Under The Covers

by Crystal Jordan, Lorie O'Clare

  Then again, he was being paid to serve and protect.

  He took off after her. Despite her size, she was a surprisingly fast runner. Or else he was out of shape. Or both. He sucked in a breath and picked up his pace.

  “Stop!” he called as she hurdled over the nativity scene by the front porch.

  She took a flying leap over the lighted sleigh and reindeer in the middle of the yard and would have made it if her heel hadn’t caught on one of the antlers.

  The predicted rain had started to mist everything, making the grass slippery as calf snot beneath his boots. She got to her feet and would have escaped had her own boots not slipped on the wet grass, taking her down with a bone-jarring thump.

  Before she got away again, he closed his hand around her upper arm and pulled her none-too-gently to her feet.

  “Breaking and entering is against the law,” he told her between wheezing breaths.

  “I. Didn’t. Break in.” She jerked and twisted, but he held firm. “Let go!” What he could see of her pretty face contorted in a wince. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Sorry.” He immediately relaxed his grip.

  Just as immediately, she slipped away and hit the sidewalk at a dead run.

  Now that he had his wind back, he easily caught up to her. He swung his arm around her middle, pinning her back to him with his forearm as he lifted her off the pavement. His hand touched a softness it took a moment to identify. Immediately, he lowered his hand from her breast, hoping she hadn’t noticed. He wasn’t cut out for this line of work. He was a teacher, not a deputy.

  “Let go!” She squirmed, her firm little backside grinding against the part of him that was doing its damnedest not to notice.

  “Can’t do that.” He grunted when a sharp high heel connected with his poor shin bone. Ed wasn’t paying him enough to take this kind of abuse.

  He winced as another kick met its mark. If Ed weren’t his cousin, Bret would type up his resignation and leave it on the unguarded desk.

  Unfortunately, he was. And Bret had agreed—given his word.

  “Stop resisting arrest,” he said through clenched teeth while he attempted to gather all the flailing arms and legs in order to stuff her into his Jeep.

  Her back stiffened. She braced her booted feet on each side of the door and locked her knees.

  No doubt his Jeep would bear battle scars before this whole mess was over.

  “This isn’t even a real police car!” She pointed at the magnet on the door while managing to keep her knees locked. “Who are you really? I have Mace! Let me go!”

  “You don’t have Mace. You don’t even have a pocket in that getup. Where did you put your keys? Did you drive here?”

  “I refuse to answer until I talk to my lawyer! I know my rights.”

  “Lady, you’re just making things worse—”

  “Worse!” Her shriek echoed in his left ear. “How could it get any worse?” She went limp and sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as he settled her into the bucket seat and buckled her seatbelt. “It was already the worst Christmas of my life. Now this.”

  “Aw, c’mon, it can’t be that bad.” He plastered a smile on his wet face, determined to remain filled with the holiday spirit if it killed him, and climbed from the rain-soaked pavement into the relative dryness of the driver’s side.

  Before he could turn the key in the ignition, her seatbelt clicked, and he turned in time to see her scramble out of the car.

  “Damnit! Get back in the Jeep!” Yelling was dumb, he knew that, but he hoped she’d stop.

  Instead she broke into a run, heading for Fifth Street. If she made it to the square, she could duck into any one of the stores and lose him.

  Swearing under his breath, he released his own belt and took off in hot pursuit.

  She bobbed and weaved like a running back, only with a much more attractive backside, he noticed. He’d always told his students there was a logical process to just about everything, so he watched for a pattern to her moves and was able to intercept her.

  She grunted when he tackled her. He immediately rolled to take her weight and possibly protect her from the worst of the muddy patch of city property.

  They rolled to a stop at the edge of the curb just as it began to rain harder.

  She wiggled, doing her damnedest to get away again.

  He tightened his grasp, crossing his thigh over her legs to prevent leverage. “Get your bony elbow out of my rib cage,” he growled in her ear.

