than two steps when the phone in her office rang. She held up a finger and veered toward her desk.
Vaughn shoved a hand through his hair. For God’s sake, what would they do if someone called in a shooting, stop to take orders for lunch?
The sheriff reappeared. “That was the mayor. He’s calling me in for an emergency conference. You’re on your own, Deputy.”
“Convenient,” Vaughn muttered.
“You said you didn’t need a wrangler. Here’s your chance to prove it.” She turned to Clarissa. “Give him the keys to his cruiser. Mr. Katz’s address, too.”
“Mr. Katz is at Ivy’s. The calendar, remember?” Clarissa bit her lip. “You sure you want to send the new guy out there alone?”
“He can handle it.” Sheriff Tate eyed his borrowed shirt. “As long as his arms don’t go numb.”
* * *
VAUGHN SHOOK HIS head as he steered the patrol car out of the courthouse parking lot. This call had to be some kind of initiation. No way anyone on the force would treat the report of an assault so casually.
The sheriff had it in for him. That much was clear.
Wherever you are, JD, I hope to hell you’re back on the job tomorrow.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be so damn touchy if he’d managed to sleep through the night. His foster cat and her brood had kept him up. Some of that insomnia was his fault, though, since he’d hauled his ass out of bed pretty much on the hour to check that everyone was still breathing.
He followed the directions on his phone to the address Clarissa had provided. Twenty minutes after he started out, he pulled into a winding driveway marked by a sign that had him doing a double take. The Dairy in Millbrook Dairy Farm and Riding Stables had been crossed out and replaced with Marry, and in the corner someone had painted a long-lashed Holstein wearing a wedding veil.
He shook his head and pressed on the accelerator.
The right side of the driveway was crowded with cars parked perpendicular to a fence that bordered a small paddock. Behind the paddock stretched an endless expanse of green that hosted the occasional cluster of fawn-colored cows, their noses buried in the grass. Vaughn counted three large barns to the left of the driveway. Straight ahead loomed the house, an elegant A-frame with a sunroom jutting off the side. Beyond the house and barns shimmered a thin strip of blue that had to be the lake.
Damn, it was pretty here.
As Vaughn stepped out of the cruiser, a group of people spilled out of the barn nearest the house. When they caught sight of Vaughn, they started talking.
“You seriously called the cops?”
“About time they got here.”
“You called 911? So help me, Larry, don’t you ever ask me to pick up your gout pills from the pharmacy again. You’re on your own, old man.”
“Since when did we get a new deputy?”
“Cute, isn’t he?”
Four women, a man and a pair of dogs made their way toward him. Three of the women were elderly. Two of them he knew. The Catlett sisters. What the hell did they have to do with this?
The man had to be in his nineties, and the fourth woman, a hot blonde leading the entire pack, looked to be around Vaughn’s age. She wore jeans and muck boots, and behind her trotted the two dogs, side by side, a chubby brown-and-black mix and a gray schnauzer. The dogs’ leashes trailed in the grass. Luckily neither dog seemed interested in taking a bite out of Vaughn.
The Catlett sisters and their friend, he wasn’t so sure. Hazel and June offered him brash smiles while the other lady simply stared at his chest.
When the tall blonde reached him, she held out a hand. “I’m Ivy Walker,” she said, voice friendly, expression curious. “Thank you for coming.”
“Deputy Fulton.” Vaughn started to put his hands on his hips, but his sleeves damn near cut off his circulation, so he let his arms fall to his sides. He nodded at the Catletts. “Ladies. What seems to be the trouble here?”
Ivy Walker’s eyes widened. “You know Hazel and June?”
The lady with the gelled gray hair and plastic T-bones hanging from her ears tapped him on the shoulder. “No offense, dear, but do you need a few laundry pointers?”
Vaughn blinked, and struggled to reconcile that baby-doll voice with its owner, whose shoulders were wider than his. Like Hazel and June, she looked to be in her seventies, but he bet she could kick some serious ass. He looked down at the material stretched across his chest and cleared his throat. “This is a loaner.”
June quirked her lips, which were the color of an avocado. “You’d be better off not wearing a shirt at all.”
Hazel raised a hand and waggled her purple-tipped fingers. “I’ll second that.”
The old man shouldered his way forward, scowling. “You said this calendar would be family-friendly.”
Hazel flapped a hand. “Considering the only photos we have of Mona are of her and Chance getting busy, that ship has sailed.”
Vaughn barely resisted the urge to slap a hand to his face. What the hell was going on here?
Ivy Walker sent him a pitying look and patted the old man’s shoulder. “He’s not here for the calendar, Mr. Katz. He’s here to help you.”
When the old man did nothing but stare and no one else moved, Vaughn clenched his teeth. “Does someone want to tell me where I can find Mona?”
The chorus started up again. Before Vaughn could holler for a time-out, Baby-doll Voice clapped her hands together. “Children, children,” she called out, and surprisingly everyone quieted.
Mooooooo. As a unit, they turned to stare at a sleepy-eyed Holstein that had ambled up to the paddock fence to check them out. The model for the sign out front? When the ladies all waved at the cow, Vaughn rubbed his face.
Shaking down gangbangers on the streets of Erie never looked so good.
Ivy Walker took charge of the introductions. “That’s Priscilla Mae,” she said proudly, and it took Vaughn a moment to realize she meant the cow. “Deputy Fulton, this is Audrey Tweedy—” she pointed at Baby-doll Voice “—and Larry Katz. And apparently you know Hazel and June Catlett.”
Larry Katz. He’d reported the assault. Vaughn pulled out his notebook. “Mr. Katz—”
The old guy frowned. “Any relation to Emerson Fulton?”
“He was my great-uncle.”
“My condolences, Deputy. Your uncle was a good man.” Katz tucked his phone into the pocket of a plaid shirt that looked a lot like one Uncle Em used to wear. “And now I know where to find you if you don’t take care of my Mona.”
Vaughn scratched his jaw. Did the old man realize his words constituted a threat? When Katz’s mouth adopted a Clint Eastwood curl, Vaughn had his answer. But at least they’d gotten around to discussing Mona. Who was she? Katz’s wife? His daughter?
Hazel swatted Katz on the arm. “Lighten up, Larry. Mona’s a slut and you know it.”
“Enough,” Vaughn barked. “I need to see Mona. Now.”
Silence, until a hot breeze pushed past, and rattled Audrey Tweedy’s T-bone earrings. Wide-eyed, the five people facing him pointed.
Downward.
At the brown-and-black dog cozying up to the schnauzer.
Vaughn drew in a breath, held it until it burned then let it go. “Tell me what happened, Mr. Katz.”
“What always happens when Mona and Baby Blue get together. They try to—” Audrey Tweedy flushed a raw steak–red “—get together. You know.”
Yeah. He knew. Vaughn snapped his notepad closed and jammed it into his shirt pocket. Mona was in distress like Vaughn was in high heels.
“Mr. Katz,” he said evenly. “Would you like to arrange for a vet to examine Mona?”
“You mean Wilmer Fish? Who’s going to pay for that?”
“That would be your responsibility, sir. You can pursue compensation in court, but your failure to remove your dog from this situation won’t help your case.”
“Vaughn Fulton.” Hazel glared. “Are you trying to talk him into suing us?”
Katz held up a palm before anyone else could interrupt. “You mean they can’t be together? But they’re friends.”
“Friends with benefits.” June nodded earnestly.
Ivy Walker stumbled away from the group and slapped at her knees as if brushing off dirt. Vaughn saw her shoulders shake and knew exactly how she felt.
“You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Katz,” he said grimly. “You need to either keep Mona confined, or accept that if she comes across one of her...friends, they may...”
“Get busy,” Audrey Tweedy suggested.
Vaughn bared his teeth in thanks and turned back to Katz. “Has Mona been spayed?” When the old man nodded, he spread his hands. “Then maybe you should consider letting Mona be Mona.”
He spent another fifteen minutes admiring the photos June Catlett had taken for the Pets Are People, Too calendar they were putting together to raise money for the citizens’ center. Even Priscilla Mae, a former Lilac Queen, apparently—all righty, then—had a place in the lineup.
“How about your cat?” Hazel poked at his biceps. “Play your cards right and we’ll find a place for her, too.” She beamed at Ivy, who’d recovered from her coughing fit. “She just had kittens.”
“How sweet.” Ivy studied Vaughn with new respect. “How many did she have?”
“Three,” he said. “Two black, one gray. Want ’em?”
Ivy grinned. Vaughn sighed.
“Great idea, sis.” June patted her camera. “Not Franklin would make an adorable addition to the calendar. Let’s set up the shoot.”
Audrey fingered a T-bone. “Not Franklin?”
“We thought she was Franklin but she wasn’t,” Hazel explained.
Katz curled his lip. “For God’s sake, man. Name your cat.”
“She’s not my cat. And she can’t be in the calendar. She’s wearing a cast.”
“What happened? You kick her?”
Hazel glared at Katz. “He would never do a thing like that.”
“Know him that well, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, we do. When he was a child, he spent most of his summers right next door to us. So watch it, old man, or we’ll put you in a cast.”
Vaughn raised both hands, and his voice. “Nobody’s putting anybody in a cast.”
Katz grunted. “Wilmer Fish put your cat in a cast.”
“She’s not my—” Vaughn stopped and inhaled.
Ivy’s gaze gleamed with compassion. And mirth. “What’d Wilmer say?”
“Her leg’s broken. He figures she got hit by a car. She’ll heal, but she has to stay off the leg for two weeks.”
Ivy grimaced in sympathy. “You have her in a carrier?”
Vaughn nodded. He’d had to get one big enough for her and the kittens. Damn thing had cost him seventy bucks.
“We can still take a picture,” June said. “Casts can be sexy.”
“She’s right,” Hazel said.
Katz tugged at his sleeve and angled his wrist, showing Hazel a bandage on the meaty part of his palm.
“Put that thing away,” she told him. “I have a boyfriend.”
Audrey clamped her arms across her chest. “Please tell me you’re not sticking with a name like Not Franklin. What about the kittens? Will they be Not Tom, Not Dick and Not Harry?”
Vaughn fought to keep his lips in line. “I’m not planning on naming them. I’m not planning on keeping them.” When the crowd around him sucked in a collective breath, he took a step toward his cruiser. “I don’t do cats,” he muttered.
June blinked. “But you have four.”
Hazel tapped a finger against her grape jelly lips. “Don’t worry. We’ll name them for you.”
“I’m not worried,” he said.
But he was thinking he should be.
* * *
CHIN IN HAND, Lily glared at the spreadsheet the mayor had ordered her to update. Office supplies, gas, auto repair, training—he wanted current figures for every expense the sheriff’s department incurred. No doubt because he intended to find somewhere else to cut.
Only, there was nowhere else. They didn’t even have petty cash anymore.
The mayor was probably spending it on candy.
The back door squealed open and shut, and paper rustled. Fulton, back with their lunches. Clarissa, clapping her hands. Metal squeaked as she pulled out her desk drawer to get her purse.
Footsteps headed Lily’s way. She had her hand on her glasses before she even realized her intent to remove them. What is wrong with you, woman? She let her hand drop and focused on her computer screen.
Vaughn strode into her office, bringing the smell of fresh bread and sunshine.
“Chicken,” he said, and tossed the bag onto her desk.
“I asked for tuna.”
“I meant you. I thought you said what’s done is done. Why’d you throw me to the dogs like that? Or should I say, the Catletts?”
Lily turned a snort into a cough. Busted. Slowly she raised her head, fighting a smirk. Surprise stole the urge to smile when she glimpsed the humor in his eyes.
Just her luck. He could dish it out and take it.
“You’re right,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.” She pushed to her feet. “Next time I’ll let you know what you’re getting into.”
“I’d appreciate that. Though if we’re going to be honest here, if I’d known what I was in for, I’d have gotten lost on the way over.”
“I’d feel less guilty if you weren’t such a good sport.”
“Yeah,” he drawled. “That won’t work for me.”
“Fair enough.” She grabbed her purse, plopped it on top of a stack of folders and rummaged for her wallet. “So...” She glanced up. “How was it?”
“As painful as you meant it to be, but I believe we reached an understanding.” He traded the bills she handed him for two quarters and a dime. “That calendar should be as popular as Mona appears to be.”
“She did earn herself a reputation.”
“So will I, if I don’t get rid of this shirt.”
Lily’s smirk won out. “So what did you think of Hazel and June?”
“I already knew them. They live beside my uncle.” He cleared his throat. “His house, I mean.”
“I am sorry about Emerson. I should have said it sooner.”
Fulton’s gaze flattened. “I’m sorry you arrested him.”
Lily stiffened. “I did what I had to do.”
“He was dying,” he said simply.
She wouldn’t defend herself. It wouldn’t do any good, considering the anger that simmered in his hard, dark eyes. She knew better than he did that not all of that anger was directed at her.
“What’s done is done,” she said.
“That apply to anyone else but you?”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“Well,” Lily finally said into the quiet as she gestured at the bag on her desk. “Thank you.”
He gave a curt nod, and turned toward the door.
“You’re not eating?” Damn you, guilt. The last thing she needed to do was connect with this guy, on any level. Especially a physical one, which meant she needed to stop checking him out.
Just in time, she averted her gaze from the enticing strain of biceps beneath his shirtsleeves.
He pivoted in the doorway. A hint of smugness flitted across his face, giving her the impression he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “The mayor invited me to lunch.”
Her knee jerked and banged against the desk. She swallowed a swearword. “Give him my best,” she said cheerfully.
Fulton lifted an eyebrow.
“Never mind,” she muttered.
“Nice glasses,” he said, and left.
I hope you both choke. Lily poked at the bag containing her sandwich. Too bad her new deputy had taken her appetite with him.
* * *
CLARISSA MARCHED FROM one buzzing streetlight to the next, too frustrated to care about the darkness in between. Resentment spiked with every strike of stiletto on pavement. What was the use of offering to do someone a favor if you couldn’t do it with a smile? But damn it, she’d been doing good deeds all day and her cheeks freaking hurt.
First her neighbor in the apartment above hers had needed help picking out a suit for his job interview. Then the elderly couple below had needed a ride to the grocery store. After lunch, JD had called from his sickbed to ask her to find the designer sunglasses he’d spent an entire paycheck on. When she wasn’t on the phone or the radio, or running an errand for her grumpalicious boss, she was rifling through trash cans and walking the corridors of the courthouse, scanning the scuff-marked linoleum for JD’s shades. It might have been fun if she’d managed to recruit Vaughn to help. But he’d spent most of the afternoon with the mayor.
Which had nearly sent the sheriff over the edge. Hence Lily’s fouler than foul mood.
In the end, where had Clarissa found the blasted shades? In JD’s mail slot. Lily must have put them there then forgotten all about it. By the time Clarissa discovered them, she was mad enough to break the stupid things in half.
To top it all off, Lily had asked her to work late so they could finish three months’ worth of expense reports. That was what Lily did when she was upset—she worked overtime on top of her overtime, and every now and then Clarissa got to do it with her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Clarissa had thought to order more than one sandwich at lunch, or if the vending machine had offered more than pretzels and chewing gum. Lily, who never seemed to eat enough for half a person, let alone a workaholic, never even noticed Clarissa’s stomach grumbling.
Of course, she did have a lot on her mind. A lot of man on her mind. Clarissa doubted her boss was thinking about Vaughn Fulton for anywhere near the right reason, but still. She hadn’t seen Lily so infuriated since the mayor informed them he was cutting their office supplies budget because they used too much toilet paper.
Clarissa shifted the stack of books in her arms, almost losing the entire pile when the library’s air-conditioning unit kicked on. She passed the small garden built to screen the unit and breathed in the sweet, thick smell of honeysuckle. Her sour mood faded.
This was her final favor of the day, returning half a dozen hardback romances the clerk of the court had inadvertently left on one of the benches just inside the courthouse entrance. A quick text had ended up with Clarissa agreeing to take them back. Easy peasy. But if she hadn’t had to work late, she’d have been able to take care of it in the daylight.
Hang in there, chickie. As soon as you get rid of these, you can head home, scramble yourself some eggs and see what’s on BBC.
And tomorrow she’d tell anyone who asked for a favor to suck it.
She rounded the rear corner of the library and strode over to the heavy metal drawer built into the brick. Since all six books wouldn’t fit inside at once, she set the stack down on the brick pavers. She scooped up the top two books, opened the drawer and slid them in. No satisfying thunk from the other side of the wall. Shouldn’t there be a thunk?
She opened the drawer as far as it would go and peered inside. Nothing but black. She’d just have to trust the books had made it to safety.
She turned to grab the next two and almost choked herself. Her scarf pulled taut, yanking her backward. She’d gotten it caught in the drawer.
Oh, this is freaking unbelievable.
Her heels wobbled on the uneven bricks as she twisted around to face the chute. She tugged lightly on the length of silk, but it didn’t budge.
She swore again then remembered the LED light on her key chain. She reached into the front pocket of her capris and snagged her keys. She clicked on the light and aimed it into the drawer. One edge of her scarf had caught on the head of a screw. With her free hand, she reached for the fabric looped around her neck. Might as well pull the thing over her head so she didn’t choke herself for real.
