The Sheriff Catches a Bride (13 page)

When she’d first pulled her burqa from over her head, she’d felt a rush of adrenaline. Wearing this skimpy skirt was like stepping onstage to act a part she’d been rehearsing for years. Now it felt like the production had dragged on far too long. Her costume was wilted, her makeup rubbing off. She was tired, scared. Out of her league.

Her clothes attracted attention, too. Lots of it. Men eyed her hungrily. Woman walked past and wrinkled their noses. Out of the big city and away from her group of chatty, temporary friends, she stood out in her garish, unsuitable colors. It was time to change disguises again.

She stepped out of the train station in Chicago and fought down a wave of fear. The bravado that had gotten her this far was fast disappearing. She was hungry, thirsty, and had no idea how to navigate this town. She traced her way to a ladies’ room—her life now seemed made up of ladies’ rooms—and faced herself in the mirror.

No wonder everyone was staring.

She washed off her remaining makeup carefully, took out her hairpins, adjusted her wig and repinned it carefully. What could she do about her clothes?

A movement in the mirror caught her eye and she looked up to see a woman about the age her mother would have been had she lived.

“That’s better,” the woman said, and Fila knew she was referring to the way she’d washed her face and tidied her hair. The woman was dressed in a sensible, knee-length, brown tweed skirt and a cream-colored sweater. Over them she wore a dark wool dress jacket. On her feet she wore trim suede shoes. She looked… safe, Fila decided.

“Could you advise me on where I might buy some clothes?” she asked, nodding at the woman to indicate she wanted something similar to what she wore—something sensible.

“You have the look of someone who is starting over,” the woman said. “You need a department store. Macy’s should do it.” She pulled a pen and pad of paper out of her purse and drew a map. When she handed it over, Fila grasped her hand and thanked her profusely.

“Do you have the money you need?” The woman looked at her sharply.

“Yes, I have money.”

“And somewhere to go?”

“Yes. I have that, too.”

“Then you’ll be fine.” The woman patted her hand, drew her purse over her shoulder and said her good-byes.

There were angels everywhere, Fila thought.

“You know those al-Qaeda folks
would love to get their hands on our land,” Kevin Coulter said, waving a hash brown for emphasis.

Cab bent over his scrambled eggs and bit back a sigh. Seven o’clock in the morning and already Kevin was hot on another conspiracy theory. Linda’s diner was full of cowboys, ranchers, truck drivers and other working folks eating a hearty breakfast before another long day’s work. He liked to come here several times a week and linger over his coffee, soaking up the chatter that went on around him. It helped him keep abreast of the gossip and any trouble that might be brewing. Stephanie Lakins, who owned the diner and kept everything going from her perch behind the cash register, and Tracey Richards, one of the waitresses, filled him in on anything they’d overheard that they thought he should know.

“He’s really on a rant today,” Tracey said, nodding at the old man as she bent over the table to refill Cab’s coffee mug.

“Anything new or noteworthy?” Cab asked, more out of habit than because he thought there would be.

“Not unless you think al-Qaeda operatives are planning to set up a sleeper cell in Chance Creek.” Her blond ponytail swung as she dabbed at a spot on the table with a cloth.

Cab pretended to consider the notion. “Nah, can’t see it.”

“Me, neither. Can I get you anything else?”

“Just the bill.”

Still shaking his head over Kevin’s latest batch of crazy talk, Cab headed to his truck ready to check in at the station and get to work. It was a shame about Kevin, really. A rancher all his life, he’d been sidelined at sixty-eight when a horse backed him up against a corral fence and broke his hip. Now he couldn’t do any heavy work and his son and grandsons ran the ranch. Too much idle time on his hands had gotten to his brain.
Al-Qaeda
. Sheesh. Al Qaeda operatives would have a hard time hiding in Chance Creek. That was the curse of small town life in Montana; everyone was pretty much the same. Strangers stuck out like sore thumbs.

