by Katie Lane
His upstairs bedroom was messier than downstairs. Jeans and boxer briefs littered the floor and the huge king-sized bed was unmade. Obviously, he was only fussy about his job, and she had to wonder how hard it was for him to be so meticulous at work when it obviously wasn’t his nature.
“Do you need me to help you get into your pajamas?” she asked, when he sat down on the bed and tugged off his boots.
“No. You can leave now.”
She probably should’ve left. But instead she went down to the kitchen and made him some tea. While she was heating the water, Joanna Daily came in the back door with Sherlock. Ms. Marble followed behind. Joanna looked surprised to see Spring; Ms. Marble not at all. In fact, her aging blue eyes twinkled.
Just so the woman didn’t get the wrong idea, Spring quickly explained. “Waylon came down with the flu. I’m just making him some hot tea before I leave.”
“Oh no,” Joanna said as she took off Sherlock’s leash. “I hope it’s not the same virus that Emmett caught. It only lasts twenty-four hours, but he was miserable for every second of that time.”
Spring scratched Sherlock’s ears. “Waylon is pretty miserable. I’m wondering if I should take him to the doctor.”
“I took Emmett, and it was a waste of time. There was nothing the doctor could do. If it’s the same virus, it just has to run its course.”
“That’s nice to hear. I was worried about leaving Waylon by himself.”
“Oh, you can’t leave Waylon by himself, Spring,’” Ms. Marble said. “You’ll need to stay right here and keep an eye on him.”
“I don’t think she needs—” Joanna started, but Ms. Marble cut her off.
“Now, Jo, you said yourself how miserable Emmett was and how much care he needed. We can’t leave our sheriff to take care of himself. Not when he works so hard to take care of this entire town.” Ms. Marble sent Joanna a pointed look from beneath her wide sun hat. Having grown up with sisters, Spring knew that look. It was a don’t-argue-just-go-along-with-me look. Joanna read it immediately.
“You’re right, Maybelline. We certainly couldn’t do that.” She looked at Spring. “I would volunteer to look after the sheriff, but I’m afraid I’m swamped with everything that still needs to be done for the spring dance.”
“And I have five dozen cupcakes to make for Noel Thurman’s son’s birthday party tomorrow,” Ms. Marble said. “But I’ll be happy to stop by in the morning and relieve you, Spring.”
Spring’s eyes widened. “Relieve me? I’m not staying the night here.”
Ms. Marble’s face got the stern teacher look she used whenever she wanted someone to do something. The look could make you crumble in a hurry. “I’m afraid you have to. You’re Waylon’s assistant. And he needs assistance right now.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’ll bring some of my cinnamon swirl muffins in the morning.”
Joanna moved to the door. “And I’ll run over to the house and get some NyQuil. It was the only thing that helped Emmett sleep and brought down his fever.”
“Good idea, Jo,” Ms. Marble said. “Men are much better patients when they’re drugged.” She patted Spring’s shoulder. “Don’t look so nervous, dear. All you have to do is keep an eye on him. Waylon has always been a man who can be trusted to behave like a gentleman.”
Spring knew the two were matchmaking, but they were also right. She couldn’t leave Waylon alone. If she did, she’d be worried about him all night.
After Joanna and Ms. Marble left, she finished making Waylon’s tea. Before she could take it up to him, Joanna came back with the medicine.
“Just use the little cup on the lid to measure out the correct dosage. We don’t want to overdose our sheriff.”
Spring thanked her, and once she was gone, took the medicine and tea upstairs. When she got to Waylon’s room, he was sound asleep. So she left the tea and medicine on his nightstand and quietly closed the door.
She used the new cellphone she’d bought with her first paycheck to call Tucker and make sure everything was okay at the office. When she informed him that neither she nor the sheriff would be in to work in the morning, Tucker reacted like an overeager puppy.
“You tell the sheriff not to worry about a thing. Tucker Riddell has got everything under control.”
