“Oh,” Pixie muttered, shaking her head, “I’m just like Sarah: don’t ma’am me.”
Hearing Sarah make an inarticulate sound in the rear of her throat, he turned back to her. He extended his hand toward her. “I’m Dawson Callaway.”
He saw the shock in her eyes, recognizing his name. And just as quickly, she recovered and extended her hand to him.
“Sarah Carter.”
He enjoyed the firm strength of her fingers wrapping around his. Not bone crushing, but a woman who was fully in charge of herself and her life. “I know. I think you’re the SC I sent my résumé to a few days ago?”
She released his hand. “Yes, I am.”
Pixie tilted her head. “Oh, I saw that ad, Sarah.” She gave Dawson a thorough up-and-down look. “And you’re applying for that job, Mr. Callaway? To be Gertie’s assistant?”
“Yes, ma’—I mean, yes, I am.”
Sarah gave Pixie an amused look. “I’ve had his résumé and,” she turned, looking up at him, “I was going to contact you via email after the shift change. You beat me to it.”
He noticed a faint pink blush come across her wide cheekbones. And sure enough, she did have a heart-shaped face. Tendrils of ginger hair had escaped her ponytail, collecting at each of her temples, emphasizing the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “I didn’t mean to,” Dawson said, reaching for a brownie and the paper napkin Pixie gave him. “I’ve spent the last few days nosing around for any wrangler work up in the Jackson Hole area and decided to drive down here today to scope out the valley.”
Sarah nodded. “Kind of serendipitous that we met here.”
The brownie was mouthwateringly sweet as he chewed on it. Pixie was looking up at him expectantly, hands on her hips.
“Well? How’s it taste, Mr. Callaway?” she demanded pertly.
With a chuckle, he said, “Best brownie I’ve ever eaten, Pixie. Thank you for making them for all of us. Do I owe you or the store some money for taking one of them?”
“Oh, heavens, no!” Pixie muttered, giving him a dark look. “Anyone who ambles into Charlie’s store is welcome to them. There’s no charge. I like makin’ people happy.”
“Thanks,” he said between bites. “It’s really good.” And it was. He could feel Sarah’s gaze on him and felt his skin contracting in response. Maybe because of his black-ops background, he could always feel the enemy’s eyes on him, his skin crawling in warning. But this wasn’t about a threat. He inhaled her feminine scent, light and citrusy combined with her own unique fragrance. Sarah didn’t wear any perfume, that was for sure, but his nose and ears were supersensitive; honed by years of knowing if he wasn’t hyperalert, he could get killed.
Pleased, Pixie patted his arm. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone. I’m gonna go up and give Charlie two of these brownies or they’ll be gone before he can walk back here to grab some for himself,” she tittered.
Dawson watched the small woman bustle off with two brownies in hand. He could feel Sarah’s intense inspection. She stood about six feet away from him. Turning, he connected with her assessing dark green gaze, and said, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
Shrugging, Sarah said, “I don’t feel like I’m in a spot, Mr. Callaway, so relax.”
“Not much gets your dander up,” he drawled. “Does it?” Again, he saw those full, well-shaped lips of hers, without lipstick on them, curve faintly upward at the corners.
“Not in my line of work. Doesn’t pay to let one’s emotions run roughshod on someone else. Never ends up well, and I don’t like to see a confrontation escalate.”
She chose her words carefully. He wiped the last of the chocolate frosting off the tips of his fingers. “I don’t care for them myself.”
“No, I can see you don’t.” She lowered her voice. “I was going to email you later to ask you to meet me at Kassie’s Café, across the street, to talk further with you about the job possibility.”
He stood there listening to the tone of her low voice, understanding this was personal business, not law enforcement because she was the sheriff. “Sure, that’s doable.” The corners of his eyes crinkled and he added, “I’m assuming I passed your deep, broad background check on me? Pentagon? Law enforcement?” The corners of her mouth deepened and he could feel or maybe sense her humor about his knowledgeable comment.
“Yes,” she answered coolly, “you did.”
“Check out my DD Form 214, did you?” Dawson wanted her to know he realized, as a law enforcement officer, she would do such an investigation about anyone applying for a job, especially with an elderly person, who was probably her grandmother. She needed to know that he expected such research on her part. The humor transferred to her eyes.
“You were in black ops, Mr. Dawson. I figure you knew I’d be doing something to dig up the dirt on you when you were in the Navy.”
A rumble came through his chest. “Indeed I did, Sheriff.”
“Call me Sarah when we’re alone,” she said.
“Call me Dawson any time you want.”
“I like your style, Dawson.”
“And I like yours.”
He saw pinkness once more stain her cheeks, realizing she was blushing. She might be all business, cool, calm and collected, but there was a mighty nice personal side to her, too. “We have a good place to start, then.” He felt her hesitancy. Worry, maybe? He sensed it, but she had her game face in place. Was she ex-military? He was itching to know. Because she sure as hell fit the bill to a tee.
