The man flicked the stack with the back of his hand. “As a matter of fact,” he mumbled around a toothpick between his lips, “that’s exactly who I am.”
It was the perfect clash—the ugly admittance of what he’d done, and the attractive features of his face. Everything about him boasted manly perfection. His well-defined jaw showed hints of a five-o’clock shadow, the scruff also casing that perfectly sculpted mouth. The impressive span of his chest and shoulders said he was disciplined, too; muscles like that didn’t happen overnight.
Jessie forced her mind back to the less-attractive parts of him. Mainly, the part that was trying to sabotage her upcoming event. She reached out to snatch the stack from his grip, but he yanked it from her reach, a wry smile pulling at his lips.
She gasped once more, visions of grade school coming to mind. Mean Milton playing keep-away after swiping her backpack.
“You’re a bully,” she accused.
“No, ma’am, I’m just doing my duty.” The sunglasses made it hard to dissect just what was going through his head. In the reflection, Jessie saw a ticked-off version of herself, looking somewhat small from the lowered angle.
A hand went to her hip. She leaned on one foot. “Did you take even one teeny tiny second to read what’s on those flyers? Huh? Because if you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Ma’am, I don’t care if you’re having a yard sale or warning the town that a UFO landed in your backyard. What you’re doing is illegal.”
Fire roared in her chest. “Who are you?”
The officer slowly lifted a hand, took hold of the sunglasses he wore, and pulled them off his face. Their eyes locked as he moved the toothpick from one corner of his lips to the next. “I’m the new sheriff in town.”
She stood there for a moment, speechless. “Oh yeah?” she piped. “Then who’d you take over for?”
“Sheriff Lakes.”
“Why did he retire?”
“Bad back. Wanted to spend more time with the grandkids.”
She delivered her deadliest glare. “Are you aware that Sheriff Lakes, one of the best men I know, never once removed one of my flyers from these poles?”
“By the amount of staples and nails lodged in them, I’d say that makes perfect sense. But are you aware that utility poles are private property of the telecommunications company, the utility company, or the municipality that owns them, and that posting on them is, in fact, illegal?”
Jessie chuckled, a hard, humorless laugh. “Poles matter to you more than humans? Huh. Good to know.” She shoved the stapler back in her bag, hunched down to grab her food, her lemons, and the small herb plant she’d bought. “I’ll make sure and not request you if I have an emergency, since you’ll be busy applying CPR to a water-drenched log you rescued from the creek.”
The corner of his lip twitched. If she were one to swoon over a man’s appearance alone, she might do it over this one if she didn’t already know what an egotistical jerk he was. She spun on one boot, saw the chain of bare poles in her path, and sighed as she realized she’d have to sneak back to put them up in the morning.
“Ma’am, I’ll need you to remove the other flyers you attached to these poles.”
She stopped in her tracks, but didn’t bother turning to look at him. “You already did that.”
“I’m referring to the other side of the street.”
Jessie eyed the long line of flyer-covered poles on that side, satisfied that at least some of her work remained. “No.” She walked on, unable to believe he’d even ask such a thing. And though she needed to cross the street to get back to her car, she marched straight ahead. Who cared if she had to trudge around the massive block? He didn’t have to know that.
“Ma’am.” His voice bounced as he caught up to her. “Let’s just take care of this peacefully. I could easily give you a citation and force you to remove the nails and leftover debris from these poles as well. I’m not asking you to do that. Simply to remove the flyers that you illegally stapled all along this street.”
“No,” she said again, eyeing the salon door as it opened. “Hi, Connie,” she hollered.
Connie did a double take—triple take was more like it. “Who’s the new guy?”
“The Grim Reaper,” Jessie huffed as she marched on. “Would you mind getting him off my back?”
“Listen,” he said, following her around the corner. “I know it sounds petty, but—”
Jessie spun back to him. “It sounds petty because it is petty. And if you think for one minute you can get me to take those down, you’ve got another thing coming.”
And with that, Jessie faced forward and walked on.