A small shape swooped at her from the right and something leathery smacked against her cheek. Dear God, a freaking bat! She shrieked and dropped her keys. They rattled down the inside of the drawer and instinct made her dive after them. When her chest smacked into the edge of the drawer she jerked backward, hissing with pain.
She didn’t get far.
The other end of her scarf was caught.
She gulped down a half laugh, half sob and massaged the skin over her breasts. She’d have bruises in the morning. She’d also have a permanent hunchback if she didn’t get to stand up soon.
Bracing her hands on her knees, she stared down into the black maw of the library’s drop box. The stretch of her beloved silk scarf kept the drawer open. She gripped the edge of the metal to take the tension off the fabric, and realized she didn’t have enough slack to pull her head free.
She heaved a sigh. Time to play tug-of-war. Damn it, her one true piece of designer clothing and she was about to rip it to shreds.
“Fart!” she shouted, and a muffled version of her voice bounced back up at her. She wrapped a fist around each end of the scarf, drew in a breath and braced herself by spreading her legs and shifting her hips. She couldn’t help snorting. Praise be she didn’t have an audience, because she could only imagine what she looked like from behind.
“Evening.” A deep, amused voice sounded directly behind her. “You seem to be having some trouble.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
CLARISSA GASPED AND squeezed her eyes shut. Her nerves went lax and she lost her grip on the scarf. “You think?” she said, as casually as she could manage. Come any closer, buddy, and you’ll get a stiletto to the crotch.
The deep-voiced, shadow-lurking, could-possibly-be-a-killer stranger shifted closer. Goose bumps erupted across Clarissa’s skin. Shoes scraped across brick as he moved into her peripheral vision. He showed her his palms, in the universal I-come-in-peace gesture, but considering he was so tall she couldn’t maneuver her head back far enough to see his face, it did little to put her at ease.
The man was a freaking giant.
He bent forward and peered into the open drawer. White-blond hair gleamed in the halo of light cast by the nearest streetlamp and she caught a whiff of some spice—oregano?—before he shook his head and backed away. He made a humming sound and his palms rasped as he rubbed them together.
Thinking of her, or her predicament?
“Spaghetti or lasagna?” Clarissa blurted.
“What?”
“Quick, tell me what you had for dinner.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him scratch his chin. “A hell of a time to be thinking about food. I’m sorry to say, there aren’t any leftovers.”
“I’m not asking because I’m hungry. I’m trying to establish a bond between us so you won’t kill me.” She bit her lip. “Or worse.”
Silence. She couldn’t tell if he was grinning, or plotting nefarious deeds. If it was the deeds thing, she wished he’d get on with it because her feet were killing her.
“Spaghetti,” he said solemnly. “And I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said, and yanked. The scarf didn’t budge. She readjusted her grip and yanked again, this time adding a growl for good measure.
Not even the hint of a ripping sound.
Damn. She’d certainly got her money’s worth with this scarf.
“I could go inside and get a pair of scissors,” the stranger offered.
“Don’t you dare,” Clarissa cried. “If anyone’s going to ruin this scarf, it’ll be me. Anyway, I thought men always carried pocketknives.”
“I have a knife. I didn’t think letting you hear it snap open would be the smartest thing to do.”
He had a point. She braced a foot against the wall and wrapped the silk tighter around her hands.
The giant grunted. “That thing rips free and you’re going to land on your ass.”
She relaxed her grip and rested her forehead on top of the drawer. “I guess you’re getting quite the eyeful back there.”
“Well, yeah.”
She sighed, and lifted her hands. “I give. Your turn.”
He reached in and grabbed her scarf below the knot, and with a flick of his wrist she was free. The drawer clanged shut and Clarissa stumbled backward. A hand on her elbow steadied her then fell away.
She straightened her spine with a groan, palms pressed to the small of her back, chin lifted moonward. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He sounded preoccupied. She dropped her chin and caught him staring at her chest. When she sputtered, he lifted his gaze to hers, looking more confused than embarrassed.
“These outdoor lights aren’t as strong as they should be. Are those eyeballs painted on your scarf?”
“Nope.” She glanced down and patted what was left of her favorite accessory. “They’re boobs.”
“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Bet you really liven up the sheriff’s office.”
Her head jerked up. “You know where I work?”
“I am the librarian.”
“You say that like it’s synonymous with mind reader.” She blinked. “Wait. You are?”
“Cozy mysteries.”
“What?”
“Your favorite type of book.” He held out an arm, indicating she should head for the parking lot.
“Second favorite.” She stepped off the curb and started toward her car, then pivoted back toward the books she’d left stacked on the pavers. “I didn’t get them all in.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
They didn’t speak again until Clarissa stopped at the driver’s-side door of her Camry. She tipped her head. “We haven’t met before. I’d remember the crick in my neck.”
Even in the scant light cast by the streetlamps, she could see the red staining his cheeks. “I saw you at the diner once and asked about you.”
“So you know my name.”
“I do.” He thrust out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Clarissa Dodd.”
Clarissa disliked wimpy handshakes, and she liked to give as good as she got. She doubted, though, that her firm squeeze even registered to this guy whose hand was as big as his face.
“Nice to meet you, too...” She raised an eyebrow.
“Noble. Johnson.”
“How appropriate. Thank you again, Noble Johnson, for—” she pulled her hand free and flapped it over her shoulder at the scarf-eating death trap behind her “—that.”
He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Romance?”
“No, thank you.”
“I mean, is that your favorite genre?”
Oh. “It wouldn’t matter anyway, because after tonight, it’ll be books on escapism.”
“Escapology, you mean.” He jabbed a thumb at the building behind them. “We have a decent biography on Norman Murray Walters, if you’re interested.” When her cluelessness registered, his mouth drooped. “He was Australian. A contemporary of Houdini.”
“Oh,” she said, then added, “Damn it.”
“Don’t sweat it. You’d be surprised how many people don’t recognize that name.”
“No.” She jerked open the knot in what was left of her scarf and yanked the fabric free of her neck. “My keys fell in the drop box.”
He dug his own keys out of his pocket and held them up. “Good thing I can get into the building.”
“My hero.”
“No swooning necessary, but I wouldn’t say no if you invited me out for a drink.”
“If I say ‘thank you, but no,’ will you still get my keys?”
He made a pensive, humming sound. “If we’d been dating, you wouldn’t need to ask that.”
“Like one of those signs you see when you’re driving? ‘If you lived here, you’d already be home?’”
He beamed. “Exactly.”
“Noble?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m too busy to date, and I need to get home.” He hesitated then turned away with a shrug. “Wait,” she said.
He swung back around, too quickly to hide the eagerness on his face, and she fought a wince.
“I just wanted to...” She twirled her index finger.
He frowned. “What?”
“You walk away and you’re walking out of the light. You got a good, long look at my backside. It’s only fair you return the favor.”
A startled grin flashed. He turned and bent at the waist. Clarissa tipped her head and took her good, long look at a just-snug-enough pair of jeans.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Very nice,” she said.
He straightened. “That mean you’ll go out with me?”
“No.” Clarissa poked her tongue against her cheek. “But I will be renewing my library card.”
* * *
TUESDAY MORNING, AND JD was still out of commission. Lily had dropped in on him the afternoon before. He had no family in the area, but she’d done it more for herself than for him. One more minute spent behind her desk waiting for Fulton to return from his rendezvous with the mayor and she’d have started researching untraceable poisons.
And after Clarissa had spent most of the day hunting for the sunglasses Lily had tucked into JD’s mail slot, Lily figured the least she could do was hand-deliver them. Her deputy had been grateful to see her. Even more so the ginger ale she’d brought, and the broth and crackers she’d fixed while there. It was plain the poor guy wouldn’t be back to work for another day or two. He’d barely managed to sit up long enough to drink his broth.
Lily took the last bite of her banana just as the “gate” out front lifted and banged shut. When there was no subsequent click of high heels in the direction of Clarissa’s desk, she hastily chewed and swallowed and swung back to her computer. The last thing she needed was Fulton walking in to find her staring at her own doorway, as if she couldn’t wait for him to arrive.
Instead, it was Clarissa who appeared. Lily dipped her head and peered over her glasses at the lime-green canvas sneakers her dispatcher wore.
“A little early for those, isn’t it?”
With a groan, Clarissa sank into the guest chair. “My feet are killing me. I couldn’t even look at a pair of heels this morning without wanting to stab myself in the eye.”
Lily dropped her banana peel in the trash. “Want to talk about it?”
“I met our librarian last night.” Clarissa traced the yellow vertical stripes on her pencil skirt, which she’d paired with a short-sleeved sweater the color of a tangerine. With her lime-green tennis shoes, she looked like a citrus salad. “He asked me out.”
“Then he has better taste than I gave him credit for.”
The pleased surprise in Clarissa’s eyes made Lily glad she’d said that out loud. Then Clarissa frowned. “Why don’t you think he has good taste?”
“He likes bright colors as much as you do. Just not—” Lily floundered. “Not as coordinated.”
“Well—” Clarissa shrugged “—I turned him down.”
“Because of our new deputy?”
Clarissa’s gaze sharpened. “Would that matter to you?”
“Hardly.” Shut up, Lily Anne. Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Are you having second thoughts? About Noble?”
“I need a sanity check.” She tipped her head. “He strikes me as the type to be looking for more than fun. You know I don’t have time for anything but casual.”
Lily winced as she reached for her coffee cup. “I’m sorry about keeping you up so late last night.”
“Don’t be. The truth is, you and I are just damn good together.”
A throat cleared outside Lily’s door. Fulton stepped into view, filling the frame. “Am I interrupting something?”
Clarissa winked at Lily, daring her to tease him with what he’d overheard. Lily gave her head a slight shake to indicate she’d pass. Besides being inappropriate, she didn’t need Fulton taking any tales back to the mayor.
“Good morning, Deputy,” Lily said, keeping it civil, ignoring the disappointment on her dispatcher’s face. “Grab some coffee. We need to discuss collateral duties.”
He nodded and disappeared.
Clarissa leaned in. “You going to assign him as school resource officer?”
“Hard to do when school’s on summer break,” Lily said dryly.
“Animal Control, then?”
“Too easy. He faced down the Catlett sisters, Audrey Tweedy and Mr. Katz, all at one time. He’s proved he can handle the local wildlife.”
Clarissa pushed to her feet. “I give up. Do whatever you want with him.”
“Do I get any say in that?”
With a laugh, Clarissa turned toward the door, where Fulton stood sipping a cup of coffee. “Sometimes it’s more fun if you don’t know what’s in store,” she said.
Fulton opened his mouth, glanced at Lily and wisely opted for another sip instead. Clarissa left and Lily waved Fulton into the now empty chair.
He had squeezed back into JD’s uniform shirt. It was tucked neatly into his jeans, revealing his hip holster. His jaw was freshly shaved, and he smelled like a forest on a sunny day.
Lily scowled. “Can’t you ask your mayor pal for money to buy a uniform?”
“He just scored me a flatscreen TV,” he said mildly. “I don’t want to take advantage.”
She peered at him over her glasses, caught the glint in his eyes and wished he didn’t make her feel like such a fuddy-duddy. “There’s a spare rig in the back,” she said. “I’ll pull it out for you. A badge, too.” She should have taken care of that yesterday.
“Thanks.” He sipped his coffee, gaze steady on hers over the rim of his mug. “You sizing me up for a reflective vest?”
“What?” Lily blinked. Had she been staring at his chest? Fudge.
His lips twitched as he gestured with his cup. “Figured you had me in mind for crosswalk duty.”
“I don’t have you in mind at all, Deputy.” When his smirk graduated to a grin, she regretted her words immediately. “What I mean is, I haven’t decided on your collateral duty.” She swiveled toward her computer and stared blindly at the spreadsheet she’d been working on. She had to stop caring that this man had the ear of the mayor. She had to get on with her job.
She hit a few keys. “Court security or records management?”
“You’re giving me a choice?”
“I am.”
“Court security, then.” While she typed, he cradled his cup in his hands and scooted forward in the chair. “Listen. About this thing with the mayor—”
Clarissa appeared in the doorway. “Just got a call from Audrey Tweedy. The Petroskis are at it again.”
Five minutes later, Lily and Fulton were headed south on Route 5, with Lily behind the wheel. Beside her in the passenger seat, Fulton took off his shades, polished them on his shirt and slid them back on. “What’s the story?”
She flicked on her signal and changed lanes. “One of our old-timers, Jakub Petroski, owned a candy store on Buffalo Road. He passed away about six months ago. His kids arrived to settle his estate and we’ve had nothing but trouble since.”
“You liked him.”
She gave him the side eye. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re talking. Can’t be me. Must be him.”
“Anyway,” she said pointedly, “we get these calls once a week. When John and Sadie argue, they do it loudly.”
“Anything more than words exchanged?”
With a shake of her head, she pulled into the driveway of a weathered brick Colonial with teal shutters, a columned porch tucked under a deep copper-coated gable and a chimney on either side of the house. A row of feathery spruces screened the property from the road. She never could understand why Jakub’s kids were so eager to get rid of it.
She parked her cruiser and they got out.
Fulton rounded the hood. “How do you want to do this?”
Lily couldn’t help a glimmer of respect. The last thing she needed on her team was a hotdogger.
“Wait here,” she said. “JD handled these calls on his own. We don’t want them to think we’re here to do anything other than help.”
He frowned, but nodded.
Lily grabbed her hat from the backseat and started for the house. She was halfway up the walk when the front door opened.
“Stop right there, Sheriff,” John, a dark-haired, wiry man with the whitest teeth she’d ever seen, shouted at her through the screen door. “This isn’t your business.”
“It is when a crime’s being committed,” Lily responded calmly. “Let’s start with disturbing the peace.”
“That’s bullshit. No way the neighbors can hear us. That bitch next door has been creeping around again.”
He meant Audrey Tweedy. When the elder Petroski had realized he was dying, he’d begged Audrey to look after his flowers and shrubs until the house changed hands. The old woman had kept the masses of lilies and hydrangeas and irises looking lush. The rest of the property? Another story.
Lily glanced over her shoulder at Fulton, who was eyeing the shin-high grass and the newspapers littering the front porch. “The kids are in it for the money,” he said flatly.
She nodded once. The Petroski twins had made it clear to JD that they couldn’t sell the house and get out of Castle Creek fast enough. As far as Lily was concerned, they’d already taken way too much time.
She turned back to face the house. “We’re just here to talk, Mr. Petroski.”
“Come any farther and my sister’s going to regret it.”
Oh, fudge. This was new. “Want to tell me exactly what that means?”
Silence.
“Mr. Petroski,” she shouted. “Can I call you John?”
“Only if you do it on your way off my property,” he shouted back.
Beside her, Fulton grunted. “Funny guy.”
Lily sighed. “I thought I asked you to wait by the car.”
“This is the point where a show of force is appropriate.”
She didn’t say anything. He was right. And she couldn’t help a swell of appreciation that he was there to back her up.
“Mr. Petroski,” Fulton called. “Do you have any weapons in there with you?”
No response. A bumblebee droned by and leather creaked when Fulton shifted beside her. Lily tamped down a sizzle of desire. What was wrong with her?
The summer sun was gathering its strength. That was it. It was the heat. She adjusted the brim of her hat and grimaced as sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades.
“How about you, Miss Petroski?” she yelled. “Want to tell me what’s going on in there?”
“My brother wants to sell the house to the old lady next door and I don’t.” Sadie was yelling down at them from an open upstairs window.
“What’s wrong with the old lady next door?” The woman in question popped up from behind the hydrangeas that divided the yards.
Fulton had already dropped into a crouch, hand at his holster. Lily had one hand on her radio and the other on the butt of her gun. The instant she registered Audrey as a nonthreat, her knees went weak.
* * *
VAUGHN SWORE AND straightened out of his crouch. Did no one in this town mind their own business?
Jesus. The old lady could have been shot.
“Ma’am,” he growled. “You need to step back.”
Instead, Audrey Tweedy stiffened her lumberjack shoulders and faced her neighbors’ house. “I made you a fair offer,” she called. “Why won’t you accept it?”
No answer. Meanwhile, Sheriff Tate was making shooing motions at Audrey. The elderly woman planted her bright white trainers wide, crossed her arms over her Go Army T-shirt and lifted her chin. She obviously wasn’t going anywhere without a sumo wrestle.
The sheriff rolled her eyes and turned back to the house. “Mrs. Tweedy here said she heard you two threatening each other with knives. Is that true?”
“We only said that because she was listening in.” Now John had his face pressed against the screen as he glowered at Audrey.
The sheriff sighed. “How about you two come out onto the porch? We can talk a lot easier face-to-face.”
“Ha!” Sadie shouted. “You mean it’ll be easier to shoot us.”
“Nobody’s getting shot here today,” the sheriff said calmly, though she did cast a considering glance in Audrey Tweedy’s direction. “I don’t intend to let anyone get knifed, either.”
“They need the money,” Audrey said. The sheriff tried to shush her, but the volume on that baby-doll voice was cranked up to wake-the-dead. “I heard them. John owes five grand to his dentist and Sadie wants bigger breasts.”
“Oh, my God,” Sadie cried. “See what I mean?”
A thundering sound, like someone storming down a set of hardwood steps. “That’s it! We’re not selling!” Sadie shrieked from the first floor. “Not to her, not to anyone.”
“Fine,” her brother hollered back. “So we’ll burn the goddamned place down to the ground!”