  “Let go of me and I will!” Her breath was hot against his ear.

  It should not have excited him.

  “No way. I’m not taking a chance on you running away again. You’re under arrest.”

  In response, she nipped his earlobe with her sharp little teeth.

  It should not have excited him either.

  No doubt, he had to get control of the situation, not to mention his sex-starved body.

  Rolling to his feet, he pulled her along with him. “Let’s try this again. I’m taking you in.”

  “I thought you were arresting me.” She tried to tug away, but he held firm. She winced, so he eased up. She took immediate advantage and bolted.

  This time, he was ready for her. Within three steps, he was on her, trying to keep his weight off her as they rolled to bump against the streetlight.

  Their gazes met, panting breath intermingling as they lay, heartbeat to heartbeat.

  The drizzling rain surrounded them, enclosing them in an intimate cocoon. The cool air swirled, causing their body heat to make steam.

  At least, Samantha wanted to believe the steam was caused by their heat versus the cooler, saturated air. Instant chemistry-slash-attraction was definitely something she did not need, had not planned on, and was absolutely something she did not want.

  But, dang, whatever cologne the guy wore made her mouth water.

  “I’ve had about all the excitement I can stand for one day,” Bret grumbled, slipping a handcuff over her slender wrist and snapping it shut. Before he met her gaze, he clicked the other end around his own wrist. “Now. Let’s go.”

  She lagged back, forcing him to half drag her to the Jeep.

  “Get in.” He waited while she slid into the seat, swallowing a yelp when his right arm jerked sideways.

  “It’d be easier for you to drive if you’d uncuff me,” she pointed out in a snippy-sounding voice.

  “I can manage. Get back out and come with me.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to.”

  He scooped her out of the car. “I wasn’t asking.”

  He stalked to the driver’s side, opened the door, and half tossed her over the gearshift as he followed her into the car. “Buckle up.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Sure you can. Just use one hand.”

  “Not all of us are as adept as you at using one hand,” she sniped, but he refused to respond to her innuendo.

  Instead he swallowed a growl of frustration, clicked his seatbelt and then finished snapping hers.

  She tugged, but he finally was able to turn the ignition and shift into gear.

  “What’s your name?” He downshifted and turned onto the square.

  “What do you care? What’s next? Are you going to ask how old I am or where I go to school?”

  He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at her absurdity.

  “No offense,” he finally said when he could control his voice, “but I think you’ve been out of school for quite a while.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She slumped in the seat, jerking his arm along with her.

  “Hey, I need that hand to drive.” He tugged until he edged her closer to the gearshift. “And I need to know your name because I just arrested you, remember?”

  “You didn’t read me my rights.” He didn’t need to look at her to see the look of triumph.

  “You’ve been watching too much TV. Not necessary.” He wheeled into the parking space in front of the courthouse marke
d SHERIFF and turned off the engine; then he smiled sweetly at his prisoner. “No witnesses. It’d just be your word against mine.”

  While she sputtered, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her out of the car. It had been a long time since he’d had a date—that was the only reason he’d developed a fascination with watching the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the snug-fitting black turtleneck. Of course, he could have done without the rain activating the citrus scent of her wild blond hair.

  “Take your hands off me!” She jerked away and would have fallen, taking him down with her, had he not grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

  “Could we please stop the drama and just go in and get the booking process out of the way?”

  “Sure.” She lagged back when he started walking. “As soon as you uncuff me.”

  Couldn’t happen too soon, as far as he was concerned, but he’d be damned if he’d give her another opportunity to escape.

  “Which I will do,” he assured her, “as soon as we get inside the office. It’s raining. I’m wet and tired and don’t want to chase you down again. Now walk. Please,” he added in a softer tone. His grandmother had always told him he’d catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Wouldn’t hurt to try.