Chapter 4
“Sweet Lord above, what have I gotten myself into?” Trent tightened his grip around the steering wheel of his cruiser and started the engine. Shaking. His hands were actually shaking, for crying out loud.
How many times had he been confronted by a pretty lady batting her lashes to get out of trouble? Never worked for them. But that was just it: this woman wasn’t the eye-batting type. She seemed more likely to use a different kind of batting technique. The sort that included an actual bat swung at any man who dared cross her.
A laugh snuck up his throat, though he didn’t find the situation funny. Humiliating was more like it. He should have taken her in right then, that’s what he should’ve done. The laugh came back once more. “Taken her in for what?” he muttered. “Being a pain in the butt?”
Before pulling onto the road, Trent bowed his head and forced his breaths to come slow and deep. He focused on his purpose as a sheriff, for what he did and how he did it, never going halfway and never caving under pressure. Lastly, he recited the oath he took and ran it through his mind as he pondered each phrase and promise. He didn’t come here to get jerked around. He came here to offer the same quality protection he’d given to the last precinct he served. And that’s just what he’d do.
With a determined nod, Trent put the cruiser in drive. A thorough check of his side and rearview said he was clear to go, so he eased slowly onto the street. He hadn’t gone more than fifty feet before a woman darted across the street in front of him.
Trent slammed on the brakes, his eyes widening as he realized just who it was. The glasses hit the passenger seat as he tossed them off his face. He flicked his toothpick as he threw open the door.
Jessie picked up speed, hollering over one shoulder as she went. “Thanks for almost killing me just then.”
Was this chick serious? He stomped around the front of the cruiser and stopped at the curb. “Do you realize I could cite you for jaywalking?”
Her ponytail swooshed and swayed as she hurried down the sidewalk. Trent was tempted to rush after her, but he couldn’t get himself to do it. First he nags her about the utility poles, and then he threatens to cite her for jaywalking? His hand curled into a fist. Here he’d given himself a pep talk and then stood by as that woman made a fool of him once more. He kicked the tire before climbing back in the car. Striding on by like he was nothing more than a pesky hall monitor. He slammed the car door shut and shook his head as he pulled back onto the street. “That girl is going to cause me trouble.”
Of all the infuriating people on the planet, why did she have to run into that one? He was insufferable. In fact, thanks to him, there would be no lemon bars tonight.
Jessie dumped a box of frozen cream puffs onto a turquoise serving platter and rifled through the pantry for matching napkins. The bright yellow ones she’d pulled out that morning would have to wait for tomorrow, when she had enough time to make lemon treats.
She dashed over to the stack of ice buckets, deciding on the copper one, and filled it with ice. After mentally counting the guests, Jessie pulled a dozen bottles of soda from the fridge. She arranged them in the ice. Pleased with the appearance, she checked her watch—6:45.
“Please thaw out in time,” Jessie mumbled, eyeing the frozen pastries. She heard the slow stride of heels approaching just
before Charlotte stuck her head around the corner. How the woman could wear heels all day was beyond her. Especially a woman in her fifties.
“Look who made it back in time for social hour,” Char said in her thick, southern tone. “You’ve been busier than a cat covering crap on a marble floor.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jessie grumbled. “It’s because I ran into the biggest piece of crud I’ve ever met.”
“What’s this?” Charlotte’s face lit up. The woman was always ready for a tasty piece of gossip.
Jessie leaned a hand on the counter. “I spent hours posting flyers for Sheila’s fundraiser, and when I was finally ready to come back and whip up the lemon bars, I got sidetracked by this stupid new sheriff who tore my flyers off half the poles and threatened to make me take down the other half.”
“Are you kiddin’?”
“Nope.”
Char stepped further into the kitchen, snagged a chip, and dipped it into the mango salsa Jessie had set out. “Gracious, this salsa is good,” she moaned.
