by Tawna Fenske
I turn to Jade and Amber King, the sisters who own the reindeer ranch slash wedding venue next door. They’re also boffing my cousin and brother, respectively, and I adore them both.
“I’m so glad you could make it.” I pull Jade into a hug first, then Amber, and wonder for the umpteenth time what it would be like to have a sister instead of a gazillion half-brothers. Not that I’m complaining. Our father had many shortcomings like fidelity and marital success and—well, fatherhood. But he also had a talent for producing an abundance of smart, hardworking men with whom I share a business and a bloodline, so I can’t fault the guy for that.
“Have you seen Sean?” I ask Amber.
That’s my brother, the Michelin-starred chef who runs Juniper Fine Dining here at the resort. He’s also head over heels in love with Amber, which is why she lights up like a Christmas tree when I say his name.
“He’s running around like a crazy man in the kitchen,” she says. “I told him to text me if he needs help with cleanup.”
“We have staff for that.” I cringe at the spoiled-rich-girl ring to my words, but Jade and Amber don’t seem to notice. “Just have fun and enjoy yourselves,” I tell them. “Did you get to tour the spa yet? Free chair massages.”
“We were heading there next,” Jade says. “We just finished the tour of the golf course. Brandon seems to think the golf carts are for speed racing.”
As though summoned by his name, my cousin appears at his fiancée’s side looking like a lovestruck teenager. He slides an arm around Jade’s waist and plants a kiss on her temple, making her whole face flush pink before he looks at me. “Hey, Bree. You feeling good about the turnout?”
“It’s terrific.” I let my gaze sweep over the crowd, noticing city council members and business owners, the mayor, and even a senator. My gaze snags on the hot cop, and since he’s not looking up at this hill where I’m standing, I let myself linger. He has broad shoulders and ramrod-straight posture, but there’s something in his smile that’s calming. Normally, cops make my pulse pound. So does he, but for different reasons. His dad says something to him and he laughs, and I try to recall the difference between the police and the sheriff.
“What’s with all the cops out here?” I ask. “I met the sheriff, and also his son who’s with police department. I’m not sure I know the difference.”
I look back in time to see Jade and Amber exchange a private smile, and I’m sure they just saw me checking out Austin. Thankfully, they’re too classy to say anything. “The police deal with crimes in the city limits,” Jade explains. “And the sheriff’s department deals with stuff outside the city.”
“There’s some overlap, though,” Amber adds. “Especially since we’re close to the edge of town. But mostly the sheriff’s department is our go-to crime fighting squad out here.”
I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed that Austin won’t be coming to my rescue if I call 911 to report my panties caught fire. Not that I’d do that. I’m just saying, Tasty Cop is not going to be my savior.
I try to think of something I can ask about him, but the questions take absurd forms in my head.
How well do you know Chief Studly?
Is he married or divorced or single?
Is he looking for someone to share his bed and have his babies and—
“Knock it off.” I don’t mean to say the words out loud, but somehow I do. The sisters exchange a look again before Jade turns and looks up at Brandon.
“Wasn’t Austin in your grade?” she asks him.
“Yeah.” Brandon waves to someone, and I realize with a jolt that it’s Austin. He returns Brandon’s wave, then starts toward us, and my heart does a big ol’ cannonball into my stomach.
“We played football together,” Brandon says as Austin draws closer. “Good guy.”
“Single, too,” Amber adds. “Never married.”
She might be my favorite sister.
“Everyone says he’s a shoo-in to make chief next year when Fred Maxwell retires,” Jade says, moving back up the favorite-sister rankings with her addition to my arsenal of information. “He’s one of the few guys on the force with a master’s degree, plus he’s always going to these FBI leadership training things.”
“Ambitious guy,” I say mildly as I try not to stare.
“The dude works his ass off,” Brandon says as Austin saunters up beside us and slaps his hand against Brandon’s.
“Hey, man.”
They exchange one of those complicated bro handshakes, which gives me ten seconds to check him out. He’s even hotter than I remember, all dark hair and burly cop muscles and clear gray-blue eyes that I could swear looked right through me when we met earlier.