“Deputy Fulton,” Sheriff Tate said through clenched teeth. “Please see Mrs. Tweedy safely inside her home.”
Message received, loud and clear. Take the old woman away before someone does get hurt. He hoped to hell he wasn’t going to have to manhandle the lady. She reminded him too much of his aunt Brenda.
When he began to weave his way toward her, maneuvering through chest-high shrubs laden with fat, round blossoms the same blue as the Popsicles he used to enjoy as a kid, the old lady wagged a finger. “Now, listen, dear, I have no intention of moving an inch. I’m on my property. I’m not breaking any laws.”
Oh, yeah. Aunt Brenda all over again. Vaughn lifted his left arm in a futile attempt to back her up. “But you are, ma’am. You’re interfering with a police officer in the course of his duties. Now you can go sit inside your house—” he reached for the pouch at the back of the equipment belt the sheriff had set him up with, pulled out the cuffs and dangled them “—or you can sit inside the squad car.”
Audrey’s eyes widened. She hesitated, then gave a mighty sniff. “I had fully intended to offer you two refreshments when you were done here,” she said crossly. “But I believe I’ll keep my bacon-wrapped shrimp to myself.”
Vaughn watched her march across her yard to her front porch. She stomped up the stairs, but instead of slamming open the door, she turned and dropped onto the top step. Fighting a grin, Vaughn held up two fingers and pointed at his eyes, then at her, then back at himself. Up went her chin as she yanked at the hem of her T-shirt.
Too bad she was holding this against him, because that shrimp sounded good.
He pivoted back toward the Petroski house. Oh, shit. The sheriff was standing in front of the Petroskis’ open screen door, staring down a big-ass butcher knife.
Vaughn pulled his piece and ran.
The sheriff’s hand never even twitched toward her pepper spray or stun gun. Instead she kicked out, and Vaughn heard a muffled thud as boot connected with bone. Steel clattered onto tile and the simultaneous high-pitched screech of pain could have been male or female. Mystery solved when a tall, thin woman collapsed against the screen door, both hands wrapped around her left shin. Sheriff Tate bent down and picked up the knife, seemingly unmoved by Sadie Petroski’s wailing.
Or the fact that she could have easily taken a knife to the gut. Vaughn ground his teeth. He and the good sheriff were going to have to set some ground rules.
Scratch that. What the good sheriff needed was a refresher in defensive tactics.
“John Petroski,” the sheriff hollered at the open doorway. “Come out onto the porch where we can see you.”
“I was only showing it to you,” Sadie sobbed. “I only wanted you to see what my dipshit brother’s been waving at me.” She rubbed her denim-clad shin as she sagged against the screen door, which had banged against the side of the house. “You bitch, you broke my leg.”
“Your leg? What about my door?” Her brother stomped out onto the porch, wearing shorts but no shirt, a half-eaten peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in his hand. “Who’s going to pay for that?”
With his free hand, Vaughn retrieved his cuffs. He climbed the porch steps and kicked several rolled-up newspapers out of the way. “Hands behind your back,” he said to the brother.
Petroski stuffed the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth and complied. Vaughn holstered his weapon and fit the cuffs on the guy’s jelly-smeared wrists.
Meanwhile the sheriff set down the knife, stepped on the handle and pulled her cuffs free of her belt.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Sadie cried. “You broke my leg. Don’t think I won’t sue.”
“Bruised it, maybe,” the sheriff said. “But I didn’t break it. Drop your leg and turn around.”
“You’re going to arrest me?” Sadie pushed upright, shoved her long red bangs out of her face and stomped her injured leg. “What the hell for?”
“Property damage,” said her brother, through the remains of his sandwich.
“Screw you!” shouted Sadie. “It’s my house, too.”
Sheriff Tate fit her cuffs on a fuming Sadie. “Mr. Petroski, I need you to go with Deputy Fulton. He’ll find someplace quiet where you can tell him your side of the story.”
Vaughn led John Petroski down the porch steps and around the side of the house. Petroski was much calmer away from his sister. He admitted he’d brandished the knife at Sadie, then set it on the counter. She’d grabbed it and run for the door, shouting that she was going to “tell on him.”
Jesus. “You two are how old?”
Petroski scowled, then jerked his head at the house. “What’s she got coming?”
“Aggravated assault.”
“Give me a frickin’ break. I just told you, she wasn’t threatening the sheriff.”
“She was brandishing a weapon. That’s called physical menace.” When Petroski swore and kicked the side of the house, hard enough to dent the siding, Vaughn narrowed his eyes. “We going to have to put you in leg irons, too?”
“Don’t you worry, Deputy. I’ve got him covered.” Audrey Tweedy approached from the rear corner of the house, lip curled, eyes squinted. She carried a spray bottle of oven cleaner in one hand and a can of WD-40 in the other. “And you.” She pointed the can at Petroski. “Stop putting holes in the house, or I’ll drop my offer by ten percent.”
Petroski snorted. “If anyone deserves to be arrested, it’s this old bag. C’mon, man, she’s trespassing.”
Audrey lowered her weapon and grinned. “Sell me the house and I won’t be.”
They settled the Petroskis in the cruiser, escorted Audrey back to her own property and bagged the knife. Back at the station, Vaughn waited for a chance to pull the sheriff aside. She’d arrested both Petroskis for disturbing the peace and handled the processing and paperwork without any visible aftereffects from a situation that could have landed her in the hospital. Or worse.
Her attitude worried him. It also pissed him off.
The moment she returned to her office, a mug of coffee in one hand and a stack of paperwork in the other, he followed her in and shut the door. “I know you’re smarter than what you pulled today. You have to be.”
With slow and careful motions, the sheriff set her coffee on her desk and pushed her shoulders so far back it was a wonder she didn’t topple over.
She had grit. He admired it, and he resented it. His job here wasn’t going to get easier anytime soon, which made it damn inconvenient that every time he saw her he wanted to back her up against the nearest wall and practice his search-and-seizure skills.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
He sure as hell wanted to. “I won’t get a chance, either, you keep taking idiotic gambles like that.”
“Do I need to remind you who’s the sheriff and who’s the deputy here?”
He shook his head, and let his gaze linger on her chest. “Don’t worry. I see the badge.”
Her arms twitched, as if she wanted to fold them over her chest. “Exactly what do you think I should have done differently?”
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Kathy Altman
The hardest person to serve and protect is herselfShe didn’t ask for a new deputy. Well, technically, she did ask. But Lily Tate didn’t expect city cop Vaughn Fulton to come swaggering into her sheriff's office, making her feel things she has no right to feel. Not since she lost what she loved most in a tragedy she should have seen coming. Lily can see exactly where she and Vaughn are headed. As hard as he is to resist—and as much as he seems to want her—Vaughn plans to ditch the small-town life when his stint at the Sheriff’s Department is over. Lily’s already handled enough heartbreak. What kind of fool would make the same mistake twice?
The hardest person to serve and protect is herself
She didn’t ask for a new deputy. Well, technically, she did ask. But Lily Tate didn’t expect city cop Vaughn Fulton to come swaggering into her sheriff’s office, making her feel things she has no right to feel. Not since she lost what she loved most in a tragedy she should have seen coming. Lily can see exactly where she and Vaughn are headed. As hard as he is to resist—and as much as he seems to want her—Vaughn plans to ditch the small-town life when his stint at the Sheriff’s Department is over. Lily’s already handled enough heartbreak. What kind of fool would make the same mistake twice?
A deep, unfamiliar voice rumbled along Lily’s spine.
She curbed her irritation. Time to make nice. She had no choice. If she didn’t honor the mayor’s request to hire Vaughn Fulton as her deputy, he’d only saddle her with a seventy-year-old retiree. Or he’d veto every candidate she put forth. When Mayor Whitby was coming off a sugar high, that was just the way he rolled.
So suck it up, Lily Anne.
She swiveled toward the counter that separated the office space from the reception area.
A man wearing jeans and a short-sleeved navy T-shirt that barely concealed a hip holster stood in the doorway, shoulder propped against the jamb, posture as cocky as his voice. Midtwenties, six-one or so, trimmed dark hair and troublemaker eyes. One look and she was as clear about who he was as the muscles stretching his shirt. If the man were in motion, he’d be swaggering.
Beside her, Clarissa hummed her approval. Lily could practically hear the drool hitting the floor.
Yeah. Swagger. He planted his palms on the countertop, locked his arms and leaned in.
“Vaughn Fulton reporting for duty, ma’am.”
Dear Reader (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89),
It’s wonderful to have you back in Castle Creek! You caught a glimpse of the prickly Sheriff Lily Tate in Staying at Joe’s, and learned of her tragic history in A Family After All. In Tempting the Sheriff, Lily continues her fight to keep everyone at arm’s length—especially city cop Vaughn Fulton, a temporary deputy with a hefty chip on his shoulder. Eventually these two crazy kids fall head over heels, but Vaughn isn’t interested in staying in Castle Creek, and Lily herself won’t consider moving to the city. So now what?
When I started writing Lily’s story, I had already decided which character would risk their entire way of life to make couplehood happen. Imagine my surprise when the other character insisted on being the one to make the sacrifice! I hope you find Lily and Vaughn’s journey as gratifying as I did.
I always enjoy hearing from readers! You can email me at kathy@kathyaltman.com, or visit me at www.kathyaltman.com (http://www.kathyaltman.com), where you can find the recipe for gobs, those Devil Dogs–type treats Vaughn reminisces about. Depending on where you’re from, you may know them as whoopie pies, but they’ll always be gobs to me, and one of my sweetest memories of Johnstown, PA, where my dad grew up.
All my best,
Kathy Altman
Tempting the Sheriff
Kathy Altman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATHY ALTMAN writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense and the occasional ode to chocolate. She’s also a regular contributor to USATODAY.com’s Happy Ever After blog. Kathy prefers her chocolate with nuts, her Friday afternoons with wine and her love stories with happy-ever-afters. Find Kathy online at www.kathyaltman.com (http://www.kathyaltman.com). She’d enjoy hearing from you!
To Toni Anderson, outstanding writer, critique partner and friend. Here’s to the next dozen years of buddy-ship (and all those bug hugs that keep me going)!
Acknowledgments (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
I owe a great, big, humongous THANK YOU to editor Claire Caldwell, who is unfailingly gracious, encouraging and all kinds of savvy. Claire, I’m a better writer thanks to you, and I’ll miss working with you!
As always, I’m grateful for my entire family, who are even more supportive than they are screwy. (Seriously, folks, that’s a lot of support.)
And many, many thanks to the readers who appreciate happy endings as much as I do. I cherish every one of you!
Contents
Cover (#u7ccbd001-f871-5121-a1f4-a965a99ad526)
Back Cover Text (#u15d018fe-ff6b-5fab-813c-fe2d2b63690e)
Introduction (#u3ddc00f3-2f82-54c5-ae2f-7e3c017a74f0)
Dear Reader (#u6873f8fc-4a66-553d-a86e-63889ef1a7bc)
Title Page (#u27f4c7f9-98c9-5c55-86b2-0ee7973011a3)
About the Author (#ua76ecef4-5d7b-59c4-a8cc-1a2aefecf664)
Dedication (#u83099587-1e50-55ae-8e1e-b83f15cd7022)
Acknowledgments (#u00b3d075-8bfd-5148-9b9d-8cac3282d463)
CHAPTER ONE (#ud04ec13a-96da-51ef-b764-5bb066322759)
CHAPTER TWO (#u2cd748e0-5aed-565e-9eb3-a22619dd917b)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucd50ef1b-9d0c-5f01-9393-b3058eb06332)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uebb00750-c43d-59be-8008-b26df9fb6cf7)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
VAUGHN FULTON TOSSED his shades onto a box marked Kitchen Crap and turned in a slow circle. He’d been played. Suckered, by an eighty-four-year-old man. If Emerson Fulton were still alive, he’d be smirking his ass off because he was about to make good on his promise to see that his nephew stayed in Castle Creek longer than it took to eat a rib eye at the diner and watch a ball game for dessert.
He pushed a breath through his nose. Yeah, he should have visited more often. No doubt about it. He’d let down the old man.
And his uncle had plotted one hell of a payback.
“Bits and pieces, my ass,” Vaughn said aloud. The echo he should have heard failed to bounce back at him. No surprise, considering the ceiling-high jumble of boxes and furniture crowding the room. A jumble that hadn’t been there two months ago, when he’d stopped in to check on the old man. A week later, Uncle Em was gone.
Vaughn pinched the bridge of his nose.
Near the end, he’d promised to handle the property side of things. Stay at the house as soon as he could manage it. Clear it out and see it sold. Two days max to empty the place, Uncle Em had sworn.
Two days, like hell. It would take two weeks to go through everything on the first floor, and that was just the sorting—he’d have to make arrangements for transportation to the landfill and find a charity to take the rest. No way could he take more than one or two items for himself. His apartment in Erie wasn’t much bigger than a square of toilet paper.
So much for cranking this out over the weekend.
Vaughn linked his fingers behind his neck and exhaled. He missed his uncle. He missed him bad. His aunt, too. He’d spent a lot of uncomplicated summers in this house. But as grateful as he was that the old man had remembered him in his will, he didn’t have time for this. Well, technically he did, since his jackass partner had earned him a thirty-day suspension, but he’d wanted to spend it clearing his name, not clearing a dozen rooms crammed with someone else’s crap.
Don’t be a dick.
He dropped his arms and carefully wound his way back to the foyer. The afternoon light spilling in through the strip of stained glass in the front door scattered jewel tones across the floor and over the toes of his boots. Along with the faint smell of almond pound cake that was baked into the very walls, it made him nostalgic for a childhood he usually did his damnedest to forget.
Sudden exhaustion tugged at his shoulders. He would have leaned against a wall if it weren’t for the piles of junk. Instead he leaned back against the front door and surveyed the hardwood floor, barely visible beneath stacks of old magazines and newspapers, towers of rust-rimmed paint cans and heap after heap of wrinkled clothing.
How had his uncle found the energy to collect all this? What had he done, put up a notice at Cal’s Diner? Help me show my nephew what a jackass he is. Bring your unwanted items, large or small, to 16511 Paisley Place and make him deal with it.
Vaughn huffed a reluctant chuckle. He’d bet his service weapon that was exactly what Uncle Em had done. He could see the old man now, fixing his invite to the corkboard just inside the diner’s door, tongue between his teeth and that tickled-with-himself gleam in his eyes...
Abruptly, Vaughn swung toward the kitchen. He could use a drink. The dust was making his throat scratchy.
The kitchen was the only room in the house that didn’t harbor a maze of boxes. Vaughn grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the tap. After downing it he poured another, butted a hip against the sink and took stock. The room—hell, the whole house—was way overdue for a face-lift. Battered white cabinet doors and a scuffed linoleum floor needed to give way to solid maple and Mexican tile, but Uncle Em hadn’t wanted to change anything with Aunt Brenda’s stamp on it. Vaughn couldn’t blame him. Even the thought made Vaughn want to check the wide-eyed ceramic owl cookie jar, see if it held any of the ginger crisps his aunt used to make.
He was stretching toward the jar when his ringtone jolted him upright. Just as well. Considering his aunt had died four years earlier, he doubted he’d enjoy whatever the owl guarded.
He dug his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans. “Fulton here.”
“Vaughn? This is Rick Whitby.”
“Mayor.” Vaughn braced a hand on the edge of the counter. He gazed through the window, studying the generous stretch of brown-tipped grass desperate for a mowing and the intersecting rows of hornbeams that screened the yard from the neighbors. The trees were in serious need of pruning.
For the hundredth time, Vaughn wondered what had drawn his uncle to Whitby, a fifty-year-old player with too much time on his hands, considering he had a county to run. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Son, let me say again how sorry I am about your uncle’s passing.”
“I appreciate that.”
“It’s been a lot of years since he retired as clerk of the court, but folks at the courthouse still talk about him.”
The funeral had been well attended. Vaughn had been touched. “What can I do for you, Mayor?” he asked again.
“In a hurry, are you, son?”
Whitby’s chuckle had Vaughn jonesing for a cup of coffee. Hell, even a soda would do. Anything to wash away the taste of ulterior motive. He pushed off the counter and opened the fridge. Nothing but baking soda and a sheet of paper. Vaughn picked up the paper, hip-bumped the door shut and took a closer look.
An estimate, for replacing the roof. It wasn’t the fact that his uncle had left it in the fridge that sent Vaughn’s oh-shit factor sky-high. It was the total on the dotted line. Five figures.
Vaughn dropped into a chair and double-checked the math.
“Son? You still there?”
“I’m here.”
Whitby cleared his throat. “Listen, give me a call when you get into town, will you? I’d like to set up a meeting. Discuss a proposition.”
Vaughn fought the urge to admit he’d already arrived. “What’s on your mind?”
The mayor hesitated. “What I have to say deserves a face-to-face.”
Vaughn’s Spidey senses started to tingle. “I’d appreciate a heads-up.”
“All righty, then. Our sheriff’s department is understaffed. I’m hoping you’ll help us out while you’re in town.”
He had to be kidding. “You want me to be a deputy?”
“I’d make you sheriff if I could.”
Vaughn wasn’t surprised. He’d never met Sheriff Tate, but he knew she was a hard-ass. From what he’d heard, a man could drop dead in the street and she’d write him a ticket for jaywalking.
