A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  Cool Gus Publishing

  Publishing History Blue Star Books, 2nd Edition, 1st Printed Edition

  Published in the United States of America

  ISBN 9781621250920

  In Too Deep

  RaeAnne Thayne

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright 1997, 2011, 2014 by RaeAnne Thayne

  Chapter 1

  Boring! Boring! Boring!

  The word pounded into Will Tanner's head, in rhythm with the throbbing behind his eyelids, an incessant ache that three maximum-dosage, extra-strength, pain-kicking aspirin and a super-sized soda hadn't been able to roust.

  Throb. Boring. Throb. Boring. Throb. Boring.

  He sighed, more to relieve the tedium than anything else, but his breath didn't even ripple the heavy air inside the dusty patrol vehicle.

  He'd remembered western Wyoming as being beautifully cool in mid-August, a green oasis shaded from the sun by massive mountains and sheltering pines. A place worlds away from the wind-whipped, oppressive furnace of the Phoenix summertime he'd left behind not more than a week ago.

  Somehow, he'd remembered wrong. Oh, sure, there were plenty of mountains around and enough pine trees to supply the world with toothpicks long into eternity. But the heat managed to ooze through their branches, settling on the stagnant air like a triple layer of electric blankets, all turned on high.

  A granddaddy horsefly, drunk either with age or from the heat, buzzed slowly past the steering wheel, then perched on the open window of the vehicle before meandering to the back of Will's neck. He followed it with his eyes and even managed to summon enough energy to try shaking it off. When that didn't work, he lifted his right arm without thinking to swat it away.

  Instant fire roared through his half-healed shoulder, making a mockery of the pain rattling around his head. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow his involuntary moan.

  "Tanner, you're an old man," he told his white-faced reflection in the rearview mirror. "A weak, broken-down, pitiful excuse for a cop..."

  He barely had time to start the familiar litany of curses at his own failings when static suddenly crackled through the Sheriff Department's SUV, jolting Will and sending the elderly fly into insect shock. As he reached for the mike, the fly slammed against the windshield, then slid motionless to the dashboard.

  Hell of a way to go, Will thought, before he pushed the Talk button.

  "Yeah, Shirley. Tanner here. What's up?"

  The static swallowed up his brand-new dispatcher's first words, but he heard, "... nothing much going on here, Sheriff, so I thought I'd head over to the fabric store, see if LuDene's got some of that blue cotton twill I was telling you about for my daughter's quilt. You in the middle of somethin', or can I switch any calls to your cell phone for the rest of the afternoon? Over."

  He sighed again and stuck his head out the window, scanning the road ahead for some sign of action in the endless empty miles, then checking behind him. Not so much as a dust devil quaked the leaves of the aspen all around him.

  "No, nothing's happening here. Shop your heart out."

  "Thanks, Sheriff. Don't work too hard." He could hear her guffawing loudly in the background.

  Don't work too hard. Right. In the four days since he'd been acting sheriff of Whiskey Creek, he had yet to deal with anything more troublesome than a couple of head of wayward cattle who'd knocked down a fence and stirred up a bit of trouble with some traffic. It was about as far from Phoenix as a pickle was from a jalapeno pepper.

  Too much time to think, that's what he hated the most. Too damn much time to tally up all that was wrong with his life, all the stupid, tragic mistakes that had led him right here.

  A late-model minivan passed his hiding place, his SUV tucked behind a fortuitous clump of willows, and he idly aimed his radar gun at it. They weren't even going fast enough to create a breeze, he guessed, and shook his head at the reading. Forty-five in a fifty-five-mile-an-hour zone. Why didn't that surprise him? The only thing moving in the whole damn county were those hell-raising cows.

  A few minutes later he saw a pickup heading toward him from the south, and the first thing he noticed about the truck was its paint job, a grimy collage of rust spots, neon pink paint, and dull gray primer.

  The second thing was its speed. It rumbled past him faster than an angry bull. Will immediately shifted into gear and punched the accelerator of the SUV, squealing rubber and spewing gravel as he rocketed onto the highway, blue and red lights flashing and his adrenaline pumping for the first time in months.

  The grand chase was over almost before it began. As soon as the driver glimpsed his lights, the battered pickup was obediently pulled to the side of the road. Hell, he thought. The first time in four days he felt like more than a windbreak, and he didn't even get a chance to kick up a little dust.

  Still, instinct and bitter experience lent caution to his actions as he left the patrol vehicle and carefully approached the driver's side of the pickup. He slipped his sunglasses into the breast pocket of his uniform and, one hand resting over his Glock, took quick notice of every identifying detail of the truck.

  The license plate—Wyoming LC4506.

  The make—an ancient Chevy, probably late fifties, early sixties.

  One bumper sticker: Think Globally, Act Locally.

  The door suddenly flew open, and Will had a swift impression of bare arms and legs.

  "Stay where you are!" he commanded, his harsh words echoing in the motionless air. The figure half out of the truck started to climb back in. "I said, stay where you are," he barked again, commanding instant obedience.