That’s downright terrifying, and so is the way I’m responding to him like a moony-eyed middle schooler. I’ve never been turned on by a man in uniform, so why am I checking him out like he’s lava cake on a dessert cart?
“Ladies.” Austin nods to Jade and Amber before his eyes land on me. I don’t know why, but I stand up straighter, struggling to pretend I didn’t just do one of those weird full-body shivers.
“Bree, right?” He smiles and ohmylord it takes everything I’ve got not to melt into a puddle at his feet.
“That’s right,” I say, already forgetting the question. My name? Hell, that’s anyone’s guess right now. I’m so tongue-tied I can hardly recall the alphabet, which is so not like me. I’m usually pretty adept at the social thing.
I clear my throat and order myself to stop acting like an idiot. “What’s the Oregon Outback?”
He gives me a quizzical look then snaps his fingers. “That’s right, I forgot I told you where I found Virginia.”
“Your dog’s name is Virginia?”
“Yep.” He smiles, crinkling the edges of those blue-gray eyes. “Virginia Woof.”
It takes me a second to get it. “As in Virginia Woolf?” He nods, and it’s a struggle to keep my face from registering shock. “You named your dog after the foremost modernist author of the twentieth century? The pioneer of narrative device and stream of consciousness prose?”
He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Can’t say much about my dog’s writing,” he says. “I found her wallowing around in the bed of Lake Abert. It’s the only saltwater lake in Oregon, but it’s been drying up.”
“Lousy deal for all the brine shrimp fishermen,” Brandon puts in. “Not to mention migratory birds.”
“Right, that’s the hell of it,” Austin says. “Anyway, she was scrawny and full of parasites, and she had all these pebbles wedged so deep in her paw pads that they’d started to grow over. It was like things got so bad that she filled her pockets with rocks and tried to drown herself in the damn lake—”
“Like Virginia Woolf.” I get it now.
“Exactly,” he says. “Only there wasn’t enough water to do the job.”
“So you saved her.” My chest floods with new respect for Officer Yummylicious.
He gives a modest shrug. “She’s doing great now,” he says. “Anyway, that whole area out there is part of the Oregon Outback.”
“Where is it?”
“South-Central Oregon as you’re heading toward California,” he says. “It’s pretty remote. Mostly dirt roads and rattlesnakes, but there’s also some cool stuff like Fort Rock and Summer Lake Hot Springs.”
“A real hot springs?” That sounds dumb, but I’ve never seen one.
Austin nods, and there’s that smile again. “It’s rustic, but beautiful. I’d be glad to show it to you sometime.”
I stare at him for a few beats, not sure if he’s just asked me out or if he’s playing friendly-neighborhood cop. I don’t want to be presumptuous. “How far is it?”
“Couple hours, give or take. It’s a long day trip or a good overnight. Not that I was suggesting an overnight date.”
“Date,” I repeat, grateful at least that he put it out there. “As in—date-date?”
Jesus, Bree, you sound like an idiot.
A
ustin grins and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I was thinking date, but a date-date works, too. The quantity is up to you.”
Good Lord, he’s flirting, and it might be the most charming thing I’ve ever seen. But I really need to nip this in the bud.
“That’s really sweet, but I actually don’t date cops.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they sound. Jade and Amber shoot me matching incredulous looks, and I wish I could rewind the tape and stick with, “I’m too focused on work to date anyone.”
Austin, bless his heart, is doing his best not to stare at me as though I’ve announced a fondness for liverwurst pancakes. “This is like—an unwavering personal policy?”
“Right,” I say, figuring I might as well go with it. “It’s just a personality thing, I guess.”
Those blue-gray eyes bore into mine, looking more bemused than offended. “No problem,” he says. “I’ll hand in my resignation tomorrow.”
He’s stone-faced, so it takes me a second to catch the glint in his eye. I bust out laughing, I can’t help it. “You’ll quit being a cop?”