  “If you’re arresting me, will I at least have a chance to shower off all this mud?” Trotting along beside him, she looked more like an eager date than a prisoner. Which was entirely not what he should be thinking.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Standing aside, he allowed her to walk into the miniscule sheriff’s office ahead of him. He may have humiliated her by rolling her around in the mud and arresting her, but at least now he could afford to be a gentleman.

  “Really?” She glanced around at the combination desk/booking station, coatrack, and low oak railing separating the cells from the office. “A place this size has separate shower areas for men and women?”

  “Didn’t say that.” He bit back a grin. “Aw, don’t go getting all bristly on me. You’re the only perpetrator in custody at the moment. So, for the time being, it’s the women’s shower.”

  Her sigh sounded pitiful, but he hardened his heart.

  “I’m too filthy to argue. Just uncuff me and point me in the direction of the shower.”

  Instead he urged her toward the desk. “First I need to book you.”

  Digging her heels in, Samantha tried to put her hands on her hips and attempted to look fierce. Judging from the giant officer’s expression, she hadn’t succeeded. That had always been her problem: no one seemed to take her seriously.

  Not even Sean.

  The thought was sobering. Not that she’d really wanted Sean to take her seriously—it just would have been nice to have had the option.

  “Ma’am?” Dudley Do-Right’s smooth voice crashed her pity party, catapulting her back into her current sucky situation. “Name, please?”

  Under other circumstances, having a hottie like the one before her asking her name might have thrilled her. However, when said hottie had tackled her, handcuffed her, and was now in the process of arresting her…not so much. Dang, could her day—her life—get any worse?

  She rubbed her aching wrist. Despite what old Dudley may think, she wasn’t acting. She wouldn’t be surprised to see a bruise when he finally took off the cuffs.

  “Couldn’t you take this off? Please? How about if I promise to stay put?”

  Green eyes observed her for several heartbeats. Finally, he nodded, recessed light reflecting from his soft-looking dark hair. “I reckon.” He stood and reached into the pocket of his snug jeans.

  Then he patted the other pocket.

  “Damn,” he said under his breath. He scanned the floor around the desk and glanced at the entrance.

  Their eyes met.

  “I don’t suppose you see a key lying over there, do you?”

  Suddenly, Dudley Do-Right lost all his allure, becoming a real Goober.

  Curling her fingers into her palms until her short nails dug into the flesh, she mentally counted to ten. Then to twenty.

  It didn’t help.

  “Un-freaking-believable! You lost the key, didn’t you?” She jumped up and leaned across the desk to grab his collar with their joined hands. “Didn’t you?”

  “Well,” he drawled with a slick-but-insincere-looking smile, revealing straight, white teeth, “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

  “Oh? And what exactly would you say?” How the heck was she going to take a shower shackled to the Greek God disguised in jeans and a soggy broadcloth shirt? Just when she’d thought her day couldn’t get any worse…

  He turned up the wattage on his smile. “I’d say we lost the key. After all,” he hurried on when she began sputtering, “we both were rolling around on the ground while you were resisting arrest. I figure you’re at least equal in blame.”

  She would not further degrade herself by arguing. Besides, it would get her nowhere. “Please tell me there is a spare key.”

  “’Course there’s a spare.” He opened and shut every drawer in the desk. Twice. “It’s got to be here somewhere.”

  When another thorough search failed to produce a key—big surprise—he picked up the phone.

  “I’m calling Ed. He’s my cousin, the real sheriff. I’m just sitting in for him while he has a baby. Well, he isn’t having a baby, of course. It’s Paige. His wife.” He smiled, his attention on the voice vibrating through the handset. “Hey, Ed! How’s Paige? Great! Say, Ed, I have a little problem.” He winked and turned his back as much as their linked arms allowed and then lowered his voice.

  For pity’s sake. Like she wanted to listen to his conversation. She began whistling, looking everywhere but at the man behind her.

  “Very funny.” His voice told her otherwise.