His thoughts drifted to the unexpectedly pleasant evening he’d spent with Rose last night and he gave thanks to Carl for buying one damn cushy couch. Poor Rose didn’t stand a chance with him sitting next to her. She weighed barely more than a grasshopper and he’d been delighted to discover a shift here and there got her sliding in close. She hadn’t protested, either, when he snuggled her to his side and clamped an arm around her. He had to exercise a lot of self-restraint not to take things any further, but Rose was worth some self-restraint. They’d get to the good stuff soon enough if things went his way.

Wouldn’t the rest of the gang crow when they found out, though? Ethan, Rob and Jamie had given him grief for years for not dating all that much. They alternated between questioning his manhood and offering to set him up with someone. They used to urge him to ask out Bella Chatham, until she went on that television show, beat the billionaire, and then married him for good measure. Lately it seemed like they might give him up as a lost cause.

He’d had moments of doubt himself. All the rest of them already found their women. First Ethan met and married Autumn, then Jamie and Claire got hitched, and then even Rob—who’d sworn he’d never, ever marry—tied the knot with Morgan. Maybe that’s why he was stepping up and testing the waters with Rose now. It was his turn, wasn’t it? Plus, her reaction to the ring he picked really fired up his curiosity. Rob was always a pain in the ass, but sometimes he was an effective pain in the ass. He’d still be sitting on the sidelines, bemoaning a fate that left Jason engaged to Rose and him out in the cold, if Rob hadn’t stuck his ring on Rose’s finger. Not that he’d ever mention that to Rob. That cowboy was dangerous enough already.

Was it right to take action, though, he wondered as he drove to the station. He hadn’t thought so previously. That’s why he hadn’t made a move before. Rose’s reaction changed that. If she wasn’t really in love with Jason, then the right thing to do was to break them up.

Jason probably wouldn’t see it that way, though.

Well, he’d deal with Jason if it came to that, he thought as he pulled into the parking lot. Time to focus on the day ahead. At twenty-eight, he was young to be county sheriff, but he’d been appointed to the job a few years back when his father hurt his back and had to resign suddenly after thirty years of service. By the time the next election rolled around, Chance Creek’s voters had gotten used to him, and he ran unopposed. Family counted for a lot in this small town. Most people knew his father, and knew him, too. Even those who didn’t like him preferred the evil they knew to the evil they didn’t.

As sheriff, Cab oversaw thirty-eight deputies in a variety of departments, from the patrol division to the detective division, to the officers who ran the county jail. Every day brought something new, and since he headed the pack of them, he got to pick and choose which activities he wanted to take part in. At least some of the time.

Today he had some business at the jail later on, but after the morning’s briefing session, he planned to spend an hour or two on patrol. He liked to keep his visibility high—both among the citizens of Chance Creek and among his own deputies. Underlings were less likely to get up to trouble when the boss made his presence known.

An hour later he was driving the streets of Chance Creek before heading out on some of the long, winding county roads that surrounded it. He had a few planned stops to make, but mostly he was keeping an eye on the sleepy little town he loved so much. Chance Creek had always been his home and he always meant it to be. With the latest reminder that very bad people could lurk anywhere, he’d rededicated himself to patrolling the streets.

He was driving past Dundy’s Hardware when he spotted Rose’s banged up old truck. And there was the woman herself.

What a sight for sore eyes.

She was petite but everything about her exuded energy, from the pace of her stride to the bounce of the mass of brown curls spilling down her back. She wore jeans that hugged her curves like they were painted on, hiking boots, and a forest green fleece. She carried a plastic shopping bag and looked like she was in a hurry. Her face belied her energetic bearing, however. She looked tired, and her eyes were rimmed with red like she’d been crying. No wonder. She’d had a tough day yesterday. He was surprised she was out and about at all.

The thought of Emory piling her paintings on the bonfire made him itch to knock the man into next week. As far as he was concerned, Emory had long ago used up any sympathy he deserved for the loss of his wife, his son moving away, and his… condition. Cab knew all too well that people’s demons could push them to do horrible things, but why wasn’t Emory getting help to control his obsession with order? Was it his obsession that pushed him to destroy Rose’s things, or was it a straight up desire to hurt her?