After calling Tucker, she called Gracie and let her know that she couldn’t make it to dinner because she was working late. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Like Ms. Marble said, she was assisting the sheriff. She just didn’t think that her brother would be happy about her assisting Waylon in his house overnight. She wasn’t exactly happy about it either.
At least, she wasn’t to begin with. But then she discovered the room in the attic with the overstuffed couch and the shelves and shelves of books. Spring loved to read and hadn’t had much time since starting Seasons with her sisters. She scanned the titles on the shelves, and when she found Alice in Wonderland, she pulled it out and settled down on the couch to read. She got so lost in the story that she paid no attention to the time until the room filled with the first purple of twilight.
She put down the book and went down the stairs to check on Waylon. He was still sleeping. Although it looked like he had been awake. The tea was gone . . . and so was the bottle of NyQuil. She was sure it had been half full when Joanna had brought it over. She remembered Joanna’s parting words and couldn’t help freaking out. It would not look good on her resume if the sheriff died from a drug overdose on her watch.
She hurried to the bed. “Sheriff Kendall?” When he didn’t move, she reached out and touched his shoulder. It was cool to the touch. Which worried her even more. Didn’t people lose all body heat when they died? She tried to shake him, but it was like trying to shake an oak tree. Her voice got louder and more panicked. “Waylon, wake up. Come on now. Just for a second. Just until I make sure that you’re in the land of the living.”
When he didn’t respond, she sat down on the bed and pulled back the sheet from his shoulders. She might’ve stopped to admire the smooth muscled beauty of his naked chest if she hadn’t been so concerned. When she saw the slight rise and fall of his breathing, she said a prayer of thanks that he wasn’t dead. Still, she wouldn’t be happy until he opened his eyes and spoke to her.
“Waylon.” She leaned over him and gently tapped his stubbled jaw “Wake up. Please wake up.” He didn’t open his eyes, and her tapping became a little more frantic until she finally just hauled off and slapped him. The sound of her palm hitting his cheek resounded in the twilight-lit room like a firecracker. His eyes finally slid open.
They stared back at her, unfocused and feverish. “Spring?”
She sagged with relief, resting her forehead on his chest. “You scared me.”
He spoke in a husky voice that vibrated through her. “You scare me.” Before she could figure out what he meant, his fingers slid through her hair and lifted her head. She got a glimpse of molten green eyes before he covered her mouth with his lips.
She was stunned. Not just that he’d kissed her, but by the way he kissed her. He didn’t kiss like she’d thought a strait-laced sheriff would kiss. He followed no rules as his lips hungrily slid over hers. The inside of his mouth was hot and wet and his tongue teasing and seductive as he took a deep, thorough taste. When she finally found the strength to pull away, she was feeling like she’d drunk half a bottle of cold medicine.
“You kissed me.” It was the dumbest thing she’d ever said in her life. But before her cheeks could fill with heat, Waylon’s eyes closed. A few seconds later, he started to snore. Not a little snore, but a big, rumbling snore like a bear in hibernation.
She sat back and tried to catch her breath and reason with herself. The kiss meant nothing. Waylon hadn’t been in his right mind. He probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.
But Spring would.
Spring would remember that kiss for the rest of her life.
Chapter Twelve
The ringing of hi
s phone pulled Waylon out of a deep sleep. He groggily reached for the nightstand, but his phone wasn’t there. By the time he opened his eyes to the pinkish rays of dawn, the ringing had stopped. It started back up again only seconds later. He sat up and glanced around. The ring was coming from his shirt on the floor. He got up and took the phone from the pocket, then glanced at the caller ID before he answered.
“Good morning, Mom.”
“It’s good to know that my oldest son is alive and well.”
He stretched the muscles in his shoulders. “A little achy, but much better than I was yesterday.”
“That’s what a little bed rest will do for you. You should be thankful your assistant called me when she did.”
He scowled as he walked into the bathroom. Spring had no business calling his mother—something he intended to get straight with her as soon as he got into the office this morning.