Jessie agreed, it was good, but she was too irritated to voice it.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Charlotte said, wiping at her bottom lip. “The couple from Idaho, Ty and Holland, they decided to stay and use the extra night you gave them.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Jessie said. She’d been charmed by the couple during their visit the year before and was glad they’d accepted her offer to stay one more night free of charge. The two deserved an extra day of vacation.
She put a couple extra bottles in the bucket and checked the remaining details.
“So who’s the jerk you ran into?”
A timer rang, telling Jessie the tea had finished steeping. And in case things weren’t hectic enough, her cell phone buzzed as well. Jessie gave Charlotte a pleading look. The gift shop was closed, meaning her shift was officially over, but perhaps she wouldn’t mind a bit of overtime. “Could you please stay long enough to get this tea on ice? I’ve got to take this.”
“Of course, darling. You go right ahead.”
Thank heavens for Char and all that she did to help run the inn. Jessie dreaded the day she’d retire; who knew how she’d do it on her own?
She snuck through the French doors and onto the patio, bringing the phone up to her ear. “Hi, Aunt Viv.”
“How are you doing, hon?”
“Well, according to Charlotte, I’m busier than a one-legged cat in a sandbox. Or was that yesterday’s observation? I don’t even know anymore.”
Her aunt laughed. “Charlotte and all her southern expressions. I’m glad she’s there to keep things interesting.”
“I am too. But right now I just need to vent for a minute.”
“Why? What happened?”
Jessie pried her boots off, her socks, too, and took the stairs to the lawn. She ran barefoot through the green grass, the feel of it cool against her feet, until she reached the pond’s edge. Paddleboats bounced gently beside the wood slatted dock while the sunset played across the surface of the water. She spun around to check for listening ears, then took a seat on the sun-warmed wood. “I ran into the most frustrating guy today. I seriously want to throw something.”
Her aunt chuckled again. “You’re in your twenties, doll. Whether you ever marry or not—”
“You know I’m planning to stay single, Viv.”
“Well, you can get used to the irritation either way. Men are set up differently. They aren’t breathing if they’re not aggravating us in one way or another.”
Her aunt meant it innocently enough, but the statement was a trigger just the same. Visions of the horrible things Jessie witnessed in her youth fought to poke through the shield she’d built over the years. Luckily, she was too distracted to dwell on them.
As Viv continued to rant about everything from Uncle Rick’s silk tie collection to his taste for all things Tabasco, Jessie replayed the handsome expression on the mean sheriff’s face. The slight five-o’clock shadow accenting his chiseled jaw. And the ridiculous words coming from his stupidly attractive mouth. She hated him. No, that wasn’t true. Jessie didn’t even know the guy. But she definitely did not like him. At all.
“Well, at least Uncle Rick cares about other people,” Jessie blurted, interrupting the woman mid-sentence. “This guy was UN-believable!” She proceeded to tell her about the fundraiser and all that Sheila had gone through during her battle. “The saddest part is that her husband left her a couple years ago, and she’s got a teenage son, Nate, who can’t really be a teenager because he’s too busy trying to pay the bills.”
“That’s terrible,” Aunt Viv agreed.
“Yeah. He’s got a bright future, though. He started up this yard care business after graduating. In fact, he takes care of the yard here and does a great job.” Jessie glanced over her shoulder, realizing that the guests were probably filtering into the kitchen by now. So she made it quick, told Viv about the stack of flyers she’d seen in the sheriff’s hands, the way he’d tried to cite her for jaywalking of all things after nearly running her over.
Vivian gave Jessie the reaction she was hoping for. She was all anger and fury. Curse words and bad wishes. By the end of it, Jessie almost felt bad for saying anything at all.
“Well, I better get back to my guests now,” Jessie said as she scurried along the dock.
“You did the right thing, hon. Can’t go letting new blood shove you around in your own town. Even if he is the sheriff.”
“Right,” she agreed. Yet as she tucked the phone back into her pocket, Jessie recognized the absurdity of the woman’s statement. If this guy was as ridiculous as he seemed, he might actually put her in cuffs one day.
Well, not if she could avoid it.