  “What?” She turned to find him staring at her. Funny, his eyes looked more green than they had just a few minutes ago.

  “You were whistling the theme from The Andy Griffith Show.”

  She attempted a sincere smile. “Sorry. Did he tell you where the spare key is?” He nodded. “Well?”

  “It’s at the hospital in his pocket.”

  7

  “What do you mean, it’s in his pocket? Go get it!”

  “Can’t. They discovered a problem with the babies and transferred her to the big hospital in Corpus Christi.” He rounded the desk. “Now, don’t get upset—”

  “Don’t get upset! My boyfriend dumped me for some bimbo, right at Christmas, and then steals my dog. I don’t care about him, I just want my dog back. Was that too much to expect?” Before Bret could answer, she sniffed and rattled on. “I came here to get Rhetta back—”

  “Rhetta?”

  “That’s my dog. Long story. I wanted a dog named Rhett Butler, but when I saw her, I couldn’t resist her. So…I named her Rhetta.” She took a deep breath. “I drove here to get her—”

  “Are you sure she’s in Christmas?”

  “Will you stop interrupting? Yes! I’m sure she’s in Christmas. Why else would I drive all the way down here from Houston? Where was I?”

  “You drove to Christmas to get your dog back.” He settled against the edge of the desk, sticking his free hand in his pocket to keep from acting on the insane urge to stroke her hair away from her expressive face.

  “Right. I found the house, but she—the homewrecker who stole my dog—was there. I—”

  “I thought you said your boyfriend took the dog.”

  Her eyes narrowed; her nostrils flared. He wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her teeth gnashing.

  “So,” she continued in a hard voice, carefully pronouncing each word, “I checked into my room and waited until dark. But Rhetta wasn’t there. Then you came in.” She shrugged. “You know the rest.”

  “You were still breaking and entering. That’s illegal.” At this point, he’d like nothing better than to just let her go. But he’d taken an oath. Besides, the alarm company had a record they’d called the alarm in to him.

&n
bsp; “No!” Her blue eyes flashed, drawing him back to their conversation. “I wasn’t breaking in. Well, I was, but I wasn’t going to steal anything.” She waved her hands as she talked, slinging his through the air in the process. “I mean, it’s not stealing if what you take is rightfully yours, is it?”

  He sighed. “Do you have proof of ownership?” If she did, he could dismiss the arrest as a mistake, fill out the appropriate forms, and go home.

  “Yes!” She sat up straighter and then wilted, flopping back in the chair. “Well, no. Not with me.”

  “So I’m supposed to just let you break into the Wileys’ on your word you were looking for a dog that may or may not be there and may or may not be yours.”

  Her pale brows furrowed and then she once again shot to her feet. “Wiley? I thought her name was Donner.”

  “Donner?” He shook his head. The woman was obviously confused. “Bambi Donner lives next door.”

  “Crap.” She sank down again into the oak chair next to the desk and buried her head in the crook of her elbow. “I can’t do anything right.”

  “Full name, please.”

  “Okay, Miss Harrison,” Bret said, working the kink from his shoulder from typing one-handed. “I logged you in and set up your court date.”

  She raised her head and looked at him with bleak eyes. “Now what?”

  “I have to keep you in custody until the circuit court judge comes back through town. Unless you have someone here who would vouch for your integrity.” He arched a brow at her, not surprised when she shook her head. “He comes through here the second Wednesday of each month—”

  “So you’re telling me he won’t be back until after Christmas?” She sat up straighter, pushing the already tight knit tighter over her breasts. Not that he noticed. Well, he didn’t want to notice, which should count for something.

  He shrugged and tried not to look guilty. “Actually, he won’t be back until after New Year’s. Sorry.” He touched her arm. “Are you sure about Bambi? We went to school together. I can’t believe Bambi Donner would steal anything, especially a dog. As for being a homewrecker, well, that’s about as big of a stretch. There must be some mistake.”