  "Now, climb out real slow. Keep your hands where I can see them."

  A husky laugh wafted across the heat waves shimmering off the pavement, but seconds later a woman in khaki shorts and a maroon T-shirt hopped to the ground, waving her hands dramatically.

  "You caught me, Sheriff. I was just about to head for the border with my illegal load of manure, but you've spoiled all my dastardly plans." She had a whiskey-rich voice, this speeder of his, Will thought, even as he tried to ignore the glimmer of masculine interest the combination of a sexy voice and bare limbs ignited in him.

  "Do you know how fast you were traveling, ma'am?" he asked instead.

  She laughed again, sending another trickle of awareness sneaking through him. "You can take your hand off your weapon there, Sheriff Tanner. Trust me, I won't try to wrestle you to the ground for it." She held up three fingers. "Scouts' honor."

  She was far from a Boy Scout. No bigger than five foot three, she was slim but not scrawny. Thick shoulder-length dark hair curled around her face, and deep green eyes glimmered with laughter. A fine layer of dust coated tanned skin, in stark contrast to both the delicateness of her features and the three tiny diamonds glittering in each of her ears.

  "And, to answer your question," she went on, "no, I don't have any idea how fast I was going. The speedometer in the Beast has never worked, at least not in my lifetime."

  "Which is all of, what, eighteen years?" he asked before he could stop himself. Damn, he felt old
next to all her bubbling energy.

  The woman just laughed once more. "Aren't you a sweetheart? And you've got such a reputation for being a grouch too!" She extended a sun-kissed hand to him. "I'm Andrea McPhee, and last month I had thirty-two whole candles on my birthday cake."

  Before he could stop himself, he was reaching for her hand, feeling an odd mix of calluses and softness. It unnerved him, and if there was one thing he hated, it was being unnerved.

  "Will Tanner." He introduced himself gruffly, snatching his hand back.

  "I know who you are." Andrea McPhee smiled winsomely at him. "Sheriff William Charles Tanner, thirty-six, father of Emily who's eleven going on twenty-five, I understand. You're a native Wyomingite, from over near Star Valley way, who hasn't been back in years. You have a master's degree in criminology and are on loan from the Phoenix vice squad while you recuperate from a 'job-related injury,' a polite way of saying a nasty gunshot wound. As far as anyone can tell, you don't have any hobbies, at least you haven't for the past few years."

  She paused in the recitation as Will felt fury growling to life inside him.

  "You really should learn to relax, Sheriff," she continued, "or you're going to have a heart attack just like your predecessor."

  "How do you know all that about me? Does the whole damn county know my life story?"

  She laughed again. And again, it slid down his spine like a silky caress, despite his anger at having his life so exposed.

  "Simmer down, Sheriff. Your secrets are safe. I'm good friends with your sister. Beth has been raving about her wonderful older brother since the day I met her, and..."

  Her voice trailed off, and she gave him a hard look. "Should you be standing out here in the sun, in your condition?" Even as she spoke, she was leading him to the shade of a huge pine that flanked the road.

  He didn't even realize he'd followed her like a puppy after a bone until he felt a welcome breeze drift across his sweat-soaked skin.

  "Yeah," he said stubbornly, and headed toward his vehicle, leaving the blessed coolness behind. "In the sun is exactly where I should be, especially when I'm giving tickets to nosy people who apparently think they're above the law."

  He sounded childish and it made him even angrier, but he forced himself to calmly grab his clipboard and a pen out of the SUV. He turned back to face her truck just in time to find her half inside it, reaching across the seat.

  Will nearly dropped the clipboard in the dust.

  The khaki shorts, which had looked perfectly modest when she was standing in front of him, now rode up the backs of her thighs as she bent over, making her tanned, shapely legs look about a mile long. He swallowed hard against a suddenly parched throat and ordered himself to look away.

  When was the last time he'd responded so physically to a woman? Months? Years? Ever?

  "At least let me get you something to drink while you're writing up my ticket," she called from inside the truck, her voice muffled.

  "Your license and registration would be sufficient."

  Even though he tried hard not to look at her, he was aware of her backing out, holding two sodas. Ice chips clung to the shiny aluminum, and little beads of condensation gleamed in the harsh sun. The can she was holding out to him was the most enticing thing he'd ever seen, next to the delicious woman herself.

  If his years of police work had given him anything beyond bone-deep cynicism and weary resignation, it was a healthy dislike of things he couldn't control. The murky hell of the past three years had done nothing to ease that. Why, then, was he letting her creep beneath his skin?

  "Here, take it," she urged, moving closer to him. She smelled of lavender and woman, and Will forgot to breathe. "You can't be too careful in this heat, especially when you're already fighting your injuries."

  "I'm not some damn invalid," he snapped, backing away from her, trying to return to some semblance of a comfort zone. "And you're not my friggin' babysitter, lady."

  "If I were, I'd wash your mouth out with soap and make you sit in the corner until you stopped acting like a five-year-old," she snapped back. "It's not going to kill you to take a little drink."

  "Back off."