“Sure, if that’s what it takes.” He scuffs a toe in the dirt. “Shouldn’t take them more than a few weeks to find my replacement, and then I’ll take you out for dinner at that cool Portuguese place downtown.”
“Sintra,” Brandon offers. “Great linguica tacos.”
“Sure, we’ll have that.” Austin smiles, and I hear Amber giggle beside me.
My heart does a cartwheel, but I keep my expression neutral and fold my arms over my chest. “How do you plan to pay for this date if you’re jobless all of a sudden?”
“No problem, I’ll get a new job.” He looks thoughtful. “I’m thinking shepherd.”
“Shepherd?”
“Sure, I like sheep,” he says. “Or maybe an astronaut. You think NASA’s hiring?”
“Maybe, but you’d have to move to DC or Houston,” I point out, trying not to flirt. This isn’t flirting, right? “Being that far away is going to make dating difficult.”
“Good point.” He pretends to think. “I suppose I could be a snake milker.”
I give a super-uncool snort-laugh. “For all that snake milk they’re selling in grocery stores?”
Amber laughs again, but Jade looks thoughtful. “That’s actually a real job, isn’t it? I saw it on TV.”
“Yep,” Austin confirms. “They’re zoologists who extract venom from snakes for medical research.”
“Is that how they make antivenom?” Amber asks.
“Yeah.” He’s answering Amber, but his eyes are fixed on me. “It’s a noble career, and I’m guessing you’ve never dated a snake milker.”
“I’m guessing I don’t want to.” Truth be told, I’m rethinking my policy on the cop thing.
Austin brings his hand to his chin and pretends to ponder some more. “Harsh. Okay, how about if I become a chicken sexer?”
“A chicken sexer?” I can’t stifle the laughter, but I stop and consider whether this might be a real job, too. “Wait, is that someone who determines the sex of chickens?”
“Bingo.”
He grins as Brandon does an imitation of a startled chicken. Cluck-cluck-cluck-squawk!
“They work for commercial hatcheries where they’ve gotta figure out right away what gender the chicks are.” Austin slugs Brandon in the shoulder to make him quit the chicken impression. “I hear it’s pretty lucrative, so I’ll be able to take us out to some nice places.”
This is hands-down the most bizarre flirtation I’ve ever been party to, but I can’t stop smiling. Can’t stop feeling like I’ve got a cinnamon jawbreaker in the center of my belly. “How do you expect me to tell my friends and family I’m dating a chicken sexer?” I ask.
“You’ve got me there.” He drums his fingers together in mock contemplation, then snaps. “Got it. How about an iceberg mover?”
“That’s a thing?”
“Sure it is.” He grins. “They track where the icebergs are at and then tell the shipping companies how to get around them. Sometimes they even hook them up with cables and drag them away.”
“Don’t you have to be with the Coast Guard to do that?” Amber asks.
“Good point,” Austin says. “I suppose I’ll have to enlist. Do you have a problem with all men in uniform or just cops?”
The hair on my arms prickles, and I feel my smile stiffen. That’s right, we were talking about cops. Cops and why I don’t date them.
As much as I’m loving flirting with Austin, I’ve gotta be straight with him. “You seem like a great guy, you really do, but—”
“But you can’t ask me to give up my career for you?” He nods, not looking particularly hurt. “Fair enough. I suppose we did just meet.”
“Right,” I say, though there’s something about Austin that makes me feel like I’ve known him a while. I might not be into cops, but there’s something about this one that grabs me.
All the more reason to keep your distance.
I take a deep breath and don my best public relations mask. “It’s been really great meeting you, though,” I tell him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“I’m sure you will.” He gives me a mini-salute, and those blue-gray eyes hold mine for a few more breaths. “If you change your mind about dating a cop-turned-shepherd-turned-astronaut-turned-snake milker-turned-chicken sexer-turned iceberg mover, you know where to find me.”
He turns and saunters down the hill, taking an unexpected hunk of my heart with him.
Chapter 3
AUSTIN
I know I should keep my distance from Bree Bracelyn. She made it clear she doesn’t date cops, and I can respect that. But somehow, I find myself driving to her house the Monday after the party, a tiny fork shoved in the breast pocket of my uniform.
