Reece
Murdoch is back in Barrister, Wyoming
after his military tour. Ostensibly returning to take the position of Sheriff,
he plans to confront the woman of his dreams. After what they’d shared, he’d
foolishly believed Candace Grant would wait, but all his heartfelt letters were
met with silence. And now she is avoiding him and freezing him out.
Candy
Grant is never going to allow Sheriff
Murdoch a civil conversation, let alone a discussion. Oh, he’s
interested—probably thinking he can waltz right back into her life. Except he’d
gutted her, leaving six years earlier without warning and only eight scribbled
words. She’s since lived a fast, shallow existence she’s determined to
continue, and never get hurt again.
Reece
needs a plan, one to address Candy’s propensity to speed while asserting his
lawful authority—with handcuffs and a night of house arrest. Will the truth set
them free?
EXCERPT
Reese Murdoch slouched comfortably against the broken-in seat of the
county’s second best cruiser, gripping the wheel with one big hand.
He found himself sighing. Barrister wasn’t a bad place. Born and
raised there, he knew pretty much all the inhabitants. Being elected as Sheriff
had been a no brainer, being a military man home from Iraq and all, presumably well
versed in weapons and leadership. Both true, except he was hampered by a paltry
budget, and the people he’d sworn to serve and protect were scattered over a
huge part of the state. Good thing the work wasn’t onerous.
No doubt that would change over time, people being what they were,
but he was bored for the most part. The one thing—person—who could easily
obliterate that boredom didn’t deign to recognize either his existence or his
authority, and he hadn’t decided which plan to pursue in that regard. It’d been
months, but if he’d learned anything in the military, it was that an offensive
had a better chance of succeeding if one gathered solid intelligence and
formulated a careful plan of attack. He wryly admitted he’d come home because
of Candace Grant, if only to determine why she’d ignored all of his efforts to
get in touch with her over the years. Some might call it closure. He just plain
wanted her, and knew enough about women to know that while her demeanor said
one thing, something else was operating behind that icy exterior.
In the meantime, there was
the odd drunk and disorderly to deal with, complaints about cattle rustling to
investigate, a few domestics—and didn’t he hate those—and some traffic
violations.
The road dipped to accommodate an arroyo, and he rose up out of it
to crest the slight hill. And speaking of traffic violations, the unmistakable
silver Bimmer hammering in his direction, trailing a dusty rooster trail,
caused him to grind his teeth and war with his responding arousal. Damn her. She was going to kill herself
one day in that stupid car, maybe before he put the final touches on his plan.
Flipping on his lights, he considered his strategy, noting the way the smaller
vehicle’s hood dipped in response to the application of brakes. She’d been
flying along.
She pulled the Bimmer over, and he drifted on by to pull a three
point turn and come up behind her. Candace hadn’t made eye contact at all,
staring straight ahead through the windshield, and he figured she had to know
it was him. She didn’t cut his deputies dead. He took his time, watching
Candace’s profile in the side mirror, willing his professionalism to the fore
when all he really wanted to do was drag her back to the cruiser, handcuffed,
and take her home. Someplace safe—and easily accessible for both their
pleasure. The plan suddenly came together.
Approaching the open window, he spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “You
were hitting seventy, Candace. We’ve had this discussion before.”
She didn’t reply, instead thrusting her paperwork toward him. Her
picture on the license didn’t fit with the stony visage looking dead ahead.
Despite the customary, don’t smile, hair
tucked behind your ears, dictates of the DMV, Candace’s full mouth, with
its eminently bitable bottom lip somehow quirked up at the corners, and there
was no mistaking the sparkle in those baby blues. Just as he remembered
her—full of life and joy, bubbly, vivacious, and all those adjectives people
applied to her. But then, he’d admit he’d hardly given her anything to smile
about, primarily because she wouldn’t give him the time of day. That was gonna
change.
Tugging the license and registration from her stiff fingers, he
decided to play her game. “Step out of the vehicle, Miss Grant.”
That garnered him a wary look, a quick glance that she instantly
modified into boredom. He didn’t miss the way she flickered her eyes to her
watch. Was she meeting someone? On her way to a hot date? Sheridan lay in that direction, and whatever
Candace got up to, she didn’t do it in Barrister. The rumors he’d overheard
flourished. Reece had access to a different form of contacts and knew the truth
of some of those rumors. He wasn’t surprised about Candace’s interests, merely
disappointed he hadn’t been able to guide her and take the journey with her.
But he’d done what he had to back then. That she hadn’t accepted his
explanation and apology, wouldn’t even give him the opportunity to discuss it
further, grated him raw.
He opened her door and stood back, breaking procedure, instantly
grateful for the way the door frame concealed his sudden erection, his cock
saluting the vision emerging from the Bimmer without any regard for his bigger
brain. The top she wore hardly covered her attributes, cried out for him to
touch the silky fabric and tug on those discreetly concealed laces. The length
of shapely leg revealed by the short skirt flirting around her thighs forced
his hands to grip the metal until he thought it might groan beneath his grasp.
Once again his woman was on the prowl, and he was damned if he’d let
her take what she was offering up to Sheridan or any other place loaded with
men who couldn’t possibly appreciate her the way he planned. Disappointment
again soured him, and he impatiently shoved it aside. He’d waited long enough.
“What?” A hint of nervousness whispered through the aloof question.
“This is the third time, Miss Grant. I assume you recall the
consequences are for persistent speeding.”
Narrowing, blue eyes locked with his, then a flush of pink colored
her décolletage and rose up the long, lovely column of her throat to paint her
cheeks. She spoke between set lips, criminally thinning that lush bounty,
another crime she’d pay for in the end.
“Give me the ticket, Sheriff.
I’ll pay it like I did the others. Help out with your salary.”
“Step out and assume the
position.”
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