She hurried back up the steps, mentally replaying the phone conversation. Jessie had failed to mention that the sheriff was young and outwardly attractive beyond reason. Viv probably assumed he was a sour old man with a beer belly and rotten teeth.
Jessie grinned. So what? With a temperament meaner than Charlotte’s ornery pit bull, he may as well be.
Once inside, she greeted a few guests. Ty and Holland came down, chatted a while, and then headed out to the pond for an evening paddleboat ride. Jessie guessed she wouldn’t see the small family with toddler twins until late, as they’d gone to Yellowstone for the day. The family staying in their largest room had two teens who got along surprisingly well.
While the father and son took to the den, Sherri and Shay, the daughter and her mother, joined Jessie in a room Grandma Jess had named the quilting cove. Here, a large frame held the quilt-in-progress in place for tying—a task most people could master in a few tries. The guests loved leaving their mark on something while visiting. They took special interest in the quilts that would raise funds for a charitable cause, which Jessie posted on a nearby stand. The rest of the quilts were sold online, bought by guests in the gift shop—often before they were finished—or used on the B&B beds. This one would be sold at the auction for Sheila’s event.
“When the tying is done, is the quilt finished?” Shay asked, her timid smile revealing a set of clear braces.
Jessie couldn’t help but admire the splash of freckles across the girl’s cheeks, a feature that Shay—if she was anything like Jessie as a teen—probably wasn’t too fond of just yet. “All of our quilts are hand- or machine-stitched prior to tying, mainly to ensure durability,” Jessie said. “Either Charlotte or I do that in the adjacent room, which has a smaller, rolling quilt stand and a sewing machine. Not to mention stacks of finished quilt tops just waiting to be tied or quilted.”
Sherry, whose brown eyes matched her daughter’s, spoke up then. “Is that because the second part takes longer?”
“Not really. It’s mostly because I get carried away with all the darling fabrics I come across. Plus I’m single, so what else am I going to do?” she said with a laugh. “Anyway, tying the quilt, in this case, gives them more of that vintage look, which I love. Plus it allows our guests to take
part in the action.”
“So it’ll be finished after this?” Shay asked, glancing over at her mom mid-sentence.
“Yep.”
A wistful look came over Shay’s pretty face as she ran a hand over the teal and gray patches. “Think we could get it, Mom? It totally matches my room.”
“I’d like to, but we’re leaving before the fundraiser.” Sherry turned to Jessie. “Is there any way we can bid on it over the phone? I’d be willing to pay top dollar, seeing that it’s for a good cause and all.”
Shay’s face lit up as she waited for Jessie’s reply.
“You know what? If you’re willing to pay the average selling price for my auctioned quilts, I’ll let you take it home with you.” If the two weren’t so attached to that specific quilt, Jessie might suggest they wait and purchase one of the quilts she’d sell at the fall bazaar this year. Since it was one of the biggest events Cobble Creek had to offer, she always set a competitive price.
“That would be awesome,” Shay cheered, showing off those clear braces once more. For a girl supposedly going through her awkward years, she was beautiful.
Jessie couldn’t help but build a kinship with the guests who joined her in the quilting cove.
“How is she doing? The woman you’re having the event for?” Sherry’s questions seemed almost hesitant, as if she dreaded the answer. Bad news was always hard to hear.
“Sheila’s doing well,” Jessie said, recalling the color she’d seen in her cheeks when she’d visited that morning. “The follow-up tests show that she’s still cancer free. So right now she’s just working on getting her weight back up and her strength, too. Physical strength,” she clarified. “Mentally and spiritually, Sheila’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever known.” Boy, was that true. She was right up there with Grandma Jess.
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Sherry said with a nod and a sniff.
Jessie nodded in return. “Thank you for asking.” She eyed her watch then, realizing that the official end time for social hour had already passed. “Well, I’ll get things cleaned up. Feel free to quilt as late as you’d like. I’ll see you at breakfast?”
The Sheriff's Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots (Cobble Creek Romance Book 1) Page 2