It’s not as weird as it sounds. Okay, it’s a little weird. I’m returning the shrimp fork my father “borrowed.” To his credit, he didn’t mean to steal the damn thing. He’s constantly tucking things in his pockets—pens from checkout counters, gloves that look like his—and discovering later he’s an accidental thief.
Why do I have a hunch it’s not accidental this time?
“Do me a favor and take this back to the resort,” he asked me this morning when we met for a pre-shift breakfast at the Dandelion Café.
I studied him over the rim of my coffee mug, looking for signs of scheming. There were none, which isn’t surprising. You don’t become sheriff without a damn good poker face. “Why me?”
“Because you live close.” My dad grinned and picked up his own coffee mug. “And because you didn’t stop staring at that pretty brunette all night.”
I would have argued, but he’s right. Ponderosa Resort is on my way home, and yeah, I thought about Bree all weekend.
I’m still thinking about her as I wind my way up the driveway to the main lodge, the windows of my squad car cracked to let the juniper-spiked breeze swirl through. Towering aspens line the road, half of them quivering with gold-tipped leaves. Fall has been unseasonably warm so far, but cool weather isn’t far off. Maybe Bree needs someone to rake her leaves.
That wasn’t a euphemism, but yeah, fine. I want to see Bree. Is that so wrong? Maybe I can’t date her, but I can make her laugh, make her toss those glossy curls that leave me wondering what it would feel like to twist my fingers up in all that chocolaty warmth. God, those green eyes. And that mouth. And—
I shake myself out of it as I pull up in front of the main lodge. Standing off to one side is a guy the size of an NFL lineman. He’s wearing a Ponderosa Ranch T-shirt and work gloves covered in tree sap. The scruffy beard doesn’t cover the scowl that looks like a permanent fixture, and I wonder if he’s one of Bree’s brothers. If so, he’s not one I met the other day.
The guy looks up as I approach, but he doesn’t smile or look surprised. Just stares like a grumpy lumberjack whose tree just fell on a car.
“Evening,” I say
by way of greeting. “Any idea where I can find Bree Bracelyn?”
He studies me without blinking. “Yep,” he says. “You’re Lieutenant Dugan?”
I glance down and see I’m still wearing the badge that says Sergeant. The promotion isn’t official for a couple days, and I’m a stickler for the rules, so the gold bar and Lieutenant badge are still in my desk. Does that mean Bree’s been talking about me?
The big guy kills that hope in a hurry. “Saw your picture in the paper when they announced the promotion,” he says. “And your name was in there this morning, too. Something about an old case getting reopened.”
“The Zonski case,” I say automatically as my gut coils into a knot. “Homicide.”
“Yeah. That was it.”
He stares at me some more, and I realize I still don’t know who the hell he is. The way he’s watching me suggests a decision in progress—to grant access to Bree or to chase me off the property with a shotgun. I don’t see one lying around, but maybe I should have worn Kevlar.
The guy seems to decide something then. “Mark Bracelyn. Bree’s brother.” He doesn’t extend a hand, but does reach into his pocket and pull out a phone. “Let me check on her.”
He turns his back to me and starts punching numbers. I hear it ring once, twice, and then a muffled version of Bree’s voice.
“Cop’s here,” he says instead of hello. “You want to see him or not?”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and I wonder whether Mark turned down the volume, or if Bree really has nothing to say. I’m on the brink of just handing the damn fork to Mark and calling it a day when I hear Bree’s muffled voice.
“I’ll be right there,” she says. “Have him wait in my office.”
Mark clicks off the phone and looks at me, then nods toward the lodge. “Head in through those doors and take a left,” he says. “She’ll be over in a minute.”
“Thank you.”
“Restaurant’s closed now, but there’s coffee in the lobby. Don’t break anything, and don’t touch anything in Bree’s office.”
I’m getting the sense this brother isn’t the chief of hospitality, but at least he’s not running me off the property. “Thanks.”