Cab didn’t know. Without thinking, he pulled into the lot and parked the car behind her truck, effectively hemming her in. She stopped with her hand on the door handle as he got out of the cruiser.

“Hey, Rose.” He nodded toward the bag she was carrying. “Find everything you need?”

“What, you work for the hardware store now?”

Ouch. She wasn’t just tired, she was cranky, too. “Just making conversation.”

She hesitated. Made a face. “Sorry. It’s really hitting me today what a mess my life is.”

“You’re not working?” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against his patrol car. He’d prefer to pull her close and give her a kiss, but he had a feeling that wasn’t on the menu right now. Probably should have tried it last night, Jason be damned. He’d been pretty sure she wanted to then.

“No, I’m done with the jewelry store.”

He nodded. That made sense. “You want to set a time for Saturday?”

She looked away. “I’m not sure about Saturday.”

His good mood sunk even further. He understood why she’d be upset right now, but he’d hoped she’d see their shooting date as something to look forward to. “Why not?”

“Look, Cab…”

Oh God, here it came. “Wait. Rose… I know it’s too soon for us to be anything other than friends. I know you’re still attached to Jason…”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t like what you did last night.” She opened the door to her truck, placed the shopping bag inside and closed it again. She folded her own arms over her chest and faced him.

“You mean, holding you?” he forced himself to ask. Shit, had he blown it by moving too fast when they watched the movie? It was a bonehead move, putting his arm around her like that. But she’d accepted it happily enough at the time.

“No.” She shook her head, obviously irritated. “Not because you held me. Because of the other thing.”

What other thing? Cab wracked his brain to try to remember what else he’d done. He hadn’t kissed her. He sure wanted to, but he’d restrained himself. With difficulty. That left… nothing.

“You insisted on following me home to the carriage house like I’m some kind of child!” Rose exploded. “What the hell was that about?”

Cab blinked. “I wanted to make sure you were safe. It turned out to be a good thing, too. You and Emory nearly came to blows.”

“I can take Emory any day. And I’m perfectly capable of driving from Carl’s house to town by myself.”

“Calm down. Look, that’s a backcountry highway. If you broke down you’d be all alone out there.”

“Hello! Autumn, Morgan and Claire live just down the road from Carl’s house. Are you telling me that Rob and Ethan and Jamie don’t let them drive after dark?”

“I just… wanted you to be safe. That’s all.” Why couldn’t she understand the worry he felt toward her—toward all the women of Chance Creek if it came to that? She hadn’t seen what Grady did to his victims. He hoped she’d never see anything like it. If it came to a choice of seeming overbearing or losing her to a monster…

“It’s not your responsibility!”

“I want it to be.” He didn’t remember moving closer but they stood eye to eye, or they would have if the disparity between their heights weren’t so large. Rose glared up at him, her hands on her hips now.

“Get this straight. I don’t care if we’re friends, or dating or even sleeping together. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Ever!”

Sleeping together?
A corner of Cab’s mouth lifted of its own accord.

Rose growled in frustration. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I am,” he said. “And I like where you’re going with all of that.”

“I’m serious. Stop ordering me around!”

The back of Cab’s neck prickled and he realized he’d stopped paying attention to their surroundings. A quick scan of the parking lot told him there were several witnesses to this altercation.

And one of them was Rob Matheson.

“Yeah, Sheriff, stop ordering her around or you’ll have to arrest yourself for conduct unbecoming an officer,” he drawled. He shut the door to his truck and came to join them. “Hi, Rose. This man bothering you?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. He’s just treating me like I’m twelve.”

Rob nudged Cab. “She’s not twelve, buddy. Lucky for you.”

“I know she’s not twelve,” Cab said.

Rob chuckled. “Figured as much. You two coming to Ethan’s place tonight?”

Ethan’s place? He’d forgotten about that. It was Thursday night again. Poker and pool at the Cruz ranch. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Me, too,” Rose said after a moment’s pause.

“See you there.” Rob strode off whistling.

Cab exchanged a look of dismay with Rose.

“You realize he’s going to tell everyone about what he saw and heard just now,” Rose said, making her way around to the driver’s side of her truck. “With his own embellishments.”