Snowbound with the Sheriff

by Laurel Greer

“We’re both doing all right, Gertie. And I’ve liked my time at the clinic these past months.”

  “You aren’t disappointed about the cruise?” She yearned to travel, but the thought of dipping into her savings and ending up short for necessities—or accepting money from Ryan or her kids, like they’d offered many times over—gave her hives.

  “Sure, I wanted to see the Danube,” he said. “But I still had more to give to the clinic. I’ll book something else once Maggie doesn’t need me anymore.”

  “You’re a good man, Thomas.”

  His eyes glinted. “I’m glad to be home. There are some things about Sutter Creek that I really missed.”

  Warmth crept up past the collar of her blouse and she folded her shaking hands. With any luck, he’d interpret her trembles as old age, not the excitement of someone who hadn’t been flirted with in a long, long time. “There’s a reason I’ve stayed put, you know. This place has my heart. Yours, too, I’d wager.”

  “You’d be right.” He stared off into the distance for a second. “Stella would be a heck of a lot better off here than alone in the big city.”

  Darn it. She hadn’t meant to provide him with a reason to convince his granddaughter to stay for any length of time. Her nerves shifted from simple attraction to concern. Ryan had worked far too hard to establish himself as someone reliable and rooted, and Stella had brought not only their tumultuous past back with her, but also whatever ethical kerfuffle she was currently involved in at her firm.

  “I’d better get to the clinic for my appointments.” He paused, one eye squinting warily. “Would you like to have dinner with me, Gertrude?”

  Her jaw dropped. “As in, a date?”

  “Well, yes.” That twitch of amusement again.

  “Now why would we do that?”

  * * *

  Ryan entered the bakery in need of coffee. He’d successfully kept himself from seeking out Stella over the past few days, but that had meant covering for one of his deputies last night. He was lagging in the face of a city-council consultation and a bunch of paperwork that needed his signature.

  His aunts’ establishment was full of customers, as usual, and smelled like a vat of sugar.

  Christ, he could bury his face in whatever was emitting that scent.

  He waved at a few people, including Tom Reid and his grandmother, who were sitting at a table in the far corner. The veterinarian had always been a supporter of Ryan’s, and greeted his gesture with a friendly smile.

  Gran, however, didn’t seem to be a fan of Tom Reid’s at the moment. Her brow was furrowed and she stared at Tom, lips firm and gaze disbelieving.

  Oh, man. Her shenanigans were too much on a sleep-deprived morning. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his uniform jacket, he sidled up to the counter.

  His aunt greeted him with a friendly hello and a latte in an extralarge to-go cup.

  “You’re a godsend, Aunt Nancy.”

  “It’s on the house if you can find out whatever it is Dr. Tom’s saying to put that look on Mom’s face.”

  He shook his head. “My brain’s not working this morning. I’m liable to say something completely off-color.”

  She passed him a pecan-streusel muffin in a small paper bag and fixed him with a look. “She’s not going to talk to me about it. And she looks upset.”

  Ryan glanced back at his grandmother and stuck his nose in the open top of the bag. “That’s what I was smelling. I need you to come over to my house and bake some of these so my kitchen smells like this.”

  She crossed her arms. “Recipe’s in the book in the back. Bake your own damn muffins.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What if I suss out the source of Gran’s consternation?”

  “Oh, I can tell the source. I just can’t figure out the specifics. She and Tom have always gotten along.”

  True. His grandmother might not be Stella’s biggest fan, but she’d always had time for Dr. Reid. Unless the two were arguing about Stella...

  Crap.

  Staring at the ceiling for a couple of seconds, he gathered his composure. Muffin in one hand and coffee in the other, he sidled over to where the two older folks were arguing.

  “I just don’t think that would be smart, Tom. What would everyone think?”

  Ryan gritted his teeth. He really disliked the idea of his problems impacting his family, or Stella’s, for that matter.

