His Holiday Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “That and you’re the only officer around, so you get to answer all the emergency calls. Even in the middle of the night. Did he tell you that?”

  “I heard a fleeting mention. The mayor made it sound like it was no big deal. Do emergency calls come in a lot around here?”

  “I have no idea.” She dismounted with a creak of the saddle and the thud of her boots on the road. Couldn’t be more than five foot three, he decided. She stood a full foot shorter than he did.

  “Is there anything else I should know? Wait. Maybe I don’t want to hear it. Maybe next you’ll be telling me Miller’s rental house is really a henhouse.” Couldn’t say why he felt the need to tease another smile from her, but he did.

  “No, but it is a barn.”

  “What?” He’d only been joking. His pulse screeched to a stop. A barn? He’d trusted the real estate agent, who was the mayor’s wife. “That’s what I get for renting sight unseen.”

  “You figured you could trust us honest country folk, right?” Her hazel eyes, an amazing combination of browns, greens and golds twinkled like veiled trouble.

  He didn’t think she was laughing at him, but she was having fun with him. He had the feeling he wasn’t the first city boy who’d come to these parts and had decided to banter with the pretty cowgirl. Very pretty, he corrected. So pretty that he’d like to get to know her more.

  “Living in a barn won’t be so bad.” She turned to her saddle pack and dug through the leather bag. “Think of it this way. Because of all the animals, you will always have company. You’ll get the full country experience. Plus, you won’t have to pack water far at all, since there’s an outside pump nearby.”

  “Pump?” That didn’t sound like the place had indoor plumbing. “Are you serious? No, you’re kidding me.”

  “You read all those Westerns. You ought to know about ranch life.” She handed him a roll of duct tape. “It’s probably illegal to drive without a functioning side-view mirror. Good luck, Sheriff.”

  “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

  “Nope. I’m busy tonight.” That was an urban dude for you, always eager to play the dating game.

  “Any night, then. How about Friday?”

  “Can’t. Busy then, too.” She swung into the saddle, settled into the stirrups and considered the man leaning against the side of his four-wheel-drive. He was trying to look suave while clutching a roll of tape and standing next to a dangling mirror. The cows had not been kind to the vehicle. “Here’s a hint. Country girls aren’t dumb or easy. Have a good evening.”

  “I never thought—”

  She pressed her heels to Aggie’s side and the mare took of, eager for the day to be over, too. Autumn tipped her hat as they raced by. This wasn’t her first experience with a city sheriff come to town.

  I don’t know about that guy, she told herself, leaning forward in her saddle as Aggie’s gait changed to a canter. Sheriff Ford Sherman might not be Denny Jones, but he may as well be.

  The drum of Aggie’s steel shoes became pleasant music to match the wind whistling in her ears as they raced home.

  Chapter Two

  A barn? Not only was Ford surprised to learn the tractor guy was his landlord, but his new dwelling was a barn. Imagine that. The pretty cowgirl hadn’t been pulling his leg after all.

  “Ought to have everything you need,” Jeremy Miller was saying as he paced across the bars of sunshine from the front window and dropped the keys on the windowsill. “Except furniture. You got a truck coming? If not, I could put in a call to the furniture store over in Sunshine. It’s the closest big town around until you hit Jackson.”

  “I’ve got a moving truck coming with my stuff.”

  “Good luck with that.” Jeremy tipped his Stetson and lumbered toward the open door where a fly buzzed in. “Took the liberty of getting the phone company out here to set you up. Should be here day after tomorrow. My cousin works for the company and squeezed you in.”

  “That was thoughtful of you, Jeremy. Thanks.”

  “No problem. Least I can do for the new sheriff. Just do me a favor, will ya?” Miller halted on the porch. “Give me some notice before you bolt.”

  “Bolt?” Like leave?

  “When you’ve had enough of small town life. It’ll happen, don’t you worry. You’re not the first sheriff I’ve rented to.”

  That didn’t bode well. What was wrong with the job he didn’t know about? Learning from Autumn Granger that maybe the emergency calls came in more often than he’d been led to believe had thrown him. Maybe he’d made a mistake burning the bridges of his old life to come here.