Thanks, but no thanks.
“I’ll only be around long enough to clean out the house,” Vaughn said. “Unless I decide to sell it as is.”
“But that’s against the terms of your inheritance.”
Vaughn shifted his weight, and the chair groaned a threat to break into pieces and dump his ass on the floor. “How do you know that?”
“I helped Emerson draft it. Listen, your uncle wanted the house to stay in the family. More than that, he wanted you to stay in Castle Creek. I promised I’d do my best to talk you into both.”
Tension threaded its way through Vaughn’s muscles. “He knew better.” Besides, the old man had left only half the house to Vaughn—the rest of the estate went to charity. Even if he wanted to, there was no way Vaughn could raise the money to buy the house outright. If Uncle Em had been so gung ho about Vaughn staying, the old man should have left him the whole house.
Not that Vaughn deserved it.
When Whitby spoke again, his voice carried a pout. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m sorry you’re understaffed, but I don’t have time to help, and I have no interest in relocating.” Even if he did, it would be to another city, not to a geriatric community that was about as dangerous as a stuffed animal. Yeah, Uncle Em had made noises about Vaughn holding on to the house, but he’d been well aware his nephew could only take so much quiet. By the end of every summer visit, Vaughn had been twitchier than a teenage girl caught speeding in her daddy’s brand-new Beemer.
Vaughn liked crowds. Traffic. Noise. Action.
“Emerson said you were going to take a leave of absence.” The mayor’s tone bordered on accusatory.
“I did.” Sort of.
“At least let me set up a tour. Show you the facilities, introduce you around.”
“Maybe another time.”
Vaughn ended the conversation and tossed his phone on the table then zigzagged his way back to the living room. After snagging a box cutter off the tattered seat of a bar stool, he sliced open the Kitchen Crap box. Might as well locate the coffeemaker, because no way was he going to check out the second floor without a hefty dose of caffeine. And maybe a shot of whiskey, if he could find it.
In the dining room behind him, something heavy tumbled to the floor. Vaughn whipped around, automatically slapping a hand to his empty hip. Easy. He squinted across the hall and saw that a box had fallen off a stack. Obviously the contents had shifted and gravity had taken over.
Guilt niggled. Had his uncle really counted on his settling here?
He shook his head. Way to let the mayor work you.
Ten minutes later, he was rifling through dish towels and pot holders when he heard another thud. Next came a series of scraping sounds, like something being dragged across a sandy floor. What the hell?
He grabbed the box cutter and strode into the dining room. “Who’s in here?” he demanded.
More thumping, muted this time. He looked to his right. Another box had landed on its side, spilling half-empty bottles of lotion and shampoo. A third carton had fallen behind it. Whatever was in here had to have been inside for a while—the place had been closed up for weeks.
A vision of a rabid raccoon latching onto his jugular while blood sprayed everywhere had him thinking about calling 911. But only for a split second. He couldn’t let the overzealous sheriff lock up another Fulton for no good reason.
With a tight grip on the box cutter, Vaughn carefully skirted the mess on the floor, bent down and peered into the upended box.
A black cat stared up at him while kneading the lace tablecloth Aunt Brenda had saved for holidays. Sheepishly, Vaughn retracted the blade on the box cutter and slid the tool into his back pocket.
“Uncle Em might be smirking down on me, but Aunt Brenda’s trying to swat you with a broom,” he told the cat. The animal yawned and tugged a paw loose from a clinging thread. Vaughn squatted. “How the hell did you get in here?”
The cat hissed and backed farther into the box. Vaughn held up his hands. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to make you nervous.”
Jesus. He was talking to a stray cat.
He headed back to the kitchen. As soon as he made this call, the entire county would know he was in town. But someone was missing a pet, and he didn’t have time to go knocking on doors.
“Hello, Miss Catlett? This is Vaughn Fulton, next door.”
“How are you, Vaughn?”
“Good. Thanks. You?”
“Better if you call me Hazel, sweet cheeks.”
While Hazel shared the details of her plantar fasciitis, the cheese ball recipe she’d recently tried and something about a new boyfriend and old lube—wait, what?—Vaughn returned to the dining room and checked on his intruder. The cat remained crouched in the corner of the box.
Hazel took a breath and Vaughn took advantage.
“Did my uncle have a cat?”
“No, hon, not that I know of. You have one hanging around outside?”
“Inside, and I have no idea how long he’s been in here.”
“Oh. Well, if I were you, I’d avoid going barefoot.”
“Thanks,” Vaughn said dryly. “Any clue where he might have come from?”
“What’s he look like?”
“Black, with a white diamond on his chest.”
“That could be Franklin. He belongs to the Hockadays, two doors down. But how on earth would he have managed to get in?”
“Probably through one of the big-ass holes in the roof,” Vaughn muttered.
“Beg pardon?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
“Like my Pete.”
“Pete?”
“My sweetie. Pete Lowry. Remember him? Runs Lowry’s Garage?”
“Sure do.” With a silent huff of relief, Vaughn perched on the windowsill. That explained the lube comment.
“And yes, we do enjoy wild grease monkey sex.”
Or not.
“Hazel. I have an idea.” Please stop talking about your sex life. “Mind coming over and taking a look at this cat? See if you recognize him?”
She gave a knowing chuckle. “Sure thing, hon. I’ll be right over.”
Vaughn returned the cat’s wary stare. “Franklin. That your name?” When the cat started working his paws into the tablecloth again, Vaughn nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He went back across the hall and resumed his quest for the coffeepot.
It took him a few seconds, but he finally recognized that half-buzzing, half-wheezing sound as the doorbell. He set aside the coffee filters he’d discovered in a box marked Cleaning Crap and maneuvered his way back to the front door.
The Catlett sisters stood on the porch, each holding a foil-covered plate, their grins as wide as their makeup was bright. He smiled back, careful not to peer directly into their eye shadow.
The seventysomething Hazel and June, or Hazel and Nut, as some called them, couldn’t have been kinder to him when he was a kid. They’d made numerous trips across his uncle’s yard during Vaughn’s summer visits, toting cakes and casseroles and platters piled high with those round Devil Dog things they called gobs. It wasn’t until after Aunt Brenda died that Vaughn realized the sisters had probably used his growing-boy stage as an excuse to help out his aunt and uncle while they struggled with his aunt’s cancer.
Aunt Brenda’s death had hit Vaughn almost as hard as it had hit Uncle Em. He hadn’t handled it as well as his uncle, though. He’d thrown himself into his job as a patrol officer with the Erie PD, with his sights set on becoming a detective. His visits to Castle Creek had been irregular at best. He wasn’t proud of the distance he’d kept, but it had helped him manage his grief.
“You just going to stand there, Vaughn Fulton, or are you going to give us some love?”
Vaughn started. “My apologies, ladies. Please come in, but watch your step.”
They followed him down the hall and into the kitchen, tut-tutting as they passed the leaning tower of pizza boxes and five buckets of rags that were at the top of his list to go to the dump. The last thing he needed was a fire.
His visitors set their plates on the kitchen table and exchanged nods of approval.
Hazel beamed at him. “Looks like Emerson achieved what he set out to do.”
“It’ll take you weeks to sort this mess.” June lifted her arms. “Hug time.”
Vaughn’s narrowed gaze traveled from Hazel to June and back again. Their sweetly familiar, brightly painted faces made him want to smile, but he suppressed the urge. Coconspirators, both of them.
“You were in on it,” he said sternly.
Hazel blinked her carrot-colored eyelids and pursed her turquoise lips. Vaughn couldn’t help wondering if she’d confused her lipstick for her eye shadow and vice versa. June had avoided that problem by painting both the same color—light purple. Vaughn had to admit it went well with her pink pantsuit.
Hazel patted her short, white hair. “Maybe we were and maybe we weren’t,” she said cagily.
“Oh, we absolutely were,” June said. She wore her silver hair in the same pixie cut as her sister’s. “And we loved every minute of it. Emerson let us take a peek at what people were bringing in and I scored two plastic tubs of summer clothes. I’m going to do a reverse Julie Andrews and patch together a set of curtains out of gym shorts.” Vaughn let loose his laugh and stepped into her hug. She smelled like peppermint, just as he remembered. Nostalgia backed up in his throat as he bent toward Hazel. She pinched his ass.
“You haven’t changed,” he said, stepping out of reach.
“You have. You’ve been working out. That’s one fine caboose you have there, Officer.”
He gestured at the chaos in the hallway behind them. “You can help yourself to anything here, except my caboose.” He saw her expression and rushed to add, “Or any other body part.”
“Fine,” Hazel sniffed. “Then I suppose we should go find Franklin.”
Vaughn led them to the dining room, where he crouched down to see inside the overturned box. When Hazel and June crowded in behind him, the cat erupted from the box. Front paws scrabbled on dust-covered hardwood as he made for the doorway. The back paws weren’t as efficient, and as the cat shuffled past him, Vaughn discovered why. The animal’s rear left leg hung at an odd angle, slowing his progress up the stairs.
“I wonder if he hurt himself getting in.” He pulled out his cell. “Do you know the Hockadays’ number? They’ll have better luck getting hold of him.”
“I do have their number, but I’m afraid that’s not going to do any good.” June’s hand fluttered to her neck. “Sorry, dear, but that’s not Franklin. Your he is a she. And she’s about to have kittens.”
Vaughn staggered back a step. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Hazel eyed her sister with pride. “Wilmer Fish always said a vet could never ask for a better assistant than June.”
While June preened, Hazel started rummaging through one of the boxes toppled by the cat.
Vaughn pushed a hand through his hair. “Neither of you has any idea who that cat might belong to?”
Hazel looked over her shoulder. “I’m thinking it’s you.”
“The cat seems to be thinking the same thing.” June sidled around Vaughn to select her own box to pick through. “Ooh.” She held up several pads of paper and a stack of multicolored Post-its. “Would you mind?”
Vaughn shook his head. “Anything else catches your eye, please take it. That includes the cat.”
“Nice try, hon. Our Baby Blue would foam at the mouth if we tried to expand our little family. Schnauzers aren’t usually superpossessive of their owners, but ours certainly is.” Hazel patted him on the cheek. “We need to go. We have a fund-raiser to finalize. Good luck with the house. I’m sure you’ll get a fine price for it after all the repairs are made.”
Vaughn frowned down at her. “I know about the roof. Don’t tell me there’s more.”
“I’m afraid so.” June hugged to her chest the office supplies she’d scavenged. “Your uncle had an electrical fire upstairs a few months ago, and there’s a problem with the plumbing in the master bath.” She squinted up at him. “He didn’t tell you?”
Vaughn shook his head. What else had the old man kept from him?
Hazel grimaced. “The way the market is around here, you’re not going to find a buyer if they have to invest in major repairs.”
Vaughn barely refrained from rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. His halfhearted search for Uncle Em’s whiskey stash had now become critical. He didn’t have the money to invest in major repairs. His chances for getting a loan weren’t good, either. Not when he was already stretched thin. Rent ate up most of his pay.
He thanked the sisters again for the food, apologized for not being able to offer them coffee and walked them out, then shut the front door and glanced at the second floor. That cat could be up there having kittens right this moment. In his bed.
Oh, hell, no. Vaughn grabbed his cell and headed for the stairs. Why hadn’t he asked June for the vet’s number? Before he could do a search on Wilmer Fish, he noticed a text from Whitby.
Forgot to mention it’s a paid position. Let’s talk salary over dinner. Cal’s Diner @ 7? I’m buying.
He hesitated on the top step. As his thumb hovered over Reply, his ringtone blared into the silence. With a sigh, he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Mom.”
“You said you’d call.”
“I got caught up in something.” He worked his way toward the room Aunt Brenda had assigned him during his summer visits. So much for hoping the second floor wouldn’t also be packed to capacity. It was standing-room-only up here. And it reeked of mothballs.
He stopped in the doorway of the guest room and exhaled. Even his bed was piled high with crap. Though maybe that was a good thing, considering the twin-size mattress looked about five times smaller than he remembered.
His mother gave a disapproving huff. “Do whatever it is you need to do and spend the rest of your break with us. Your father has someone he’d like you to meet.”
Vaughn tightened his grip on his phone and swung toward the master bedroom. “I thought I made it clear. Enough with the ambushes.”
“Don’t be stubborn. So we scheduled a few dinners. You have to eat.”
“Mom. I have a job waiting for me in Erie.” At least, he hoped he did. “I’m not changing my career.”
“Plenty of people your age and even older have made the decision to steer their professional lives in a new direction. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed, I’m resolved. I’m proud of what I do. I plan to continue doing it.”
“Vaughn.” His mother’s voice gentled. “You know your father and I would rather you find a job with actual earning potential. We’re trying to look out for you. Don’t you want to be able to afford a house someday? A family? Don’t you want to have money to travel when you retire?”
He did have a house. His uncle’s house. But it was only partly his, and it wasn’t in Erie. Not for a moment would he consider staying.
As his mother talked about the trips she and his dad had taken and all of the places they planned to go, Vaughn peered into his uncle’s bedroom. Score. The bed was empty. No junk, no cat in labor.
He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and listened to his mother describe the luxury car he could afford if only he earned a decent paycheck.
Most law enforcement parents would worry about their son or daughter getting hurt in the line of duty. Vaughn’s folks worried what the neighbors thought of their blue-collar son.
“So when can we expect you?” his mother asked. “I think you should talk to the man from the securities firm first—he has a personal driver and a summer house in the Hamptons.”
“Not interested, Mom.” Did she ever get tired of hearing it? ’Cause he was sure as hell tired of saying it. “Even if I were, I don’t have the time.”
“You don’t have the time to visit your own parents?”
“Not when they won’t stop campaigning against my job.”
“And anyway, how complicated can it be to put up a For Sale sign?”
Basically what he’d said to Whitby. So why didn’t the suggestion sit well?
“It’s more involved than that.” Just to be difficult, Vaughn added, “Plus they want me to pinch-hit as a deputy while I’m here.”
Her reaction didn’t disappoint. “That’s not going to happen,” she said flatly. “As if wasting your potential chasing hardened criminals around the city isn’t bad enough.”
Vaughn rolled his eyes. “There’s a lot more to the job than that. By the way, crime rate’s a lot lower here.”
“So is the standard of living. What’ll I tell the securities broker, that you’re busy breaking up a moonshine ring? Please be serious. You’ll damage your prospects. You know very well your father and I are not going to let you bury yourself in the country playing cops and robbers with your uncle’s cronies.”
She wouldn’t let her uncle’s arrest go. Never mind that Vaughn was still holding his own grudge. His mother didn’t blame Sheriff By-The-Book Tate, but Vaughn sure as hell did. “I’m twenty-eight, not twelve,” he said. “If I want to play cops and robbers, I’ll play cops and robbers and you can’t stop me.”
He winced at his juvenile tone. After muttering his goodbye, he straightened, drew in a breath and prepared to flush a pregnant cat from her hiding place.
Or maybe he’d just join her there.
* * *
WHEN SPEEDY PETE drove past Lily Tate sedately enough that she had time to register his smirk, she realized she’d been had. Squinting after his faded gray Jeep as it disappeared around the bend, she lowered the radar gun and swore. The last time Pete Lowry had driven that slowly, he’d been bringing up the tail end of the Christmas parade, putt-putting down the center of State Street hauling a flatbed crammed with the high school football team, the cheerleading squad, three dozen bales of hay and a celebrity Holstein named Priscilla Mae.
Somehow the smug so-and-so had known Lily was parked at the entrance to the old logging road. But how? The only vehicles she’d seen that afternoon had all been headed in the same direction, away from Castle Creek.
She lifted her hat and blotted the sweat clinging to her bangs. She blinked against the perspiration that stung her eyes and wriggled her shoulders, desperate to free her skin from the short-sleeved uniform shirt plastered to her back. But that wouldn’t happen until she was back in the air-conditioned courthouse, and that wouldn’t happen until she managed to actually write a citation.
Two hours in the August sun and she hadn’t issued the first ticket. Today’s lack of revenue would not please the mayor. He’d probably auction off her parking space again. Not that she minded the walk, but it always seemed to rain the week she’d been relegated to the back of the lot.
She huffed in exasperation and grabbed at the car door. Time to find out why everyone was driving like the road was coated in ice.
The moment she dropped into her seat, she heard a rattling sound. What the—oh. She plucked her cell free of the plastic cup holder. When had she put it on Vibrate? A glance at the screen had her wincing. Burke. Again. She pressed Ignore. The man had to be as tired of hearing no as she was of saying it.
She started the car, then lightly bounced her forehead against the wheel. All she wanted was to do her job. Stay busy. Enjoy her privacy.
Forget.
But the mayor was determined to make her job harder, Burke Yancey wouldn’t stop asking her out and every time she heard a child laugh—
She pressed her hands against her chest, where sudden pain sliced deep. After a few breathless seconds, she filled her lungs, sat up straight and reached for her seat belt.
Focus. She had a job to do. And doing that job meant finding out why every driver in Castle Creek had suddenly developed a feather foot.
It didn’t take long.
CHAPTER TWO (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
HALF A MILE past the curve that prevented Lily from seeing oncoming traffic—and prevented oncoming traffic from seeing her—she spotted the problem. Jared Ensler.
She should have known.