  “They’d think we were hungry, Gertrude,” Tom said.

  Wait, what?

  “Ryan, honey, stop hovering. Pull up a chair or move along,” Gran ordered.

  Tom laughed. “He can take mine.” The veterinarian stood, reaching across the table to squeeze Gran’s hand. Then he moved to the side. “I’m going to keep asking, Gertie.” He strolled toward the door, but not before taking a second glance, brown eyes twinkling.

  Ryan settled into the vacated seat and took a long glug of coffee. “What was that about?”

  “You’re a sheriff, not a detective, dear,” she said, folding her hands on the table. She didn’t have a drink in front of her. A rag was folded neatly on the corner to her left.

  “Ouch,” he said. “Gotta admit, I was glad you were upset about something not involving me.”

  “I wasn’t upset. I just wasn’t about to have dinner with Tom Reid.”

  “Dinner?” He drew back. Gran hadn’t mentioned wanting romance or companionship before. “Well... Why wouldn’t you?”

  “There’s no point in that. I can’t exactly pack up and fly off to the Danube.”

  “He wasn’t asking you to go to the Danube. He was asking you out for steak or burgers or something.”

  She huffed a breath out her nose.

  “But if you wanted to travel, you should do that, too,” he added.

  “I changed your diapers and wiped upchuck off your bedroom floor when you had too much beer out in Rafe’s back forty. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  “Telling, encouraging, six of one—”

  “Ryan.” Her mouth twisted, and the faint lines stood out around her pink painted lips. “This is better left alone. Both my friendship with Tom Reid and the idea of me gallivanting anywhere. You know full well my bank account doesn’t allow irresponsibility like that.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “But if you want to do something, you should do it while you can.”

  “Thanks for the reminder of my mortality, dear.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s exactly what you meant.”

  He sighed. “Fine, it was, though it’s one of my least favorite thoughts. I have you pegged at making at least one hundred.”

  “Exactly why I need to be smart about my finances.”

  “Why don’t you ask a financial planner?”

  She sneaked a corner off his muffin and popped it in her mouth. “Nancy sure has a winner with this recipe.”

  He wasn’t going to give up that easily. “You might find you can do more with your savings than you realize, Gran.” An idea flashed into his head. They knew someone who was excellent with money. “You should talk to Stella.”

  She startled. “I beg your pardon?”

  That obviously wasn’t an actual request for him to repeat himself, but the grandmotherly equivalent of “The hell you say?” He waited, taking a long drink from his to-go cup.

  “I couldn’t possibly,” she said, looking like she was about to crack a molar. “And if she’s in some sort of trouble at work, I shouldn’t be hiring her to dig into my finances.”

  Given he couldn’t explain how he knew that wasn’t a concern, this required a different angle. “Just think, you could pry to your heart’s content while you were meeting. She’d never be the wiser.” And maybe if Gran got a half hour to subtly prod Stella, she’d leave them be.

  Lifting her chin at an
imperious angle, she rose from her chair. “I’ll consider it. And you should get back to work before you get fired for reasons having nothing to do with Stella Reid.”

  He laughed. “Will do, Gran.” But he wasn’t going to let her have the last word this time. Waving at his aunt, he cupped a hand around one side of his mouth. “He asked her out for dinner, Aunt Nancy.”

  He scooted outside before Gran could retaliate. He’d pay for that one at some point. But maybe if she was busy dealing with her own problems, she’d be too busy to pay attention to his.

  Chapter Nine

  “Are sheriffs allowed to gamble?”

  A pair of long, jean-clad legs folded into the plastic chair next to Ryan, accompanied by that voice suited to singing slow, sexy ballads instead of managing a hedge fund. Oh, crap. What was Stella doing, sitting with him? Wednesday bingo was full of curious spies, including the small-but-mighty senior citizen sitting to his right. He kept his focus on his bingo card. “When the Rotary keeps their gambling license current, yeah.”