  I hope this isn’t one of those impulsive decisions I live to regret, Lord.

  “Give me a call if you need anything.” Jeremy bobbed his head in a single nod—a gesture of goodbye, country style.

  Ford did the same, his movements echoing in the wide open space of the living area. Outside the slam of a truck’s door ricocheted like a bullet through the quiet and a pickup’s motor turned over and rumbled away.

  Alone in his new place, he paced across the high-gloss oak floor and stared out the bay window. The horse barn had been totally remodeled with sedate gray siding, white trim, ivory walls and indoor plumbing. He batted at the lone fly, smiling as he thought of Autumn Granger. He did not know what to think about the woman, but he liked her. Hard not to like a gal who carried a holstered .45 at her hip and a lasso on her saddle.

  Granddad would have loved seeing all this. Ford frowned, shaking his head. Too bad he hadn’t made this change earlier, when his grandfather had been alive and he’d been more optimistic about his life.

  Regrets. He shrugged them off. A pack of cows was grazing out beyond the small patch of lawn behind red posts and three skinny strands of barbed wire. He saw one of them eyeing his Jeep and hoped to high heaven those animals didn’t get out and gnaw something else off the poor vehicle. One of the first things on his list would be to drop by the feed store for treats. Without them, he feared the Jeep wouldn’t last long.

  His stomach rumbled. That got him thinking about dinner. Maybe he would mosey down the street and see what he could rustle up.

  “WHAT ARE YOU still doing here?”

  “Good question.” Autumn leaped over the last two stairs, landed in the kitchen and grabbed her purse off the table by the back door. She tossed a grin at Rori, her friend, the family’s temporary housekeeper and her older brother’s fiancée. “I’m about an hour late. My friends are going to disown me.”

  “You? Never.” Rori hefted a big pan of pasta over the sink and upended it. Water and noodles tumbled into a steel colander. “Have fun.”

  “I intend to.” For a change. First it had been calving and foaling season, then it had been harvest and hay. “The last time I had a free night in town it was February.”

  “The life of a rancher. Why exactly did you want to do this for a living?”

  “No idea. Must have been out of my mind.” She found her truck keys in a drawer, wished Rori a good night and flew out the door.

  “Whoa there, little lady.” Her dad, Frank Granger, caught her before she charged into him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “It’s my night off, remember?”

  “I didn’t know you were allowed one of those.” He chuckled. That was her dad, Mr. Humor.

  “Ha, ha. I won’t be out too late, but don’t wait up.” She danced around him, skipping down the porch steps, two at a time.

  “You’ve got a four-thirty wake-up call, girl.”

  “I know!” As if she could forget. She’d been waking up that early as long as she could remember. Really. Dad must think he was hilarious. She could be a comedian, too. “Hey, guess who I’m giving a riding lesson to on Saturday?”

  “Uh, are you still doing that?” Frank swept off his Stetson. Something passed across his rugged face that looked a lot like interest.

  Yeah, that’s just what she’d thought. She kept going, running backwards. �
��Cady Winslow. The nice lady new to town who bought one of my horses? You remember her, right?”

  “I suppose.” He cast his gaze down, as if looking at some trouble with one of the porch boards.

  Good way to hide his interest, but she wasn’t fooled. She tripped along the concrete path. “You could drop by the arena tomorrow if you want. Hang around. Offer some advice.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got it covered.” A faint blush crept high on his face. “Have a good time tonight, darlin’.”

  “Sure.” That was the problem with men in this family. They didn’t give much away. They acted as if real feelings were something to be wrestled down and extinguished.

  “Autumn, you know we’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Her older brother Justin called out as he slipped between the fence boards. “Don’t be too late.”

  “Late is the story of my life.” The dinner bell on the back porch clanged, signaling the time as she hauled open the garage door. Six o’clock. Late, late, late. Her friends were used to it. She’d been leaving them to order for her for years.