The skinny preteen stood on the shoulder, his back to Lily. Wincing at his camouflage pants and dark green T-shirt, she pulled off onto the opposite shoulder. At least the kid’s blazing orange skullcap made him stand out. Well, that and the poster-sized sheet of cardboard he was toting.
The sound of her engine must have finally registered because he turned. His eyes went wide, his mouth went slack and his arms collapsed. The bottom third of the sign buckled against his shins. Lily eyed the bright red, hand-painted letters and suppressed a grudging smile.
Speed Trap Ahead.
Jared chewed his bottom lip and let the sign drop to his side, but he stood his ground. Ignoring the hat she’d tossed on the passenger seat, Lily pushed herself once more into the thick, sticky heat of the afternoon. A farm stand just down the highway was selling peaches, and she breathed in the heady scent. A mental image of a bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with juicy slices of the ripe fruit was almost enough to forgive the sun for its enthusiasm today.
Almost, but not quite.
The harsh cry of a crow on the power lines overhead had her rolling her eyes at herself. Food fantasies were so not her thing. That’s what she got for skipping lunch. And leaving her hat in the car one too many times. With a wistful glance at the distant, dark blue wedge of Lake Erie, she adjusted her sunglasses and crossed the road.
Jared kicked at a dandelion sprouting at the pavement’s edge. Bits of white fluff exploded into the air. When the crunch under Lily’s boots signaled she’d moved from asphalt to gravel, he lifted his head. His mouth formed an arrogant slash, but his eyes held a hint of panic.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked gruffly.
“Depends. Your mother know what you’re up to?”
“I’m used to that kind of trouble. I need to know about the jail kind.”
“Why are you out here, if you thought you might be arrested?”
He stacked his hands atop his skullcap. “Am I? Under arrest?”
“Jared.” Lily bit back her impatience as sweat dripped down the back of her neck. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”
He gave her an odd look and shook his head. He wasn’t wearing shades, either, but at least he’d been smart enough to bring something to drink. A battered handheld cooler rested on the shoulder behind him.
Lily sighed. “What are you doing out here?”
He glanced around, as if for inspiration. “Something’s wrong with our Xbox.” When she crossed her arms, he shrugged. “We got bored watching TV. We heard my mom talking on the phone with someone who’d seen you out here—”
“And decided it would be fun to warn everyone I was using radar.”
“Yeah.” The word carried a lot of duh.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
He hesitated. “Scottie’s out here, too, down the road a ways.”
His younger brother, on the road by himself. Fantastic.
“There hasn’t been any traffic from that direction,” she said. “How is that less boring than watching TV?”
Jared smirked. “He’s doing okay.”
“How do you know?” When he pulled a smartphone out of his pocket, Lily nodded, barely resisting the urge to say this duh for him. “Let’s go get him. I’m taking you two home before you get heatstroke.”
“You’re not taking us to jail?” His mouth tipped up and then down, as if he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“I have a feeling any punishment your mother dishes out will be worse than a stretch in one of my holding cells. What you’re doing isn’t illegal, but it is dangerous. What if a car came around that corner too fast and swerved onto the shoulder? What if a driver wasn’t paying attention and drifted off the road?” She broke off. The possibilities had her lungs floundering.
Jared looked unimpressed.
She breathed in, then out. “How did you even get out here?”
“Our neighbor brought us.”
Right. Lily did remember seeing Mrs. Yackley drive by in her lime-green Beetle. “She didn’t ask why you and your brother wanted to be dropped off in different locations?” Or wonder if she should leave a twelve-year-old and an eight-year-old out on the highway alone? “What’d you do, tell her you were on some kind of secret mission?”
Jared shook his head. “We told her the truth. She was cool with it, but she said if her taxes went up she wouldn’t knit us any more hats.”
Lily huffed a laugh. “Okay, then.” Apparently Mrs. Yackley had an issue with authority. Or maybe just a soft spot for restless preteens.
Jared picked up his cooler and followed Lily to her patrol car. She agreed to let him sit up front until they collected his brother. After that, the boys would have to share the backseat—no way was she going to play referee while they argued about who got to sit where.
She drove back to the logging road and eased around the curve beyond it. There stood fair-haired Scottie, wearing a banana-colored T-shirt that hung to his knees and holding a sign identical to his brother’s. Except for the message.
Lily snorted. These kids had the perfect setup. After Jared warned drivers of the speed trap, Scottie asked them to show some gratitude.
He held a bucket in his left hand and in his right a sign that read Tip$.
The moment it registered exactly whose car he was signaling, Scottie dropped the sheet of cardboard. The bucket he hugged to his chest.
Once again, Lily steered the car onto the shoulder. This time she parked behind Scottie on the left, so he wouldn’t have to cross the road. “Clever scheme,” she said.
Jared never glanced up from his perusal of the switches, lights and video screens on her dash. “I know, right?”
Less than five minutes later, Lily had both signs tucked away in her trunk and both Ensler brothers buckled up in her backseat. She nodded in approval at the sound of plastic crackling as they guzzled water. She cranked up the AC and pulled back onto the road, then checked out her passengers in the rearview mirror. “You two trying to earn money for something in particular? A birthday gift for your mom, maybe?”
Jared shot her a disgusted look. “I told you, our Xbox isn’t working.”
“The red ring of death,” Scottie said. His voice was closer than it should be. A glance to her right showed he had his head thrust between the front seats, wide eyes glued to the same panel of switches that had fascinated his brother.
“I need you to sit back, buddy. I know you’re curious, but the time to look around isn’t when the car’s in motion. Jared, make sure your brother’s buckled in. So what’s the red ring of death?”
“Happens when your console’s broke,” Scottie said. “The red lights around the power switch come on. When Dad couldn’t fix it he said it was about as useful as tits on a boar hog.”
Jared hooted, and the sound had her shoulders curving in, her stomach muscles bracing against a surge of acid regret. Stop that, she told herself firmly.
She swallowed the misery coating her throat and forced a chuckle. “I doubt your dad would appreciate you repeating that. How much did you make today, anyway?”
Paper shuffled as Scottie counted. After a whispered consultation in the backseat and a muffled “No, give it back” and “It’s not a secret,” he announced, “Forty-five dollars.”
Good God. How many tickets should she have written this afternoon?
Jared grunted and crossed his arms. “You gonna confiscate that, too?”
“Not if you promise never to pull something like this again.”
“Aw, man.” Scottie threw his head against the seat back and groaned up at the roof. “But we don’t have enough money yet.”
“I’m sorry,” she said firmly. “You’ll have to find a safer way to earn it.”
“Shit,” Scottie mumbled, and it was so unexpected, Lily was hard put not to laugh. She pressed a palm to her chest again, this time wishing she could trap the unfamiliar lightness there.
“Shh.” Jared darted a worried glance at the rearview mirror.
“What? Not like she can arrest us for cussing.” A brief pause. “Can she?”
Wait for it...wait for it...
“Sheriff Tate?” Scottie asked meekly.
There it is.
“Yes, Scottie?”
“Can you get arrested for using a bad word?”
“Not unless you’re threatening someone. It’s never a good idea to be mouthy around the police, though, and it is bad manners. I doubt your parents would approve, so why don’t you try and keep it clean, okay?”
He sighed, then grudgingly muttered, “Okay.” Neither brother said a word after that.
The sullen silence lasted until she pulled into the Enslers’ driveway. “Your mom or dad inside?”
“Dad is,” Jared said morosely.
“Before I walk you to the door—” Scottie groaned “—let me set you straight on something.”
“He only said that one word and he’s sorry,” Jared said quickly.
“I’m really sorry,” Scottie squeaked.
“Neither of you is in trouble.” She retrieved her wallet from the center console, pulled out a twenty and dropped it in Scottie’s bucket. “I didn’t confiscate your posters,” she said. “I bought them.” Even though they were about as useful as tits on a boar hog.
Twenty minutes later, Lily had just backed into a new hiding place and pulled out the radar gun when her cell vibrated again. She picked it up and immediately wished she hadn’t. The mayor’s office. Shouldn’t his staff be at Hazel’s barbecue?
She swallowed a groan. Chances were that’s what they wanted to ask her. If the mayor summoned her, she’d have to go. A drop of sweat skated down her temple and she swiped it away with the heel of her hand.
Maybe she’d get lucky and they’d assign her to the dunk tank.
She took the call and moments later dropped her phone back into the cup holder with a scowl. The mayor had summoned her, all right—to his office. On a Saturday?
This did not bode well.
* * *
LILY PARKED HER patrol car behind the courthouse, a single-story, faded brick building the sheriff’s department shared with the county clerk, the treasurer, the commissioner of revenue and the mayor. With the colossal, pineapple-shaped sugar maple that for decades had served as the front lawn’s centerpiece, and the surrounding century-old oaks and lush camellias scattered like guests at a cocktail party, the property was lauded as being especially eye-catching in the autumn. Lily no longer paid attention. Fall had officially become her least favorite season.
The mayor’s assistant wasn’t at her desk—not surprising, since it was Saturday—so Lily knocked twice on Rick Whitby’s open door and strode into his office. Or candy store, as Lily’s dispatcher, Clarissa, liked to call it, since the mayor had a credenza lined with clear glass jars he kept well stocked with sweets. Licorice sticks, mini chocolate bars, lollipops, jelly beans—his sweet tooth provided a clever means of staying informed, since the addicts he created couldn’t stay out of his office.
As long as he didn’t start dealing peanut M&M’s, Lily had no problem resisting temptation.
He hadn’t heard her knock. He stood with his back to the door, right hand dipping a paper cup into the jelly beans while the left held the lid aloft.
“Mayor Whitby,” she said.
The clatter of jelly beans told her she’d startled him. With a muffled clank, he replaced the lid on the jar and turned to face her.
The mayor was a lanky, languid man in his fifties with thinning blond hair and a perpetual flush on his face. His title was actually County Executive Officer, but “mayor” was much less of a mouthful. He was popular, a shirtsleeves-and-cold-brew kind of politician, but his hard-at-it look was an act—the man was lazier than an overfed hound sleeping away a hot summer afternoon.
Lily had always suspected he’d run for mayor solely as a means to jump-start his love life. Not long into his term, he’d ended his relationship with his assistant, Paige Southerly, a woman several years his senior. Paige still worked for him and Lily didn’t know how she did it, every three or four months taking the newest girlfriend’s calls, scheduling dinner dates and sending flowers. Paige insisted their affair had run its course and as long as her boss kept the dish of butterscotch candies stocked, it was all good.
“You’re not dressed for the fund-raiser.” The mayor gave Lily a once-over as he fished a yellow jelly bean out of his cup.
Yeah, she’d known that was coming. Hazel Catlett and a handful of volunteers were hosting a barbecue to raise money for the citizens’ center. As sheriff, Lily should be there, but it was hard to drum up the enthusiasm to mingle with a bunch of happy families.
She needed to get over that. And she would. Just not today.
“JD will be there,” she said. “There are only two of us now and you know we can’t both go.”
When Whitby failed to scold Lily for complaining about her long-ignored deputy vacancy, her stomach did a little side step. Whatever he was about to say would not be pleasant. Not for her, anyway. The gleam in his bright blue eyes indicated he was looking forward to it. Either that, or those were damn good jelly beans.
Her fingers curled around her equipment belt and she pulled in a stealthy breath. “What did you want to see me about?”
He held out the cup and rattled it. When she shook her head, he set the cup on the credenza, brushed his hands together and strolled to his desk. “I have something important to discuss with you.” He scraped a fingernail over a front tooth to loosen a green gummy wedge. “Here’s the thing. I’ve decided to fill that deputy position like you’ve been asking.”
Lily blinked. “Thank you. JD hasn’t had a real vacation in over a year. I’ll get busy writing up an ad for the paper—”
“That won’t be necessary. I already hired someone.”
Damn it. “Without consulting me?”
“I am the mayor.” His grin revealed he’d missed a sliver of purple.
“What about the town council?” The mayor did have the right to hire and fire county employees, but he didn’t ordinarily do it without the council’s okay.
“Bought ’em each a steak dinner and one of Ivy Walker’s cheesecakes.”
“You bribed them?”
“I distracted them.” He wilted into his leather club chair, as if her resistance had exhausted him. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d pressed the back of a hand to his forehead. “Your new deputy is Vaughn Fulton, on temporary loan from the Erie police. He reports on Monday. I asked his captain to email you his qualifications so he can get right to work.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the back of the padded chair.
Lily tightened her grip on her rig. “May I ask how this Officer Fulton of the Erie PD heard about little ol’ Castle Creek and its three-man department?”
“Four again, with Deputy Fulton, and I invited him to apply.”
“You mean you offered him the job.” She frowned. “Fulton. Any relation to Emerson?” She’d liked that old son of a gun. He’d died a few months back, the weekend she’d been taking her recertification training in Harrisburg. She’d regretted not being able to attend the service.
Slowly, Whitby pushed himself up out of the chair and slid his hands into his pants pockets. “Emerson Fulton was his great-uncle. He was also a good friend of mine. His nephew is on a temporary leave of absence while he handles his uncle’s affairs. I gave him a call, asked if he’d be willing to help us out for a while.” His voice tightened. “He’s a decorated city cop. You should be pleased.”
Pleased that he’d casually made her a victim of the old-boy network? That he was forcing her to work with, to entrust JD’s life—her life—to someone she’d never even met, let alone interviewed?
He had to be kidding.
Too bad he didn’t look like he was kidding.
For a while. He’d used the phrase for a while.
“So we’re only talking a few weeks here,” she said carefully.
He shrugged and grabbed his suit coat. “I imagine he’ll be around for a month or two. Maybe even until Thanksgiving.”
Oh, come on. The first throbs of a headache tapped at her temples and she forced her jaw to unclench. “That’s three months away.”
He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket and gave them a jangle before shooing Lily toward the door. “I’m locking up.”
For a lazy man, he sure was moving fast.
“I’m the one who’s responsible for those in my employ,” she reminded him as he herded her into the hallway. “The people of Castle Creek elected me to keep this county safe, and you’re making it hard for me to do my job.”
“No. You’re making it hard for me to do mine.” He frowned at the wall, shoved his suit coat at her and straightened a painting. When he turned back around, he caught her off guard with a wink. “And I outrank you.”
Hot prickles of resentment chased across Lily’s skin and she thrust his jacket back at him. “What if I talk to the council?”
He brushed past her, heading for the front entrance. “How impressed will the people of Castle Creek be when they find out their sheriff refused to work with a fellow officer—an officer who recently lost a well-known and beloved uncle to kidney disease—simply because she couldn’t bring herself to trust the word of their mayor?”
“That was a pretty energetic threat,” she muttered.
“I know, right? Must have been the jelly beans.”
She wasn’t going to win this argument. Not when he was in one of his autocratic moods. She chewed the inside of her lip.
If she didn’t manage to get reelected, what would she do? Work for her replacement? That would be awkward, to put it mildly. What, then? Move out of Castle Creek?
Her eyes began to sting. She could never do that.
“Fine.” Rubbing her temples, she followed the mayor outside and blinked in the sunlight. “Fulton’s nephew it is,” she said resignedly. “But I’ll continue to take applications for when his leave is up.”
The mayor gave her the side eye as he aimed his key fob at his Prius.
Lily scowled. “Let me guess. You hope to talk him into staying.”
“I’m going to give it a try. You should think about doing the same.”
“Staying in Castle Creek?” Her voice was so dry, the words practically scuffed her throat.
“Giving him a try.” He rummaged in his suit coat pocket and pulled out two lollipops. He pulled the bright red wrapper from the first, popped it into his mouth and pressed the second into her hand. She waited until he’d left the parking lot before opening her fingers.
Root beer.
Her favorite.
Damn him.
* * *
LILY HAD ALREADY switched to decaf by the time her dispatcher came in to start her shift on Monday. Metal clanked as Clarissa deposited her purse in the bottom left drawer of her desk, then came her usual Monday morning sigh, then the click of high heels and the distant clatter of ceramic as she moved into the small break room beside Lily’s office and poured herself a cup of coffee.
When the dispatcher appeared in Lily’s doorway, she had both hands wrapped around a fading Hello Kitty mug. She looked like a 1950s’ starlet with her black-rimmed cat-eye glasses, her I Love Lucy hair pulled back in a high ponytail and her plush body showcased in lime capris, a pink-and-lime-striped top and a sheer silk scarf.
While Lily resisted glancing down at her own tan uniform shirt and mud-colored tie, Clarissa checked out the crumpled sub wrappers in the trash can. “Have you been here all weekend again?” she demanded.
“No.”
“Are you lying to me?”
Lily shrugged.
Clarissa narrowed her eyes and sipped her coffee. “The only reason I let you off the hook about girls’ night out is because you promised you’d do something fun this weekend.”
“I remember.”
“So what’d you do?”
Lily dropped her pen, tugged off her reading glasses and leaned back in her chair. “Drove up to Erie for the day. Wandered around Presque Isle, treated myself to lunch and did a little antiquing.”
“I forget. If someone who’s right-handed looks up and to the right when they’re talking, does that mean they’re lying, or telling the truth?”
Lily shot her dispatcher a wry glance. “If you suspect I’m lying, why would you think I’d answer that question with anything but another lie?”
“Good point.” Clarissa tugged at the hem of her top. “Did you find anything? When you were antiquing?”