  “It’s a public service,” Gran interrupted, peering at Stella through her thick glasses. “He supervises me.”

  “Oh,” Stella said cautiously. “You, uh, need help keeping up with the caller?”

  “No. I cheat.” The pink dauber flew across the grid of sixteen bingo cards almost autonomously.

  Ryan ran a finger around the inside of the collar of his plaid shirt and dotted I 22 on the only one of his four cards with the drawn number. Wednesday-night bingo was a tradition for Gran and him. He got to shoot the breeze with town residents, and Gran liked the company. He smirked at her admission. It wasn’t a total exaggeration—she did have a habit of trying to slip the occasional incomplete row past the caller.

  “She can’t be trusted,” he said.

  Stella’s eyes flared, and he half expected her to come at him with an “apple doesn’t fall from the tree” burn.

  He watched her out of the corner of his gaze. “Going to join in?”

  “Uh, yeah.” A small stack of bingo cards fluttered in her hand. “Lach figured we should come join in and say thank-you in person to the organizing committee. It’s lovely of them to put some of the proceeds toward our rebuilding costs. I was going to set up with my family...” Waving a hand at a table across the hall, she trailed off.

  Lachlan had the baby in a carrier strapped to his chest; Marisol sat to his left. Maggie was with Asher, whose daughter must have been busy somewhere else, because the preteen was nowhere to be seen. And Tom Reid finished up the fivesome. Leaving no chair for Stella.

  She lifted her chin a little, gaze fixed on the caller.

  “Full house tonight,” he murmured apologetically.

  “They’re not used to leaving space for you,” Gran said with a flurry of pink dots.

  Stella pressed her lips together. “I figured that.”

  “Maggie shouldn’t be out,” Gran said. “Looks like she can’t even hold a dauber with all those bandages.”

  “She’s stubborn,” Stella told her.

  Ryan almost snorted. Stubborn? Ran in the family.

  “Good thing your grandfather is home to take up the slack,” Gran said.

  The corners of Stella’s mouth turned down. “That’s why I’m here, too.”

  “Hmmm.” Gran motioned to the table. “Spread your cards out, Stella.”

  His eyebrows flew up and he turned his head to his grandmother so that Stella couldn’t see his incredulity. What was she getting at? With all her “you need to keep your distance” opinions, he’d expected her to shoo Stella away.

  Gran met his silent question with an inscrutable expression. Maybe she figured bingo was platonic enough that the people around them wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

  “You can sit here, get caught up to where we are,” she continued. “With your magic with numbers, you’ll probably beat us all.”

  Stella made four rows of four with the speed of a Vegas poker dealer. “You flatter me, Mrs. Rafferty.”

  “I never flatter, honey. In fact, I have some questions about investments, and Ryan pointed out that you’d be the person to ask.”

  “He did?”

  “I’m not going to waste words by repeating myself. Now, I know your confidence got shook with this whole business problem you’ve run into—”

  “I’m plenty confident. I didn’t do anything wrong,” Stella interrupted. “I’m just the source.”

  Gran stilled. “The source?”

  “Oh, God,” Stella whispered, blanching as white as her sweater. “Forget I said that. Please. I can’t—”

  “Gran won’t say a word,” he promised. “To anyone.”

  “I can keep quiet when I need to. You both should know that.” Gran hummed again, attacking her cards with her dauber. “Will you help me?”

  Stella unscrewed the cap on her purple dauber and efficiently filled in the calls she’d missed on the top row of her grid. “I’d be happy to help you, Mrs. Rafferty. Though I’m really not looking at getting into the personal-investment business.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re in?”

  She shook her head. “Not exactly.” Managing to keep up with current calls, she got the rest of her cards filled in faster than he’d thought possible.

  “You are going to beat us,” he said, nudging her with an elbow.

  She startled and dropped her dauber. It rolled onto the ground.