  She jammed the key into the ignition, turned over the engine and took the driveway as fast as she dared. Gravel crunched beneath the tires and dust rose up in her back trail, blocking all views of the pretty two-story ranch house tucked between the orchard and a copse of aspen.

  The second she hit the county road, images of the new sheriff dogged her. His wide-shouldered stance. The dimples bracketing his grin. Confidence beaming from him like the sun from above. Gorgeous. She was a total softy when it came to a man with dimples and big baby blues. A sign she couldn’t give this man an inch. She gave the truck a little more juice, ignored the posted speed limit by a few miles per hour and kept an eye out for wildlife and livestock.

  The trick was to keep the to-die-for new sheriff out of her mind. She glanced at the dashboard clock—eight minutes after six. Yikes. A hawk swooped low in the road in front of the truck. She hit the brakes to miss it. The creature sailed away, and in that unguarded moment her thoughts returned to Ford Sherman. She would never forget the look on his face when he realized the cows were destroying his Jeep. That’s something you don’t get in a Western movie, she thought.

  If only she could have witnessed the look on his face when he saw his remodeled barn. That would have been priceless. No doubt he was mighty relieved to discover he had indoor plumbing and not a single barnyard animal sharing his living quarters.

  The radio blared, and Christian country songs accompanied her all the way to town. She skidded into a spot in front of the diner, leaped out of her truck and hit the ground running. After she popped through the front door and glanced at the clock behind the till, she wanted to pump her fist in the air. She’d shaved two minutes off her drive time.

  “There she is.” Merritt waved from a booth halfway down the long stretch of front window. “I can’t believe my eyes. She’s here almost on time.”

  “Before we had to order for her.” Caroline twisted around to wave, too. “Glad you could make it. We figured you got held up on the ranch.”

  “Broken fence line, escaped cattle, met the new sheriff. I didn’t think I would make it, but Scotty offered to take care of Aggie for me.” Bless their best hired man. She dropped into the booth beside Caroline. “Otherwise, I’d still be in the stables. How have you been?”

  “Let’s go back to the part about you meeting the new sheriff.” Merritt flipped a lock of brown hair over her shoulder and leaned one elbow on the table. “So, spill. Is he young or old?”

  “Cute or ugly?” Caroline took a sip of soda.

  “He’s somewhere in this thirties.” She grabbed the laminated menu and flipped it open. “Not too ugly, I guess.”

  “Well, he at least sounds promising—” Merritt fell silent, her sentence unfinished. Her eyes rounded.

  A battered roll of duct tape landed on the edge of the table, held in place by a sun-browned hand. The hand was attached to a muscled arm, and she didn’t have to look farther to know who belonged to that arm. Ford Sherman.

  “Not too ugly?” His baritone warmed with amusement.

  Okay, not the most comfortable situation she’d ever been in. Good going, Autumn. She squirmed on the vinyl bench seat, wishing she could disappear beneath the table, spontaneously combust, anything to escape the embarrassment. She’d wanted to hide her interest in him, that was all. What she needed was a snappy comeback. “What do you think, girls? We have certainly seen worse in these parts.”

  Not a snappy comeback, but the best she could do under the circumstances.

  “Worse?” Ford’s gaze latched onto hers, an intense, uncomfortable probing that only made his dimples deepen. “You think because I’m from the city I can’t measure up?”

  “No, I was talking solely about your appearance.”

  “Good to know.” Judging by the twinkle in the sheriff’s knowing eyes, he wasn’t offended.

  “Did the tape help? Or is your side mirror still dangling in the wind?”

  “It is fixed for now.” He released his hold on the roll and stepped back, giving her the once-over. He’d thought her magnificent on her horse with the sun at her back, framed by a perfect blue sky. But without her Stetson, her strawberry-blond hair tumbled around her face and shoulders in a soft cascade. Her features were scrubbed clean, her complexion perfect. She was girl-next-door wholesome in an ivory sweater and jeans. He liked this side of her, too. “You clean up nice, Miss Granger. Very nice. I almost didn’t recognize you without your .45.”

  “I only wear it when I’m working. Usually there’s no need to scare off varmints in the diner.”