“I did. I found a vintage set of salt and pepper shakers that’ll make a great gift for my mom’s birthday. They’re cloisonné. She’ll go wild.”
With a growling sigh, Clarissa plopped down into the chair opposite Lily. “Now I know you’re lying. You hate your mom’s collections.”
“Busted.”
“You do realize that being a workaholic is a pathetic cliché?”
“Maybe that fact will sink in the day you realize that what I do when I’m off shift is my own business.”
“That’s the trouble,” Clarissa said. “You’re never off shift.” She caught Lily’s look. “And yes, you’re right, it’s way past time for me to start mine.” In the doorway, she pivoted. “I get why you’re grumpy. When is the mayor’s ‘personal favor’ supposed to get here?”
Lily tossed her glasses on the desk. “I don’t know when he’ll be here, but I do know JD’s about to earn his vacation all over again. He can take Fulton for the week, get him acclimated to the area before we let him handle calls on his own.”
“Sounds like a plan.” With a wink Clarissa disappeared into the outer office. Two minutes later, she was back. “You should come listen to this voice mail.”
Lily did, and wished she hadn’t. “Fudge,” she said flatly. Poor JD. Felled by a bad batch of macaroni salad.
She crossed her arms and stared out the windows at the tree-rimmed parking lot behind the sheriff’s office. More specifically, she stared at the space where JD’s cruiser would not be parked for the next few days.
Double fudge.
“Looks like you just lost your rookie wrangler.” Clarissa made a sympathetic face and set down her mug. “Tell you what. As soon as this guy shows up, I’ll check him out. If I like what I see, I’ll gladly play tour guide for you. How’s that?”
“If you don’t like what you see, I can always use GPS.”
The deep, unfamiliar voice rumbled along Lily’s spine. She curbed an irritated shudder. Time to make nice. She had no choice. If she didn’t honor the mayor’s request he’d only saddle her with a seventy-year-old retiree once this Fulton guy was gone. Or he’d veto every candidate she put forth. When Rick Whitby was coming off a sugar high, that was just the way he rolled.
So suck it up, Lily Anne.
She swiveled toward the counter that separated the office space from the reception area.
A man wearing jeans and a short-sleeved navy T-shirt that barely concealed a hip holster stood in the doorway, shoulder propped against the jamb, posture as cocky as his voice. Midtwenties, six-one or so, trimmed dark hair and troublemaker eyes. One look and it was as clear-cut as the muscles stretching his shirt. If the man were in motion, he’d be swaggering.
Beside her, Clarissa hummed her approval. Lily could practically hear the drool hitting the floor.
He moved into the office. Yeah. Swagger. He planted his palms on the countertop, locked his arms and leaned in. “Vaughn Fulton reporting for duty, ma’am.” One eyebrow raised, he made a show of glancing around the area behind the counter then turned a grin on Clarissa. “Looks like I’m first in line for the tour. Guess that means I’ll get a good seat.”
Clarissa giggled and Lily heaved an inward groan.
Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Whitby. The seventy-year-old retiree would have been a better bet. She’d wanted someone with intelligence, but this guy seemed to carry all his smarts in his ass.
CHAPTER THREE (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
“THIS IS ONE good deed I’ll gladly take the punishment for,” Clarissa murmured.
Lily kept an eye roll to herself, but her mind was made up. Whoever ran against Whitby next term—even if ninety-year-old Larry Katz threw his fedora in the ring—Lily’s vote was a sure thing.
Kind of like Clarissa, when it came to their new deputy.
Lily snapped out of her inertia and strode over to the counter. After lifting up the section that allowed access to the back, she waved Fulton through. “I expected you an hour ago, Deputy Fulton.”
He hesitated. No doubt he was used to hearing Officer Fulton. Too bad. He was hers now. So to speak.
“My apologies for being late, Sheriff,” he said. “And it’s Vaughn.”
“Deputy Fulton will do.” She gestured at Clarissa, who stepped forward with a wide smile. “Clarissa Dodd, our dispatcher.”
He reached for Clarissa’s hand. “I’m not a rookie and I don’t need a wrangler. I do know what I’m doing.”
After reclaiming her hand, Clarissa smoothed both palms over curvy hips. “I’m sure you do.”
“All right, that’s enough.” Lily clapped once and shooed Clarissa back to her desk. “We’re a government office, not a singles’ bar.” She did wish she could let Clarissa have her fun, since the dispatcher was still reeling from a nasty divorce. But though Clarissa had sworn off romance, she remained a big fan of sex, and Lily didn’t need any casual hookups complicating the dynamics of her department.
She turned to Fulton. He didn’t look fresh out of the academy, but it was close.
He also looked exceedingly fine in his jeans. Something you have no business noticing, Lily Anne. Especially when she suspected he was much younger than she was.
“How long have you been on the force?” she asked, speaking more harshly than she’d intended.
“Six years.”
Six years to her eighteen. Damn, she felt old.
He studied her, and one corner of his mouth slanted up. “You plotting revenge against me, or the mayor?”
Both, she wanted to blurt. Instead she said, “What’s done is done,” and waved him over to the office that had remained empty since Sam Weems had retired the year Lily won the election. “This is yours,” she said, and backed away, eyeing his T-shirt. “You’ll need a uniform shirt. JD’s office is the next one over. You can borrow his spare until you get one of your own.”
“JD. He’s out on a call?”
“Out sick.” She exhaled. “Guess that means you’ll be riding with me.”
* * *
OUCH. VAUGHN PUSHED a breath through his nose. The sheriff couldn’t have made it any clearer that she was less than thrilled to have him around. Not that he’d expected any different, but damn, she’d smacked his ego hard enough to make it sting.
Fine with him. Not like he was thrilled to be working with a woman who would arrest a dying man.
With a curt nod, Vaughn maneuvered around the sheriff and let himself into the office belonging to the absent JD. He glanced around the cramped space—battered metal desk, overcrowded bookshelf, spare chair with a faded cloth seat—but didn’t see a coatrack or anything resembling a closet door.
Door. He peered behind the office door. Bingo. A uniform shirt hung on a self-stick hook. Vaughn plucked the shirt free and gave it a sniff. It would do.
He had second thoughts after he’d peeled off his T-shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves of the borrowed shirt. To say it was a tight fit would be like saying Clarissa Dodd was a little friendly.
Or Sheriff Lily Tate a little hostile.
Outside the door, Clarissa belted out a laugh, and Vaughn’s lips twitched at the sound. An odd pair, those two, but the affection between them was obvious. Had they worked together long? Did Clarissa know the reason her boss was such a hard-ass?
Vaughn fumbled a button and swore. Why do you care? Damn it, he didn’t want to be here in the first place. But after tallying the cost of repairs to the house, and to a cat whose owner was nowhere to be found, he’d realized any kind of income would come in handy. The clincher had been his mother ordering him not to take the job.
A paycheck and payback. Childish, yeah, but he hadn’t been able to resist.
And he was already regretting it.
He finally managed to button up the shirt, but only just. Shit. If he wore this for long, he’d lose all feeling in his arms. He considered putting his T-shirt back on and letting the uniform shirt hang loose, but he’d never fit the second set of sleeves over top of the first.
“Having difficulties, Deputy Fulton?” The sheriff’s long-suffering tone seemed to convey that a mere six years on the force wasn’t enough to qualify Vaughn to get into a uniform, let alone wear it.
To hell with it.
He yanked open the door and stepped out. The dispatcher’s eyes went wide and she bounced in her high heels when she saw him. Vaughn was proud of himself for not letting his gaze linger on her...bouncy parts.
A throat cleared.
His eyes met those of the sheriff, who was regarding him in a decidedly non-Clarissa kind of way. Then again, pretty much everything about her was non-Clarissa. Her dark hair was short and tousled, her mouth an unfriendly line, and the energy her slim figure radiated was more impatience than cheerfulness.
But the promise of softness was there, in her big hazel eyes and her pale pink lips. With her pointed chin and wide eyes, she looked like a too-tall elf.
An elf with a tendency to bite, he’d do well to remember.
His eyes dropped to the weapon at her hip. Too bad he never had been able to resist a woman in uniform.
Now was probably a good time to start.
Sheriff Tate shook her head at the fabric stretched over his biceps and muttered something about a waste of a good uniform. “It’ll do for now,” she said.
“I’ll say.”
The sheriff tossed Clarissa a scowl and the dispatcher stopped bouncing. As soon as the sheriff turned her back, Clarissa sent Vaughn a good-natured wink, then dropped into her chair. She scooted in close to her desk and put on her headset.
Vaughn let his shoulders go lax, which improved the fit of the shirt. A little friendly flirting he could deal with. More, he didn’t have time for.
Sheriff Tate was still giving him the evil eye. “Clarissa will give you the grand tour of our offices here,” she said.
“Castle Creek Sheriff’s Department, how may I help you?” the dispatcher lilted into her microphone. When she started tapping at her keyboard, the sheriff shot Vaughn a disgruntled look.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll give you the grand tour of our offices.” She pointed to the left. “My office.” She pointed behind it. “Break room.” She pointed straight ahead, at Clarissa. “Dispatch station.” She pointed to the two offices across from hers. “Deputies’ offices.” She pointed to the short hallway to their right, and the door at the end with the electronic keypad beside it. “Bathrooms and holding cells. Any questions?”
He scratched his jaw. “I feel like I should say no, but...how about a set of keys?”
“I’ll get you a set before the end of the day.”
“Sheriff? That was Mr. Katz.” The dispatcher made a face. “Mona’s being assaulted again.”
“Fudge.” The sheriff turned to Vaughn. “Sounds like the perfect opportunity for our newest employee to show us what he’s got.”
A domestic. Damn, he hated those. He strode toward the exit behind the dispatcher’s station. “I’m ready. Let’s hit it.”
But when he looked over his shoulder, he saw the sheriff hadn’t moved. Instead she watched him with a bemused expression. Meanwhile Clarissa had swiveled in her chair to follow his progress. She batted her eyes.
“Yeah, Deputy Fulton,” she said. “Show us what you’ve got.”
The sheriff made an irritated noise. “What I meant was, we can see him in action.”
Clarissa popped an eyebrow.
“Watch him do his thing.”
The other eyebrow came up.
“Gauge his level of experience.” When Clarissa laughed out loud, the sheriff gave her head a disgusted shake. “Know what? Never mind.”
Vaughn stared at them both in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?” His gaze shifted from the sheriff to Clarissa and back again. “There’s an assault in progress.”
The sheriff pulled a set of keys from her pocket, but she hadn’t taken more than two steps when the phone in her office rang. She held up a finger and veered toward her desk.
Vaughn shoved a hand through his hair. For God’s sake, what would they do if someone called in a shooting, stop to take orders for lunch?
The sheriff reappeared. “That was the mayor. He’s calling me in for an emergency conference. You’re on your own, Deputy.”
“Convenient,” Vaughn muttered.
“You said you didn’t need a wrangler. Here’s your chance to prove it.” She turned to Clarissa. “Give him the keys to his cruiser. Mr. Katz’s address, too.”
“Mr. Katz is at Ivy’s. The calendar, remember?” Clarissa bit her lip. “You sure you want to send the new guy out there alone?”
“He can handle it.” Sheriff Tate eyed his borrowed shirt. “As long as his arms don’t go numb.”
* * *
VAUGHN SHOOK HIS head as he steered the patrol car out of the courthouse parking lot. This call had to be some kind of initiation. No way anyone on the force would treat the report of an assault so casually.
The sheriff had it in for him. That much was clear.
Wherever you are, JD, I hope to hell you’re back on the job tomorrow.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be so damn touchy if he’d managed to sleep through the night. His foster cat and her brood had kept him up. Some of that insomnia was his fault, though, since he’d hauled his ass out of bed pretty much on the hour to check that everyone was still breathing.
He followed the directions on his phone to the address Clarissa had provided. Twenty minutes after he started out, he pulled into a winding driveway marked by a sign that had him doing a double take. The Dairy in Millbrook Dairy Farm and Riding Stables had been crossed out and replaced with Marry, and in the corner someone had painted a long-lashed Holstein wearing a wedding veil.
He shook his head and pressed on the accelerator.
The right side of the driveway was crowded with cars parked perpendicular to a fence that bordered a small paddock. Behind the paddock stretched an endless expanse of green that hosted the occasional cluster of fawn-colored cows, their noses buried in the grass. Vaughn counted three large barns to the left of the driveway. Straight ahead loomed the house, an elegant A-frame with a sunroom jutting off the side. Beyond the house and barns shimmered a thin strip of blue that had to be the lake.
Damn, it was pretty here.
As Vaughn stepped out of the cruiser, a group of people spilled out of the barn nearest the house. When they caught sight of Vaughn, they started talking.
“You seriously called the cops?”
“About time they got here.”
“You called 911? So help me, Larry, don’t you ever ask me to pick up your gout pills from the pharmacy again. You’re on your own, old man.”
“Since when did we get a new deputy?”
“Cute, isn’t he?”
Four women, a man and a pair of dogs made their way toward him. Three of the women were elderly. Two of them he knew. The Catlett sisters. What the hell did they have to do with this?
The man had to be in his nineties, and the fourth woman, a hot blonde leading the entire pack, looked to be around Vaughn’s age. She wore jeans and muck boots, and behind her trotted the two dogs, side by side, a chubby brown-and-black mix and a gray schnauzer. The dogs’ leashes trailed in the grass. Luckily neither dog seemed interested in taking a bite out of Vaughn.
The Catlett sisters and their friend, he wasn’t so sure. Hazel and June offered him brash smiles while the other lady simply stared at his chest.
When the tall blonde reached him, she held out a hand. “I’m Ivy Walker,” she said, voice friendly, expression curious. “Thank you for coming.”
“Deputy Fulton.” Vaughn started to put his hands on his hips, but his sleeves damn near cut off his circulation, so he let his arms fall to his sides. He nodded at the Catletts. “Ladies. What seems to be the trouble here?”
Ivy Walker’s eyes widened. “You know Hazel and June?”
The lady with the gelled gray hair and plastic T-bones hanging from her ears tapped him on the shoulder. “No offense, dear, but do you need a few laundry pointers?”
Vaughn blinked, and struggled to reconcile that baby-doll voice with its owner, whose shoulders were wider than his. Like Hazel and June, she looked to be in her seventies, but he bet she could kick some serious ass. He looked down at the material stretched across his chest and cleared his throat. “This is a loaner.”
June quirked her lips, which were the color of an avocado. “You’d be better off not wearing a shirt at all.”
Hazel raised a hand and waggled her purple-tipped fingers. “I’ll second that.”
The old man shouldered his way forward, scowling. “You said this calendar would be family-friendly.”
Hazel flapped a hand. “Considering the only photos we have of Mona are of her and Chance getting busy, that ship has sailed.”
Vaughn barely resisted the urge to slap a hand to his face. What the hell was going on here?
Ivy Walker sent him a pitying look and patted the old man’s shoulder. “He’s not here for the calendar, Mr. Katz. He’s here to help you.”
When the old man did nothing but stare and no one else moved, Vaughn clenched his teeth. “Does someone want to tell me where I can find Mona?”
The chorus started up again. Before Vaughn could holler for a time-out, Baby-doll Voice clapped her hands together. “Children, children,” she called out, and surprisingly everyone quieted.
Mooooooo. As a unit, they turned to stare at a sleepy-eyed Holstein that had ambled up to the paddock fence to check them out. The model for the sign out front? When the ladies all waved at the cow, Vaughn rubbed his face.
Shaking down gangbangers on the streets of Erie never looked so good.
Ivy Walker took charge of the introductions. “That’s Priscilla Mae,” she said proudly, and it took Vaughn a moment to realize she meant the cow. “Deputy Fulton, this is Audrey Tweedy—” she pointed at Baby-doll Voice “—and Larry Katz. And apparently you know Hazel and June Catlett.”
Larry Katz. He’d reported the assault. Vaughn pulled out his notebook. “Mr. Katz—”
The old guy frowned. “Any relation to Emerson Fulton?”
“He was my great-uncle.”
“My condolences, Deputy. Your uncle was a good man.” Katz tucked his phone into the pocket of a plaid shirt that looked a lot like one Uncle Em used to wear. “And now I know where to find you if you don’t take care of my Mona.”
Vaughn scratched his jaw. Did the old man realize his words constituted a threat? When Katz’s mouth adopted a Clint Eastwood curl, Vaughn had his answer. But at least they’d gotten around to discussing Mona. Who was she? Katz’s wife? His daughter?
Hazel swatted Katz on the arm. “Lighten up, Larry. Mona’s a slut and you know it.”
“Enough,” Vaughn barked. “I need to see Mona. Now.”
Silence, until a hot breeze pushed past, and rattled Audrey Tweedy’s T-bone earrings. Wide-eyed, the five people facing him pointed.
Downward.
At the brown-and-black dog cozying up to the schnauzer.
Vaughn drew in a breath, held it until it burned then let it go. “Tell me what happened, Mr. Katz.”
“What always happens when Mona and Baby Blue get together. They try to—” Audrey Tweedy flushed a raw steak–red “—get together. You know.”
Yeah. He knew. Vaughn snapped his notepad closed and jammed it into his shirt pocket. Mona was in distress like Vaughn was in high heels.