Sarah had opened her mouth to speak when the radio on her left shoulder squawked to life. She held up her finger to him and then devoted her attention to the incoming call from Dispatch.
Dawson listened intently to the short conversation. There was a rollover accident on Route 89, ten miles south from where they were. The only ambulance owned by the Wind River Fire Department, which had paramedics, was twenty miles north at another accident scene, tending victims. He saw the darkness come to Sarah’s eyes. Then, she glanced over at him.
“Hold,” she told the dispatcher, lifting her hand off the radio key. “Mr. Callaway? On your résumé you said you were a licensed paramedic. I checked it out and it verified you’re up to date and can practice. I need someone like you to come with me right now. Our other two paramedics are north of here and can’t make it to the scene.”
“I’ll come with you.” He made a gesture with his chin toward the door. “I always travel with my paramedic bag. It’s in the truck.”
“Good. Come with me. We’ll grab it and go.” Sarah was on the radio once again, giving the intel to the dispatcher, and then signed off. “We’re between shifts right now. All my men and women are coming into the courthouse as we speak,” she said, hurrying toward the door, box of brownies in hand.
Dawson easily swung past her to open the door for her. She looked shocked by his action, but then shook it off, diving out the door and rapidly taking the steps to the gravel parking lot. “Yes, and not all your people coming in are there yet, right?”
“Right. Get your bag and meet me at my Tahoe cruiser?”
“On it.”
Dawson split from her at the bottom of the stairs. It felt good to be needed. He’d always liked being a combat corpsman and he’d saved many lives with his knowledge. And he liked Sarah.
Pushing her out of his mind, he opened the door to the cab, reached in and grabbed the hefty red canvas bag by the wide, thick nylon straps. In moments, he had locked up his truck and was trotting in the direction of the Tahoe, which was now in motion, heading in his direction, lights flashing on the bar on top of the black roof.
Without preamble, he pulled open the backseat door, throwing in his paramedic bag. Shutting it, he opened the passenger door, quickly climbing in. She put the pedal to the metal and the Tahoe growled deeply, moving swiftly out onto Route 89. He didn’t need to be told to buckle up. All her focus was on driving; they must have hit seventy miles per hour after getting outside
the city limits. They were heading down a long, flat expanse now, with few cars on the highway.
“I’m officially deputizing you, Mr. Callaway. I can’t have a civilian without any medical license in the state of Wyoming being a medic to potential injury victims in that rollover. Lawsuit time if I don’t.”
“Fine by me. I accept being deputized.”
Her lips twisted. “I like your no-nonsense approach.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“You’re okay with this?”
“Absolutely. I feel like I’m back in Afghanistan on a black-ops mission,” and he tossed her a grin.
She gave a snort. “Good to know.”
“Call me Dawson. Okay? I don’t stand on much ceremony.”
“Okay, Dawson.” And then she cast him a warm look. “Thanks for picking up the slack on this. You didn’t have to and I know it.”
“Glad to help.” And he was. There was a nice balance of business and vulnerability within her. That drew Dawson strongly. He didn’t see a wedding ring on her left hand, but in her business, just as in the military, she probably didn’t wear it for many good reasons. Did she have children? She was in her late twenties, he would guess, and his logic told him that she was either engaged or married. Sarah Carter was way too good-looking not to be in a relationship. That saddened him, but he let it go. Since his marriage to Lucia Steward, and subsequent divorce three years later, he hadn’t been interested in another relationship.
Until now. What a helluva twist!
Also available from Lindsay McKenna:
Her new military series,
Delos!
Nowhere to Hide
Tangled Pursuit
Forged in Fire
Broken Dreams
Secret Dream
Unbound Pursuit
Secrets
Snowflake’s Gift
Never Enough
Available from your favorite etailer.
For more information,
please go to:
www.LindsayMcKenna.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lindsay McKenna is the pseudonym of award-winning author Eileen Nauman. With more than 135 titles to her credit and approximately 23 million books sold in 33 countries worldwide, Lindsay is one of the most distinguished authors in the women’s fiction genre. She is the recipient of many awards, including six RT Book Reviews awards (including Best Military Romance Author) and an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. In 1999, foreseeing the emergence of eBooks, she became the first bestselling women’s fiction author to exclusively release a new title digitally. In recognition of her status as one of the originators of the military adventure/romance genre, Lindsay is affectionately known as “The Top Gun of Women’s Military Fiction.” Lindsay comes by her military knowledge and interest honestly—by continuing a family tradition of serving in the U.S. Navy. Her father, who served on a destroyer in the Pacific theater during World War II, instilled a strong sense of patriotism and duty in his daughter.
You can visit Lindsay McKenna at
www.LindsayMcKenna.com.
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