  “I hope you’re not hinting that I’m a varmint.”

  “Who, me?”

  He liked her sense of humor, too. Out of the corner of his vision, he spied the waitress setting his burger and fries on the corner table in the back. “I’m keeping my eye on you, Miss Granger. Something tells me you are trouble waiting to happen.”

  “Me, trouble?”

  The young women at the table began to laugh. “It’s true,” the black-haired woman said. “Disaster finds you, Autumn.”

  “Trouble has always been her middle name,” the brown-haired one agreed merrily.

  “I’m not that bad.” Autumn had a cute gleam in her eye.

  He lifted his hand in farewell, reluctant to turn around and walk away, but he didn’t want to keep blocking the aisle. He couldn’t explain the spark of interest in her or the weighing disappointment as he turned on his heel and left her behind.

  “He’s not ugly,” Merritt whispered over ice cream sundaes. “I’ve thought about it all through the meal, and I can’t see it. You don’t think he’s gorgeous?”

  This was not what she wanted to discuss, thanks. Autumn took a big bite of syrup-covered ice cream, knowing full well the sting of brain pain was coming. But did she care?

  No. Bring on the agony. It was better than having to admit the truth to her friends.

  “He’s a hunk.” Caroline licked the syrup off her spoon.

  “A hunky hunk.”

  “Fine. So he’s gorgeous.” She rubbed her forehead—ow—and kept her voice low. No way was she going to take the risk that their conversation might carry across the noisy Friday night crowd to Ford Sherman’s no doubt supersensitive ears. Everything about him looked superior, why not his hearing?

  “Then he’s all yours.” Caroline plunged her spoon into her butterscotch sundae. “I think he likes you.”

  “Why do you say that?” He couldn’t like her. He didn’t know her.

  “Because he keeps stealing glances this way, and he’s not looking at me.” Caroline stirred her sundae around. “That’s it, I’m stuffed.”

  “Me, too.” Merritt gave up on her dessert with a sigh.

  Autumn scraped the bottom of the glass bowl with her spoon and licked the last drop of fudge. After divvying up the check, leaving a pile of bills and change on the table, they filed out of the booth and down the aisle.
It took all her willpower not to glance over her shoulder. She didn’t have to look to know Ford was watching her. The force of his gaze settled on her back like a dead weight. Best to ignore it.

  The crisp evening air greeted her as she ambled along the sidewalk. A motorcycle rumbled down the road, the only traffic on the street. A dog barked somewhere on the residential blocks behind the diner. The nape of her neck tingled. Was the sheriff tracking her as she passed in front of the window?

  “Something’s wrong with your truck.” Caroline noticed it as she set her purse on the hood of her car. “Your tire is flat.”

  “All of them are.” Merritt squinted at the damage.

  “What?” She’d been so busy wondering about Ford that she hadn’t noticed her truck. Deflated rounds of rubber sagged tiredly against the pavement, all the air gone. She’d never seen such flat tires. Had she run over something in the road? She knelt to get a good look, and her heart slammed to a stop. A neat cut sliced the upper curve of the front tire.

  A slice, not a nail or a screw or anything like that. Someone had done this on purpose. Judging by the size of the gash, whoever had done this must have used a bowie knife.

  “It’s the same back here.” Merritt had spotted the slit in the back tire. “Who would do something like this? We were close by the whole time.”

  “I should have seen it from my seat.” Should have, yes. Why hadn’t she? Because she spent the whole meal fixated on the new sheriff and trying not to be, there had been little attention left over to notice anything other than her friends. What had happened to her decision not to think about him?

  “We are currently sheriff-less, right?” Caroline shrugged, glancing down the road to the closed up sheriff’s office. “The old guy is gone, and the hunky one isn’t officially at work yet. So do we bother him? Who do we call?”

  “No idea. I need Loren and his wrecker.” Shock pulsed through her in little beats. Lord, I know You’re in charge but who would have done such a thing? And why? She swallowed, pulling her thoughts together. She needed a working truck. Loren had the only tow truck in thirty-five miles. “Here’s hoping he has the right tires in stock.”