“Mr. Katz,” he said evenly. “Would you like to arrange for a vet to examine Mona?”
“You mean Wilmer Fish? Who’s going to pay for that?”
“That would be your responsibility, sir. You can pursue compensation in court, but your failure to remove your dog from this situation won’t help your case.”
“Vaughn Fulton.” Hazel glared. “Are you trying to talk him into suing us?”
Katz held up a palm before anyone else could interrupt. “You mean they can’t be together? But they’re friends.”
“Friends with benefits.” June nodded earnestly.
Ivy Walker stumbled away from the group and slapped at her knees as if brushing off dirt. Vaughn saw her shoulders shake and knew exactly how she felt.
“You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Katz,” he said grimly. “You need to either keep Mona confined, or accept that if she comes across one of her...friends, they may...”
“Get busy,” Audrey Tweedy suggested.
Vaughn bared his teeth in thanks and turned back to Katz. “Has Mona been spayed?” When the old man nodded, he spread his hands. “Then maybe you should consider letting Mona be Mona.”
He spent another fifteen minutes admiring the photos June Catlett had taken for the Pets Are People, Too calendar they were putting together to raise money for the citizens’ center. Even Priscilla Mae, a former Lilac Queen, apparently—all righty, then—had a place in the lineup.
“How about your cat?” Hazel poked at his biceps. “Play your cards right and we’ll find a place for her, too.” She beamed at Ivy, who’d recovered from her coughing fit. “She just had kittens.”
“How sweet.” Ivy studied Vaughn with new respect. “How many did she have?”
“Three,” he said. “Two black, one gray. Want ’em?”
Ivy grinned. Vaughn sighed.
“Great idea, sis.” June patted her camera. “Not Franklin would make an adorable addition to the calendar. Let’s set up the shoot.”
Audrey fingered a T-bone. “Not Franklin?”
“We thought she was Franklin but she wasn’t,” Hazel explained.
Katz curled his lip. “For God’s sake, man. Name your cat.”
“She’s not my cat. And she can’t be in the calendar. She’s wearing a cast.”
“What happened? You kick her?”
Hazel glared at Katz. “He would never do a thing like that.”
“Know him that well, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, we do. When he was a child, he spent most of his summers right next door to us. So watch it, old man, or we’ll put you in a cast.”
Vaughn raised both hands, and his voice. “Nobody’s putting anybody in a cast.”
Katz grunted. “Wilmer Fish put your cat in a cast.”
“She’s not my—” Vaughn stopped and inhaled.
Ivy’s gaze gleamed with compassion. And mirth. “What’d Wilmer say?”
“Her leg’s broken. He figures she got hit by a car. She’ll heal, but she has to stay off the leg for two weeks.”
Ivy grimaced in sympathy. “You have her in a carrier?”
Vaughn nodded. He’d had to get one big enough for her and the kittens. Damn thing had cost him seventy bucks.
“We can still take a picture,” June said. “Casts can be sexy.”
“She’s right,” Hazel said.
Katz tugged at his sleeve and angled his wrist, showing Hazel a bandage on the meaty part of his palm.
“Put that thing away,” she told him. “I have a boyfriend.”
Audrey clamped her arms across her chest. “Please tell me you’re not sticking with a name like Not Franklin. What about the kittens? Will they be Not Tom, Not Dick and Not Harry?”
Vaughn fought to keep his lips in line. “I’m not planning on naming them. I’m not planning on keeping them.” When the crowd around him sucked in a collective breath, he took a step toward his cruiser. “I don’t do cats,” he muttered.
June blinked. “But you have four.”
Hazel tapped a finger against her grape jelly lips. “Don’t worry. We’ll name them for you.”
“I’m not worried,” he said.
But he was thinking he should be.
* * *
CHIN IN HAND, Lily glared at the spreadsheet the mayor had ordered her to update. Office supplies, gas, auto repair, training—he wanted current figures for every expense the sheriff’s department incurred. No doubt because he intended to find somewhere else to cut.
Only, there was nowhere else. They didn’t even have petty cash anymore.
The mayor was probably spending it on candy.
The back door squealed open and shut, and paper rustled. Fulton, back with their lunches. Clarissa, clapping her hands. Metal squeaked as she pulled out her desk drawer to get her purse.
Footsteps headed Lily’s way. She had her hand on her glasses before she even realized her intent to remove them. What is wrong with you, woman? She let her hand drop and focused on her computer screen.
Vaughn strode into her office, bringing the smell of fresh bread and sunshine.
“Chicken,” he said, and tossed the bag onto her desk.
“I asked for tuna.”
“I meant you. I thought you said what’s done is done. Why’d you throw me to the dogs like that? Or should I say, the Catletts?”
Lily turned a snort into a cough. Busted. Slowly she raised her head, fighting a smirk. Surprise stole the urge to smile when she glimpsed the humor in his eyes.
Just her luck. He could dish it out and take it.
“You’re right,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.” She pushed to her feet. “Next time I’ll let you know what you’re getting into.”
“I’d appreciate that. Though if we’re going to be honest here, if I’d known what I was in for, I’d have gotten lost on the way over.”
“I’d feel less guilty if you weren’t such a good sport.”
“Yeah,” he drawled. “That won’t work for me.”
“Fair enough.” She grabbed her purse, plopped it on top of a stack of folders and rummaged for her wallet. “So...” She glanced up. “How was it?”
“As painful as you meant it to be, but I believe we reached an understanding.” He traded the bills she handed him for two quarters and a dime. “That calendar should be as popular as Mona appears to be.”
“She did earn herself a reputation.”
“So will I, if I don’t get rid of this shirt.”
Lily’s smirk won out. “So what did you think of Hazel and June?”
“I already knew them. They live beside my uncle.” He cleared his throat. “His house, I mean.”
“I am sorry about Emerson. I should have said it sooner.”
Fulton’s gaze flattened. “I’m sorry you arrested him.”
Lily stiffened. “I did what I had to do.”
“He was dying,” he said simply.
She wouldn’t defend herself. It wouldn’t do any good, considering the anger that simmered in his hard, dark eyes. She knew better than he did that not all of that anger was directed at her.
“What’s done is done,” she said.
“That apply to anyone else but you?”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“Well,” Lily finally said into the quiet as she gestured at the bag on her desk. “Thank you.”
He gave a curt nod, and turned toward the door.
“You’re not eating?” Damn you, guilt. The last thing she needed to do was connect with this guy, on any level. Especially a physical one, which meant she needed to stop checking him out.
Just in time, she averted her gaze from the enticing strain of biceps beneath his shirtsleeves.
He pivoted in the doorway. A hint of smugness flitted across his face, giving her the impression he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “The mayor invited me to lunch.”
Her knee jerked and banged against the desk. She swallowed a swearword. “Give him my best,” she said cheerfully.
Fulton lifted an eyebrow.
“Never mind,” she muttered.
“Nice glasses,” he said, and left.
I hope you both choke. Lily poked at the bag containing her sandwich. Too bad her new deputy had taken her appetite with him.
* * *
CLARISSA MARCHED FROM one buzzing streetlight to the next, too frustrated to care about the darkness in between. Resentment spiked with every strike of stiletto on pavement. What was the use of offering to do someone a favor if you couldn’t do it with a smile? But damn it, she’d been doing good deeds all day and her cheeks freaking hurt.
First her neighbor in the apartment above hers had needed help picking out a suit for his job interview. Then the elderly couple below had needed a ride to the grocery store. After lunch, JD had called from his sickbed to ask her to find the designer sunglasses he’d spent an entire paycheck on. When she wasn’t on the phone or the radio, or running an errand for her grumpalicious boss, she was rifling through trash cans and walking the corridors of the courthouse, scanning the scuff-marked linoleum for JD’s shades. It might have been fun if she’d managed to recruit Vaughn to help. But he’d spent most of the afternoon with the mayor.
Which had nearly sent the sheriff over the edge. Hence Lily’s fouler than foul mood.
In the end, where had Clarissa found the blasted shades? In JD’s mail slot. Lily must have put them there then forgotten all about it. By the time Clarissa discovered them, she was mad enough to break the stupid things in half.
To top it all off, Lily had asked her to work late so they could finish three months’ worth of expense reports. That was what Lily did when she was upset—she worked overtime on top of her overtime, and every now and then Clarissa got to do it with her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Clarissa had thought to order more than one sandwich at lunch, or if the vending machine had offered more than pretzels and chewing gum. Lily, who never seemed to eat enough for half a person, let alone a workaholic, never even noticed Clarissa’s stomach grumbling.
Of course, she did have a lot on her mind. A lot of man on her mind. Clarissa doubted her boss was thinking about Vaughn Fulton for anywhere near the right reason, but still. She hadn’t seen Lily so infuriated since the mayor informed them he was cutting their office supplies budget because they used too much toilet paper.
Clarissa shifted the stack of books in her arms, almost losing the entire pile when the library’s air-conditioning unit kicked on. She passed the small garden built to screen the unit and breathed in the sweet, thick smell of honeysuckle. Her sour mood faded.
This was her final favor of the day, returning half a dozen hardback romances the clerk of the court had inadvertently left on one of the benches just inside the courthouse entrance. A quick text had ended up with Clarissa agreeing to take them back. Easy peasy. But if she hadn’t had to work late, she’d have been able to take care of it in the daylight.
Hang in there, chickie. As soon as you get rid of these, you can head home, scramble yourself some eggs and see what’s on BBC.
And tomorrow she’d tell anyone who asked for a favor to suck it.
She rounded the rear corner of the library and strode over to the heavy metal drawer built into the brick. Since all six books wouldn’t fit inside at once, she set the stack down on the brick pavers. She scooped up the top two books, opened the drawer and slid them in. No satisfying thunk from the other side of the wall. Shouldn’t there be a thunk?
She opened the drawer as far as it would go and peered inside. Nothing but black. She’d just have to trust the books had made it to safety.
She turned to grab the next two and almost choked herself. Her scarf pulled taut, yanking her backward. She’d gotten it caught in the drawer.
Oh, this is freaking unbelievable.
Her heels wobbled on the uneven bricks as she twisted around to face the chute. She tugged lightly on the length of silk, but it didn’t budge.
She swore again then remembered the LED light on her key chain. She reached into the front pocket of her capris and snagged her keys. She clicked on the light and aimed it into the drawer. One edge of her scarf had caught on the head of a screw. With her free hand, she reached for the fabric looped around her neck. Might as well pull the thing over her head so she didn’t choke herself for real.
A small shape swooped at her from the right and something leathery smacked against her cheek. Dear God, a freaking bat! She shrieked and dropped her keys. They rattled down the inside of the drawer and instinct made her dive after them. When her chest smacked into the edge of the drawer she jerked backward, hissing with pain.
She didn’t get far.
The other end of her scarf was caught.
She gulped down a half laugh, half sob and massaged the skin over her breasts. She’d have bruises in the morning. She’d also have a permanent hunchback if she didn’t get to stand up soon.
Bracing her hands on her knees, she stared down into the black maw of the library’s drop box. The stretch of her beloved silk scarf kept the drawer open. She gripped the edge of the metal to take the tension off the fabric, and realized she didn’t have enough slack to pull her head free.
She heaved a sigh. Time to play tug-of-war. Damn it, her one true piece of designer clothing and she was about to rip it to shreds.
“Fart!” she shouted, and a muffled version of her voice bounced back up at her. She wrapped a fist around each end of the scarf, drew in a breath and braced herself by spreading her legs and shifting her hips. She couldn’t help snorting. Praise be she didn’t have an audience, because she could only imagine what she looked like from behind.
“Evening.” A deep, amused voice sounded directly behind her. “You seem to be having some trouble.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
CLARISSA GASPED AND squeezed her eyes shut. Her nerves went lax and she lost her grip on the scarf. “You think?” she said, as casually as she could manage. Come any closer, buddy, and you’ll get a stiletto to the crotch.
The deep-voiced, shadow-lurking, could-possibly-be-a-killer stranger shifted closer. Goose bumps erupted across Clarissa’s skin. Shoes scraped across brick as he moved into her peripheral vision. He showed her his palms, in the universal I-come-in-peace gesture, but considering he was so tall she couldn’t maneuver her head back far enough to see his face, it did little to put her at ease.
The man was a freaking giant.
He bent forward and peered into the open drawer. White-blond hair gleamed in the halo of light cast by the nearest streetlamp and she caught a whiff of some spice—oregano?—before he shook his head and backed away. He made a humming sound and his palms rasped as he rubbed them together.
Thinking of her, or her predicament?
“Spaghetti or lasagna?” Clarissa blurted.
“What?”
“Quick, tell me what you had for dinner.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him scratch his chin. “A hell of a time to be thinking about food. I’m sorry to say, there aren’t any leftovers.”
“I’m not asking because I’m hungry. I’m trying to establish a bond between us so you won’t kill me.” She bit her lip. “Or worse.”
Silence. She couldn’t tell if he was grinning, or plotting nefarious deeds. If it was the deeds thing, she wished he’d get on with it because her feet were killing her.
“Spaghetti,” he said solemnly. “And I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said, and yanked. The scarf didn’t budge. She readjusted her grip and yanked again, this time adding a growl for good measure.
Not even the hint of a ripping sound.
Damn. She’d certainly got her money’s worth with this scarf.
“I could go inside and get a pair of scissors,” the stranger offered.
“Don’t you dare,” Clarissa cried. “If anyone’s going to ruin this scarf, it’ll be me. Anyway, I thought men always carried pocketknives.”
“I have a knife. I didn’t think letting you hear it snap open would be the smartest thing to do.”
He had a point. She braced a foot against the wall and wrapped the silk tighter around her hands.
The giant grunted. “That thing rips free and you’re going to land on your ass.”
She relaxed her grip and rested her forehead on top of the drawer. “I guess you’re getting quite the eyeful back there.”
“Well, yeah.”
She sighed, and lifted her hands. “I give. Your turn.”
He reached in and grabbed her scarf below the knot, and with a flick of his wrist she was free. The drawer clanged shut and Clarissa stumbled backward. A hand on her elbow steadied her then fell away.
She straightened her spine with a groan, palms pressed to the small of her back, chin lifted moonward. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He sounded preoccupied. She dropped her chin and caught him staring at her chest. When she sputtered, he lifted his gaze to hers, looking more confused than embarrassed.
“These outdoor lights aren’t as strong as they should be. Are those eyeballs painted on your scarf?”
“Nope.” She glanced down and patted what was left of her favorite accessory. “They’re boobs.”
“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Bet you really liven up the sheriff’s office.”
Her head jerked up. “You know where I work?”
“I am the librarian.”
“You say that like it’s synonymous with mind reader.” She blinked. “Wait. You are?”
“Cozy mysteries.”
“What?”
“Your favorite type of book.” He held out an arm, indicating she should head for the parking lot.
“Second favorite.” She stepped off the curb and started toward her car, then pivoted back toward the books she’d left stacked on the pavers. “I didn’t get them all in.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
They didn’t speak again until Clarissa stopped at the driver’s-side door of her Camry. She tipped her head. “We haven’t met before. I’d remember the crick in my neck.”
Even in the scant light cast by the streetlamps, she could see the red staining his cheeks. “I saw you at the diner once and asked about you.”
“So you know my name.”
“I do.” He thrust out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Clarissa Dodd.”
Clarissa disliked wimpy handshakes, and she liked to give as good as she got. She doubted, though, that her firm squeeze even registered to this guy whose hand was as big as his face.
“Nice to meet you, too...” She raised an eyebrow.
“Noble. Johnson.”
“How appropriate. Thank you again, Noble Johnson, for—” she pulled her hand free and flapped it over her shoulder at the scarf-eating death trap behind her “—that.”
He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Romance?”
“No, thank you.”
“I mean, is that your favorite genre?”
Oh. “It wouldn’t matter anyway, because after tonight, it’ll be books on escapism.”
“Escapology, you mean.” He jabbed a thumb at the building behind them. “We have a decent biography on Norman Murray Walters, if you’re interested.” When her cluelessness registered, his mouth drooped. “He was Australian. A contemporary of Houdini.”
“Oh,” she said, then added, “Damn it.”
“Don’t sweat it. You’d be surprised how many people don’t recognize that name.”
“No.” She jerked open the knot in what was left of her scarf and yanked the fabric free of her neck. “My keys fell in the drop box.”
He dug his own keys out of his pocket and held them up. “Good thing I can get into the building.”
“My hero.”
“No swooning necessary, but I wouldn’t say no if you invited me out for a drink.”
“If I say ‘thank you, but no,’ will you still get my keys?”
He made a pensive, humming sound. “If we’d been dating, you wouldn’t need to ask that.”
“Like one of those signs you see when you’re driving? ‘If you lived here, you’d already be home?’”
He beamed. “Exactly.”
“Noble?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m too busy to date, and I need to get home.” He hesitated then turned away with a shrug. “Wait,” she said.
He swung back around, too quickly to hide the eagerness on his face, and she fought a wince.
“I just wanted to...” She twirled her index finger.
He frowned. “What?”
“You walk away and you’re walking out of the light. You got a good, long look at my backside. It’s only fair you return the favor.”
A startled grin flashed. He turned and bent at the waist. Clarissa tipped her head and took her good, long look at a just-snug-enough pair of jeans.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Very nice,” she said.
He straightened. “That mean you’ll go out with me?”