  She shrugged. "Fine. Be that way." To his dismay, she opened one of the cans and put it to her mouth, exposing a long, graceful neck as she tilted her head back to drink. He suddenly wanted a taste so badly he could almost feel the cool liquid bubbling down his throat, but he'd rather be staked out naked on an anthill than ask her for it.

  "Sure you don't want some?" She held the other can out.

  Will growled. "Is there any other way to shut you up, so I can do my job?"

  She shook her head, and he sighed. He snatched the can from the woman, jerked it open, and took a long drink as if he'd, indeed, been staked out in the scorching sun for the last three months.

  "You're welcome," she said sweetly.

  Guilt assailed him. She'd done nothing to deserve his miserable mood. It certainly wasn't her fault she'd somehow managed in only a few minutes to thaw nerve endings he'd thought permanently frozen.

  "Sorry," he muttered. "Thank you."

  "Rough day?" she asked.

  He fingered the soda. "I'm just having a tough time getting used to all this... nothing... again."

  She laughed, low and genuine. "I know, it can be a bit overwhelming. The first winter I moved here from St. Louis I nearly went stir-crazy from the slow pace. Now I get that same edgy, out-of-control feeling whenever I go back to the city to visit. Odd how a few years can change you so much."

  Yeah, well, he wouldn't be here that long, Will thought, swallowing the last of his drink. Just a few months and he'd be back in the middle of it all.

  With that in mind, he set the can on the hood of her truck and finished documenting her ticket.

  "Here you go, ma'am." He handed her a copy of the citation. "See that you fix your speedometer. You wouldn't want to plow into any stray cattle going that fast."

  She laughed and tucked the ticket into the pocket of her T-shirt, then tossed his can into her truck before climbing in after it. He forced himself to look away until she was settled on the high seat.

  "Okay, Sheriff. I'll be sure to do that. Nice meeting you."

  He nodded and walked back to his brown-and-white SUV.

  Andie watched him go in her side-view mirror, releasing a shaky sigh and swatting a wayward strand of hair away from her face.

  "Oh, Beth," she said out loud. "The things you conveniently forgot to mention about your dear big brother could fill a book."

  She glanced in the mirror again as she buckled her seat belt and worked the Beast's gear shift into neutral so she could start it. The new sheriff stood beside his patrol vehicle, one foot perched on the fender while he filled out paperwork, using his jeans-clad knee for a desk.

  He must not have realized she was looking at him, because he paused to massage his right shoulder with his left hand, a grimace tightening those hard, sharp features. Sunlight glinted off his thick brown hair, and she could see traces of auburn and a few almost-hidden sprinkles of silver.

  Tall, with a rangy cowboy's build—all shoulders and lean hips—he was rough and male. And very, very appealing.

  "Scratch that, Beth," Andie went on. "The things you conveniently forgot to tell me about your dear big brother could fill the whole blasted Library of Congress."

  It was his eyes, though—the silvery gray of a wolf's sleek winter pelt—that were so compelling. He'd tried to hide it, but she'd been able to see the bruised pain in them, the irresistible look of a battered and wounded soldier.

  Irresistible to some women, she reminded herself as she drove away. Not to her. Never to her. She had enough causes in her life.

  She had absolutely nothing left to offer a man who looked like he desperately wanted rescuing but would snap out like an injured bear if someone were foolhardy enough to offer a helping hand.

  The thought unaccountably depressed her, but Andie shrugged it off as she travele
d the last few miles to her ranch. Instead, she turned her attention to the million things she had to do before she could hit her pillow that night.

  The phone was ringing as she slid out of the truck. She could hear it from the open kitchen window, even over the combined babble of one goat, two dogs, five cats, and a dozen chickens trying to grab her attention.

  "Just a sec, guys." She laughed as she tried to make it to the door through the throng of animal bodies without stepping on any tails or tail feathers.

  Just before she reached the phone, Andie paused. Would it be her friendly little breather again? she wondered as a tiny chill of fear crept across her skin. The one who had been calling regularly for the past few months, whispering threats and dark promises for a "busybody little schoolteacher"?

  She had absolutely no intention of running like a scared mouse every time the phone rang, she told herself, and picked up the receiver.

  "Andie, I've been trying to call you for hours," the voice on the other end said. "I was just about to drive over to see if you were up to your elbows in dirt out in the garden and couldn't hear the phone."

  Andie dropped her packages and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs with more relief than she cared to admit. An image of silver-gray eyes flashed through her mind as she greeted the new sheriff’s sister.

  "Hi, Beth. How's my favorite mother-to-be?"

  "Big as a barn," her friend responded cheerfully. "And about ready to climb the walls of that big ol' red one outside. You sure I can't come back to work?"

  "Absolutely not. As much as I need my assistant director, you don't need to be dealing with thirty rambunctious preschoolers right now."

  "Well, Jace won't let me so much as hang a picture. He's driving me nuts, Andie. If I didn't have Emily over here, I'd have been out in my own garden, but I'm afraid she'd take great delight in getting me in trouble by tattling on me."