“She sounded like such a sweet girl on the phone,” his mom continued. “And I’m thrilled you have someone to help you while Gail’s gone.” She paused. “Especially a pretty, young, single woman.”
He knew where this was going. “No, Mother.”
“No, what?”
“No, I’m not going to date my assistant. Not only is Spring not my type, interoffice dating is against office policy.” He turned on the shower and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink. He looked like crap. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face a sickly pale . . . except for the red marks on the left side of his jaw. He squinted and leaned closer to the mirror. The pillow creases almost looked like a handprint.
“Well, all I can say is it’s a relief to know someone is looking after you.”
He rubbed the pillow creases. “I’m a big boy, Mom. I don’t need looking after.”
“Everyone needs someone to look out for them. And since your father and I aren’t there, I worry. It would be so nice if you could find someone special like your brothers did. What about online dating? Melanie Hartman’s son found the love of his life that way.”
Waylon hadn’t told his mom about joining the online dating site. He didn’t want her calling him every day asking if he’d found a wife. He wasn’t looking for a wife. He was just looking for woman who looked at him as a man, instead of as Sheriff Kendall. And surprisingly, he might’ve found one.
Lynn was one of the first women to send him a “hug.” They had been messaging back and forth for the last week and seemed to have a lot of things in common. She was a business owner who was as devoted to her job as he was. She came from a close-knit family that could sometimes be a little too close-knit. She was addicted to coffee and loved dogs—her profile picture was of a cute black Labrador. And best of all, she lived completely out of his jurisdiction. They hadn’t set a date to meet yet, but Waylon planned to ask her soon.
“Stop worrying about my love life, Mom,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“You’d be even finer if you found someone to care for.”
“I have someone to care for. In fact, I have an entire town of someones to care for. Speaking of which, I need to take a shower and get to work. I’ll call you later.”
He hung up and got in the shower. The heat helped ease his aching muscles, and by the time he got out, he felt more like himself. He walked out of the bathroom and noticed that Sherlock wasn’t in his dog bed. Which meant that Joanna Daily had come early to walk him. He felt bad about leaving his neighbor to always walk his dog, so he got dressed quickly, thinking he’d catch up to her and take over.
But as he was pulling on his boots, he heard singing. And it wasn’t Joanna Daily’s voice. It was the same voice that came from his receptionist’s area every day. Spring was one of those people who burst out in song for no reason whatsoever. Obviously, she’d come over this morning to check on him. He could only hope that she’d brought coffee. His head still felt a little fuzzy, and he could use some caffeine to get focused.
When he stepped out of his room, he realized that the singing wasn’t coming from downstairs. It was coming from down the hallway. Confused, he followed the sound to the guest bathroom. What the hell was Spring doing in his bathroom? He knocked on the door repeatedly, and when she didn’t answer, he turned the knob and peeked in.
She was sitting in the claw foot tub with her back to him and one leg pointed up at the ceiling as she lathered it with soap. A pair of hot pink ear buds sprouted from her ears, the cord trailing to her phone, which sat on the floor next to the dog. Sherlock opened one bloodshot eye and looked at Waylon before he closed it and went back to sleep. Waylon let his gaze wander over that long, water-slick leg and her pale soft-looking shoulders before he closed the door.
He stood there for a moment and allowed his breathing to return to normal, then he turned and headed to the spare bedroom. The bed covers were mussed, and the clothes Spring had worn the day before were scattered on the floor. He leaned down and picked up a pair of pink panties that were not much bigger than a postage stamp. He was rubbing the satiny material between his fingers when Ms. Marble’s voice caused him to freeze.
“Good morning.”
Waylon dropped the panties and turned to find the older woman standing in the doorway. She wasn’t wearing her usual big sunbonnet, but she was wearing a knowing smile.
“I knocked on the back door,” she said, “but I guess you couldn’t hear me with all the singing going on.” She glanced down at Spring’s panties. “I see you had an overnight guest.”