“No.” Clarissa poked her tongue against her cheek. “But I will be renewing my library card.”
* * *
TUESDAY MORNING, AND JD was still out of commission. Lily had dropped in on him the afternoon before. He had no family in the area, but she’d done it more for herself than for him. One more minute spent behind her desk waiting for Fulton to return from his rendezvous with the mayor and she’d have started researching untraceable poisons.
And after Clarissa had spent most of the day hunting for the sunglasses Lily had tucked into JD’s mail slot, Lily figured the least she could do was hand-deliver them. Her deputy had been grateful to see her. Even more so the ginger ale she’d brought, and the broth and crackers she’d fixed while there. It was plain the poor guy wouldn’t be back to work for another day or two. He’d barely managed to sit up long enough to drink his broth.
Lily took the last bite of her banana just as the “gate” out front lifted and banged shut. When there was no subsequent click of high heels in the direction of Clarissa’s desk, she hastily chewed and swallowed and swung back to her computer. The last thing she needed was Fulton walking in to find her staring at her own doorway, as if she couldn’t wait for him to arrive.
Instead, it was Clarissa who appeared. Lily dipped her head and peered over her glasses at the lime-green canvas sneakers her dispatcher wore.
“A little early for those, isn’t it?”
With a groan, Clarissa sank into the guest chair. “My feet are killing me. I couldn’t even look at a pair of heels this morning without wanting to stab myself in the eye.”
Lily dropped her banana peel in the trash. “Want to talk about it?”
“I met our librarian last night.” Clarissa traced the yellow vertical stripes on her pencil skirt, which she’d paired with a short-sleeved sweater the color of a tangerine. With her lime-green tennis shoes, she looked like a citrus salad. “He asked me out.”
“Then he has better taste than I gave him credit for.”
The pleased surprise in Clarissa’s eyes made Lily glad she’d said that out loud. Then Clarissa frowned. “Why don’t you think he has good taste?”
“He likes bright colors as much as you do. Just not—” Lily floundered. “Not as coordinated.”
“Well—” Clarissa shrugged “—I turned him down.”
“Because of our new deputy?”
Clarissa’s gaze sharpened. “Would that matter to you?”
“Hardly.” Shut up, Lily Anne. Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Are you having second thoughts? About Noble?”
“I need a sanity check.” She tipped her head. “He strikes me as the type to be looking for more than fun. You know I don’t have time for anything but casual.”
Lily winced as she reached for her coffee cup. “I’m sorry about keeping you up so late last night.”
“Don’t be. The truth is, you and I are just damn good together.”
A throat cleared outside Lily’s door. Fulton stepped into view, filling the frame. “Am I interrupting something?”
Clarissa winked at Lily, daring her to tease him with what he’d overheard. Lily gave her head a slight shake to indicate she’d pass. Besides being inappropriate, she didn’t need Fulton taking any tales back to the mayor.
“Good morning, Deputy,” Lily said, keeping it civil, ignoring the disappointment on her dispatcher’s face. “Grab some coffee. We need to discuss collateral duties.”
He nodded and disappeared.
Clarissa leaned in. “You going to assign him as school resource officer?”
“Hard to do when school’s on summer break,” Lily said dryly.
“Animal Control, then?”
“Too easy. He faced down the Catlett sisters, Audrey Tweedy and Mr. Katz, all at one time. He’s proved he can handle the local wildlife.”
Clarissa pushed to her feet. “I give up. Do whatever you want with him.”
“Do I get any say in that?”
With a laugh, Clarissa turned toward the door, where Fulton stood sipping a cup of coffee. “Sometimes it’s more fun if you don’t know what’s in store,” she said.
Fulton opened his mouth, glanced at Lily and wisely opted for another sip instead. Clarissa left and Lily waved Fulton into the now empty chair.
He had squeezed back into JD’s uniform shirt. It was tucked neatly into his jeans, revealing his hip holster. His jaw was freshly shaved, and he smelled like a forest on a sunny day.
Lily scowled. “Can’t you ask your mayor pal for money to buy a uniform?”
“He just scored me a flatscreen TV,” he said mildly. “I don’t want to take advantage.”
She peered at him over her glasses, caught the glint in his eyes and wished he didn’t make her feel like such a fuddy-duddy. “There’s a spare rig in the back,” she said. “I’ll pull it out for you. A badge, too.” She should have taken care of that yesterday.
“Thanks.” He sipped his coffee, gaze steady on hers over the rim of his mug. “You sizing me up for a reflective vest?”
“What?” Lily blinked. Had she been staring at his chest? Fudge.
His lips twitched as he gestured with his cup. “Figured you had me in mind for crosswalk duty.”
“I don’t have you in mind at all, Deputy.” When his smirk graduated to a grin, she regretted her words immediately. “What I mean is, I haven’t decided on your collateral duty.” She swiveled toward her computer and stared blindly at the spreadsheet she’d been working on. She had to stop caring that this man had the ear of the mayor. She had to get on with her job.
She hit a few keys. “Court security or records management?”
“You’re giving me a choice?”
“I am.”
“Court security, then.” While she typed, he cradled his cup in his hands and scooted forward in the chair. “Listen. About this thing with the mayor—”
Clarissa appeared in the doorway. “Just got a call from Audrey Tweedy. The Petroskis are at it again.”
Five minutes later, Lily and Fulton were headed south on Route 5, with Lily behind the wheel. Beside her in the passenger seat, Fulton took off his shades, polished them on his shirt and slid them back on. “What’s the story?”
She flicked on her signal and changed lanes. “One of our old-timers, Jakub Petroski, owned a candy store on Buffalo Road. He passed away about six months ago. His kids arrived to settle his estate and we’ve had nothing but trouble since.”
“You liked him.”
She gave him the side eye. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re talking. Can’t be me. Must be him.”
“Anyway,” she said pointedly, “we get these calls once a week. When John and Sadie argue, they do it loudly.”
“Anything more than words exchanged?”
With a shake of her head, she pulled into the driveway of a weathered brick Colonial with teal shutters, a columned porch tucked under a deep copper-coated gable and a chimney on either side of the house. A row of feathery spruces screened the property from the road. She never could understand why Jakub’s kids were so eager to get rid of it.
She parked her cruiser and they got out.
Fulton rounded the hood. “How do you want to do this?”
Lily couldn’t help a glimmer of respect. The last thing she needed on her team was a hotdogger.
“Wait here,” she said. “JD handled these calls on his own. We don’t want them to think we’re here to do anything other than help.”
He frowned, but nodded.
Lily grabbed her hat from the backseat and started for the house. She was halfway up the walk when the front door opened.
“Stop right there, Sheriff,” John, a dark-haired, wiry man with the whitest teeth she’d ever seen, shouted at her through the screen door. “This isn’t your business.”
“It is when a crime’s being committed,” Lily responded calmly. “Let’s start with disturbing the peace.”
“That’s bullshit. No way the neighbors can hear us. That bitch next door has been creeping around again.”
He meant Audrey Tweedy. When the elder Petroski had realized he was dying, he’d begged Audrey to look after his flowers and shrubs until the house changed hands. The old woman had kept the masses of lilies and hydrangeas and irises looking lush. The rest of the property? Another story.
Lily glanced over her shoulder at Fulton, who was eyeing the shin-high grass and the newspapers littering the front porch. “The kids are in it for the money,” he said flatly.
She nodded once. The Petroski twins had made it clear to JD that they couldn’t sell the house and get out of Castle Creek fast enough. As far as Lily was concerned, they’d already taken way too much time.
She turned back to face the house. “We’re just here to talk, Mr. Petroski.”
“Come any farther and my sister’s going to regret it.”
Oh, fudge. This was new. “Want to tell me exactly what that means?”
Silence.
“Mr. Petroski,” she shouted. “Can I call you John?”
“Only if you do it on your way off my property,” he shouted back.
Beside her, Fulton grunted. “Funny guy.”
Lily sighed. “I thought I asked you to wait by the car.”
“This is the point where a show of force is appropriate.”
She didn’t say anything. He was right. And she couldn’t help a swell of appreciation that he was there to back her up.
“Mr. Petroski,” Fulton called. “Do you have any weapons in there with you?”
No response. A bumblebee droned by and leather creaked when Fulton shifted beside her. Lily tamped down a sizzle of desire. What was wrong with her?
The summer sun was gathering its strength. That was it. It was the heat. She adjusted the brim of her hat and grimaced as sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades.
“How about you, Miss Petroski?” she yelled. “Want to tell me what’s going on in there?”
“My brother wants to sell the house to the old lady next door and I don’t.” Sadie was yelling down at them from an open upstairs window.
“What’s wrong with the old lady next door?” The woman in question popped up from behind the hydrangeas that divided the yards.
Fulton had already dropped into a crouch, hand at his holster. Lily had one hand on her radio and the other on the butt of her gun. The instant she registered Audrey as a nonthreat, her knees went weak.
* * *
VAUGHN SWORE AND straightened out of his crouch. Did no one in this town mind their own business?
Jesus. The old lady could have been shot.
“Ma’am,” he growled. “You need to step back.”
Instead, Audrey Tweedy stiffened her lumberjack shoulders and faced her neighbors’ house. “I made you a fair offer,” she called. “Why won’t you accept it?”
No answer. Meanwhile, Sheriff Tate was making shooing motions at Audrey. The elderly woman planted her bright white trainers wide, crossed her arms over her Go Army T-shirt and lifted her chin. She obviously wasn’t going anywhere without a sumo wrestle.
The sheriff rolled her eyes and turned back to the house. “Mrs. Tweedy here said she heard you two threatening each other with knives. Is that true?”
“We only said that because she was listening in.” Now John had his face pressed against the screen as he glowered at Audrey.
The sheriff sighed. “How about you two come out onto the porch? We can talk a lot easier face-to-face.”
“Ha!” Sadie shouted. “You mean it’ll be easier to shoot us.”
“Nobody’s getting shot here today,” the sheriff said calmly, though she did cast a considering glance in Audrey Tweedy’s direction. “I don’t intend to let anyone get knifed, either.”
“They need the money,” Audrey said. The sheriff tried to shush her, but the volume on that baby-doll voice was cranked up to wake-the-dead. “I heard them. John owes five grand to his dentist and Sadie wants bigger breasts.”
“Oh, my God,” Sadie cried. “See what I mean?”
A thundering sound, like someone storming down a set of hardwood steps. “That’s it! We’re not selling!” Sadie shrieked from the first floor. “Not to her, not to anyone.”
“Fine,” her brother hollered back. “So we’ll burn the goddamned place down to the ground!”
“Deputy Fulton,” Sheriff Tate said through clenched teeth. “Please see Mrs. Tweedy safely inside her home.”
Message received, loud and clear. Take the old woman away before someone does get hurt. He hoped to hell he wasn’t going to have to manhandle the lady. She reminded him too much of his aunt Brenda.
When he began to weave his way toward her, maneuvering through chest-high shrubs laden with fat, round blossoms the same blue as the Popsicles he used to enjoy as a kid, the old lady wagged a finger. “Now, listen, dear, I have no intention of moving an inch. I’m on my property. I’m not breaking any laws.”
Oh, yeah. Aunt Brenda all over again. Vaughn lifted his left arm in a futile attempt to back her up. “But you are, ma’am. You’re interfering with a police officer in the course of his duties. Now you can go sit inside your house—” he reached for the pouch at the back of the equipment belt the sheriff had set him up with, pulled out the cuffs and dangled them “—or you can sit inside the squad car.”
Audrey’s eyes widened. She hesitated, then gave a mighty sniff. “I had fully intended to offer you two refreshments when you were done here,” she said crossly. “But I believe I’ll keep my bacon-wrapped shrimp to myself.”
Vaughn watched her march across her yard to her front porch. She stomped up the stairs, but instead of slamming open the door, she turned and dropped onto the top step. Fighting a grin, Vaughn held up two fingers and pointed at his eyes, then at her, then back at himself. Up went her chin as she yanked at the hem of her T-shirt.
Too bad she was holding this against him, because that shrimp sounded good.
He pivoted back toward the Petroski house. Oh, shit. The sheriff was standing in front of the Petroskis’ open screen door, staring down a big-ass butcher knife.
Vaughn pulled his piece and ran.
The sheriff’s hand never even twitched toward her pepper spray or stun gun. Instead she kicked out, and Vaughn heard a muffled thud as boot connected with bone. Steel clattered onto tile and the simultaneous high-pitched screech of pain could have been male or female. Mystery solved when a tall, thin woman collapsed against the screen door, both hands wrapped around her left shin. Sheriff Tate bent down and picked up the knife, seemingly unmoved by Sadie Petroski’s wailing.
Or the fact that she could have easily taken a knife to the gut. Vaughn ground his teeth. He and the good sheriff were going to have to set some ground rules.
Scratch that. What the good sheriff needed was a refresher in defensive tactics.
“John Petroski,” the sheriff hollered at the open doorway. “Come out onto the porch where we can see you.”
“I was only showing it to you,” Sadie sobbed. “I only wanted you to see what my dipshit brother’s been waving at me.” She rubbed her denim-clad shin as she sagged against the screen door, which had banged against the side of the house. “You bitch, you broke my leg.”
“Your leg? What about my door?” Her brother stomped out onto the porch, wearing shorts but no shirt, a half-eaten peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in his hand. “Who’s going to pay for that?”
With his free hand, Vaughn retrieved his cuffs. He climbed the porch steps and kicked several rolled-up newspapers out of the way. “Hands behind your back,” he said to the brother.
Petroski stuffed the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth and complied. Vaughn holstered his weapon and fit the cuffs on the guy’s jelly-smeared wrists.
Meanwhile the sheriff set down the knife, stepped on the handle and pulled her cuffs free of her belt.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Sadie cried. “You broke my leg. Don’t think I won’t sue.”
“Bruised it, maybe,” the sheriff said. “But I didn’t break it. Drop your leg and turn around.”
“You’re going to arrest me?” Sadie pushed upright, shoved her long red bangs out of her face and stomped her injured leg. “What the hell for?”
“Property damage,” said her brother, through the remains of his sandwich.
“Screw you!” shouted Sadie. “It’s my house, too.”
Sheriff Tate fit her cuffs on a fuming Sadie. “Mr. Petroski, I need you to go with Deputy Fulton. He’ll find someplace quiet where you can tell him your side of the story.”
Vaughn led John Petroski down the porch steps and around the side of the house. Petroski was much calmer away from his sister. He admitted he’d brandished the knife at Sadie, then set it on the counter. She’d grabbed it and run for the door, shouting that she was going to “tell on him.”
Jesus. “You two are how old?”
Petroski scowled, then jerked his head at the house. “What’s she got coming?”
“Aggravated assault.”
“Give me a frickin’ break. I just told you, she wasn’t threatening the sheriff.”
“She was brandishing a weapon. That’s called physical menace.” When Petroski swore and kicked the side of the house, hard enough to dent the siding, Vaughn narrowed his eyes. “We going to have to put you in leg irons, too?”
“Don’t you worry, Deputy. I’ve got him covered.” Audrey Tweedy approached from the rear corner of the house, lip curled, eyes squinted. She carried a spray bottle of oven cleaner in one hand and a can of WD-40 in the other. “And you.” She pointed the can at Petroski. “Stop putting holes in the house, or I’ll drop my offer by ten percent.”
Petroski snorted. “If anyone deserves to be arrested, it’s this old bag. C’mon, man, she’s trespassing.”
Audrey lowered her weapon and grinned. “Sell me the house and I won’t be.”
They settled the Petroskis in the cruiser, escorted Audrey back to her own property and bagged the knife. Back at the station, Vaughn waited for a chance to pull the sheriff aside. She’d arrested both Petroskis for disturbing the peace and handled the processing and paperwork without any visible aftereffects from a situation that could have landed her in the hospital. Or worse.
Her attitude worried him. It also pissed him off.
The moment she returned to her office, a mug of coffee in one hand and a stack of paperwork in the other, he followed her in and shut the door. “I know you’re smarter than what you pulled today. You have to be.”
With slow and careful motions, the sheriff set her coffee on her desk and pushed her shoulders so far back it was a wonder she didn’t topple over.
She had grit. He admired it, and he resented it. His job here wasn’t going to get easier anytime soon, which made it damn inconvenient that every time he saw her he wanted to back her up against the nearest wall and practice his search-and-seizure skills.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
He sure as hell wanted to. “I won’t get a chance, either, you keep taking idiotic gambles like that.”
“Do I need to remind you who’s the sheriff and who’s the deputy here?”
He shook his head, and let his gaze linger on her chest. “Don’t worry. I see the badge.”
Her arms twitched, as if she wanted to fold them over her chest. “Exactly what do you think I should have done differently?”
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Kathy Altman
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The hardest person to serve and protect is herselfShe didn’t ask for a new deputy. Well, technically, she did ask. But Lily Tate didn’t expect city cop Vaughn Fulton to come swaggering into her sheriff′s office, making her feel things she has no right to feel. Not since she lost what she loved most in a tragedy she should have seen coming. Lily can see exactly where she and Vaughn are headed. As hard as he is to resist—and as much as he seems to want her—Vaughn plans to ditch the small-town life when his stint at the Sheriff’s Department is over. Lily’s already handled enough heartbreak. What kind of fool would make the same mistake twice?