  They both leaned for it, ending up with faces close and hands fumbling for the plastic marker and almost entwining in the process. Her warm, minty breath caressed his cheek and her hair swayed sideways, brushing his shoulder.

  And those eyes...

  Heat spread low in Ryan’s belly. Ah, damn.

  His fingers closed over the dauber instead of running along her arm and testing the softness of her sweater, like they were clamoring to do. He straightened, passing her the marker.

  She sat up, cheeks pink. “Thanks.”

  He tried to look away, but couldn’t rip his gaze from the thrall of her blue irises.

  She licked her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

  Something twinged inside him, a rusty creak of feelings long dead. And not worth reviving—she was leaving in a week and it would probably be another decade before she returned.

  “Bingo!” Gran cried, waving her card over her head.

  “Beats me every time,” he lamented.

  “No, she didn’t,” Stella said, looking puzzled.

  He took another look at his cards. “Huh?”

  Stella dragged a pink tipped finger diagonally across one of his cards. “You had a bingo on the last call. You missed I 22 on this one. Half a game ago.”

  When you arrived. “Guess my mind was elsewhere.”

  “Uh, right.” Her gaze darted between him and her family. He followed her line of sight to the other table. The Reids were laughing about something. Stella’s siblings looked crazy comfortable with their partners. Romantic little smiles and touches.

  He and Stella had never been content in that “worn-in flannel shirt” way. Sure, they’d shared smiles and a hell of a lot of touches. But they’d been passionate and obsessed and lustful—so many hallmarks of young, doomed love.

  She gathered up her cards, hands rushed and fluttery. “I’ll go see if they’re planning to stay for a second game. Probably time for me to hit the road, though.”

  Good call. So why did something twist in his chest at the thought of her leaving? Hearts must have muscle memory, because there was no logical reason why he’d feel that way.

  “When can we work on that financial advice?” his gran asked Stella.

  “Tomorrow? I could meet you at the bakery for lunch.”

  Gran shook her head. “Too much of a fishbowl. Let’s meet at Ryan’s house.”

  “Ryan’s house,�
�� Stella repeated suspiciously.

  “My house?” he echoed.

  “Well, coming over to the seniors’ home won’t work. I’d be getting questions from my friends for the next week,” Gran said.

  “Ryan’s house it is,” Stella agreed. “See you then.” She nodded and left, heading in the direction of her family.

  Damn it. Stella in his space... Clutching one of his coffee mugs and taking a sip with those sexy as hell lips. Sitting on his couch and leaving wisps of her scent on the microfiber fabric, so that the next time he went to take a nap, he’d be dreaming of holding her.

  He waited until she was on the other side of the room before calling Gran on her nonsense. “How does inviting her over to my place make any sense?”

  She lifted a shoulder.

  “You’re up to something.”

  “You said I got to pry. I figure the more she’s out of her element, the better.”

  “She’s completely out of her element here. Look at her.” He nodded across the room, where Stella was saying goodbye to her family, posture awkward and expression forced-neutral. His heart panged. “She doesn’t fit. Which is a good thing for me.”

  “She won’t let herself fit. Entirely different. The key is figuring out if it would be possible to change her mind.”

  Ryan frowned, hearing the unsaid “and make sure that doesn’t happen” in Gran’s words. “Look, I don’t want Stella affecting my job security any more than you do, but manipulating her is plain wrong.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort.”

  He groaned. Classic Gertie Rafferty. Which is what he hadn’t wanted.

  “Just listen to her financial advice. You’re bored in Sutter Creek, and if you don’t want to take money from the family to do some traveling, then you should figure out how to stretch your own dollars.”

  “Traveling...”

  He caught her looking a little too long at the Reids, specifically in Dr. Tom’s direction. Hmm. Maybe to get her out of his hair, he needed to match her interference with some of his own. “I tell you what. I’ll help you with your fishing expedition.”

  “You will?”

  “On one condition—you accept Tom’s dinner invitation.”