“No!” He spoke the word much louder than he intended. Ms. Marble’s eyebrows shot up, and he quickly amended the lie. “I mean, it’s not how it looks. I was sick, and I didn’t even know she had stayed the night until this morning when I walked in on her—” He cut off and his face heated.
Ms. Marble studied him like she’d done when he was in first grade and trying to get away with something. “Come down into the kitchen, Waylon, and I’ll make you some coffee. You look like you could use some.” She turned and headed down the stairs. Waylon followed like a naughty schoolboy who had just been caught tugging a little girl’s braids.
In the kitchen, he started to help make the coffee, but Ms. Marble shook her head and pointed to a chair. “I’ll get it. If I remember correctly, you make the worst coffee on both sides of the Pecos.”
Once they were seated at the big oak table with their cups of coffee and a plate of cinnamon swirl muffins, Ms. Marble pinned him with her intense eyes. “I know why Spring is here, Waylon. Jo and I didn’t think you should be alone when you were so sick. And since we were both busy, we asked Spring to stay and keep an eye on you. I’m surprised she didn’t explain everything last night.”
“I was a little out of it last night.” He suddenly remembered waking up with a splitting headache and drinking the NyQuil. He had just assumed that Spring had put it there before she left. But she hadn’t left. She’d slept in his guest room and taken a bath in his tub . . . naked. He pushed the thought of soft shoulders and one mile-long sudsy leg out of his mind and cleared his throat.
“You shouldn’t have asked her to stay,” he said. “It’s not proper.”
Ms. Marble stared at him. “Proper?”
“It doesn’t look good. Which is why it would be best if you and Joanna didn’t tell anyone Spring stayed the night. I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
Ms. Marble set down her cup. “Maybe it’s time people got the wrong idea, Waylon.”
“Excuse me?”
Her steel blue eyes pierced right through him. “The transition from deputy to sheriff has been a tough one for you, hasn’t it?”
He wanted to deny it and act like it was no big deal, but he had never been able to lie to Ms. Marble. “My father left big shoes to fill.”
“Then why try to fill them?” She reached out and patted his hand. “Your father was a wonderful sheriff, and this town loved him. We still do. But your father isn’t our sheriff anymore, Waylon. You are. And we didn’t vote you in to fill your father’s shoes. W
e voted you in to fill your own. You need to figure out how you want to sheriff this town. You don’t need to figure out how your father did.”
He was so taken aback it took him a while to reply. “But being tough and respected was how he kept this town safe.”
“I’m not telling you that there won’t be times that you need to be tough. But there are also times you need to—how do young people say it—lighten up. Not only with the people of this town, but also with yourself. It’s no one’s business who stays the night with you. Or why they stay the night. Unless you’re doing something illegal, you have a right to your own private life. You have a right to have a beer at the Watering Hole.” Her eyes twinkled. “Or have a young woman spend the night. Bliss isn’t just the place you work. It’s your home.”
Before he could reply, she got to her feet. “Now I need to be going. Carly is still struggling with her morning sickness so I promised her I’d help out in the mornings at the diner.” As she was putting on her hat, Sherlock came into the room. She gave the dog a pat on the head before she walked out the door.
When Ms. Marble was gone, Waylon just sat there trying to process what she’d said. Was she right? Was he so busy trying to fill his father’s shoes that he’d lost himself? The feel of Sherlock’s wet nose on his hand pulled him out of his musings. He scratched the dog’s ears then got up to get him breakfast. He was bent over pouring dog food in Sherlock’s bowl when he noticed Spring standing in the doorway. She was dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the day before. Her short hair was damp and her face flushed. The image of her in the bathtub popped into his mind, and his face filled with heat . . . along with the rest of his body.
He looked away and finished filling Sherlock’s bowl. “Good morning.” When she didn’t reply, he glanced back to find her still standing there, fidgeting with the wrinkled skirt of her dress. Since Spring had never acted hesitant and shy before, he was immediately wary.
