The Sheriff Gets His Lady

He tried to keep amusement out of his voice as he tipped back the brim of his Stetson and tilted his head.

“You mean you haven’t pumped her for information already?” There was no better source of information in town than Alma Underwood. The woman lived for gossip.

“Humph. Not that one. You can’t pump her with a twelve-gauge. She’s real cool-like. Cuts you dead with a look. Good-lookin’ broad, I’ll give her that, but only if you like the snooty type. She comes into my place and just sits there watching.”

“Sitting’s not illegal, Alma. Neither is watching. And you do own the only café in town.”

The older woman scowled. “She doesn’t come there to eat. She orders perfectly good food and then sits there playing with it while she looks out the window or scribbles away on this pad she carries.”

Alma took her food seriously. Noah kept his grin inside and glanced over at his pickup to be sure it wasn’t blocking anyone. Marvin was still occupied.

“I guess city women are picky eaters, but I’m afraid that isn’t illegal, either.”

Alma set her jaw and eyed him from beneath thick round glasses. “Okay, I didn’t want to say this right out, Noah, but if you’re gonna take that attitude, now I will. She seems to be watchin’ your Lauren.”

“What?”

Amusement vanished at the mention of his daughter’s name. Noah came away from the fender of her SUV. Tension took a two-fisted grip on the base of his stomach.

For an instant, he thought about Francis Hartman, then discarded the idea of a connection. But a much older fear reared its ugly head.

“Thought that might get your attention.”

Beth had laughed at him, told him his worry was foolish. But while she was a cop’s wife, she didn’t see and hear all the things he did. From the day they adopted Lauren, he’d always secretly feared that one day Lauren’s birth mother would come and try to take their little girl away.

“Are you sure about this, Alma?”

“Course I’m sure.”

Who would be watching his daughter?

“A woman,” he said almost to himself. The adoption had been perfectly legal and nearly twenty years ago. Still, Beth’s death had strengthened the fear. What if Lauren’s biological parents learned that Beth was dead? What if they decided they’d made a terrible mistake? He’d never understood how anyone could give up a precious baby like Lauren in the first place. His fear had not abated after Beth’s funeral. It had even played a small role in his moving out here in the middle of nowhere after he found himself a widower. Strangers were always noticed here in Darwin Crossing.

“Course she’s a woman, didn’t I say as much?”

“Who is she?” he demanded.

“That’s what you need to find out,” Alma said, sounding exasperated. “The woman has a file in that briefcase she carries around and your Lauren’s name is scrawled on the face of it.”

The tension building inside him coiled itself into a tight knot.

Alma bobbed her head as if she knew the impact her words were having. “If someone is checking on your daughter, maybe it’s time to make sitting and watching illegal here in Darwin Crossing.”

“Where is this woman now?”

“In my café,” Alma said with satisfaction.

Noah battled his spreading tension.

“You know, it occurred to me to wonder if that high-society boyfriend of your daughter’s might have gone and hired himself a fancy private investigator to keep an eye on his fiancée,” she added.

Alma’s suggestion stopped him cold, changing the direction of Noah’s thoughts. Douglas Rossiter came from a wealthy background. In fact, the Rossiter family was well-known amid the Dallas elite. While Doug didn’t strike him as the jealous type, it was barely possible that he was having some sort of check run on Lauren. Lauren had just returned from a visit with the Rossiter family, relating amusing tales about their lifestyle, which was so different from her own. Did they think she hadn’t fit in?

“You can’t trust them society people,” Alma insisted. “They’re always lookin’ down on hardworking folk like us. I told you it was a bad idea to let your Lauren marry outside her class.”

Noah brushed that aside, but he couldn’t dismiss the assumption that this new stranger was a private investigator. It was within the realm of possibility that someone in the Rossiter family was checking on Lauren. That made more sense than a relative suddenly trying to make contact after all these years.

The investigator would find absolutely nothing, of course, but the idea of the whole thing made Noah angry. If this woman started probing around in Lauren’s background, she could stir her unknown birth mother into taking some sort of action. After all, Lauren was marrying into a wealthy family.

“I called Terry,” Alma continued, “but he says he can’t do anything unless she breaks the law.”

True enough. “I’ll go over and have a talk with the woman.”

Alma’s eyes lit victoriously.

“You do that,” she called to his retreating back. “That woman’s up to no good.”

Noah waved to Marvin as he left his truck where he’d parked it and started down the street. The mechanic could look for the oil leak later. Noah strolled toward the café with deceptive speed. The stranger’s sleek silver luxury car was parked out in front, looking mildly intimidated by the much larger vehicles that surrounded it. A rental out of San Antonio, Noah noted.

His stomach tightened another notch as he realized where he’d seen the car before. Yesterday, it had been parked in Bitterwater not far from the vet’s office where Lauren was working.

Noah hadn’t paid the car any attention when he’d driven past, other than to note how out of place it looked. He hadn’t seen anyone inside and assumed the driver was with the vet. Now the tension inside him began to unfurl. Thank God for Alma’s warning.

While he doubted a private investigator would spring for an expensive luxury car to drive around in, one never knew. As soon as he was close enough, he made a mental note of the plate number. Then he walked up beside the car and peered inside.

“May I help you with something?”

Her sultry voice did a slow crawl up his spine. He lifted his head and drank in the view of the woman standing behind him. She was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. There was no mistaking her for a resident even if he hadn’t known everyone by name in a hundred-mile radius. The woman looked more out of place than her car. Five-seven, he’d estimate, slender, but not without some nicely placed curves. Grace Kelly came to mind with those cheekbones and that glowing skin. The woman’s hair was cut to her chin in a style that looked expensively chic, yet artfully simple. The style suited her.

“Just looking,” he told her as he adjusted the brim of his hat and watched in puzzlement as her body seemed to tighten in recognition. He’d swear she was a total stranger, yet her body language said otherwise.

The shaft of unexpected and unwanted desire caught him unprepared. He wondered if she felt the pull of this sudden chemistry, as well. Dressed in a navy pantsuit that fit as if it had been designed just for her, she managed to look completely feminine, yet at the same time conveyed a sense of professionalism. His gaze was drawn to the V of her open-necked, white silk shirt, which stopped just short of the nicely rounded curves of her breasts.

“Like it?” she asked coolly.

Her voice was soft velvet wrapped around spikes of steel. The voice made him think of other soft things he’d like to wrap around steel. Uncomfortably embarrassed to be caught staring, he tried for a smile. “What’s not to like?”

Spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “I meant the car.”

He tipped his head to one side and let his smile widen. “So did I.”

For a moment, she seemed disconcerted, but her cool mask quickly settled back into place. No wonder Alma didn’t like her. Few women would. And most men would feel intimidated—the ones who didn’t see her as prey. He had to rein in a pretty strong predatory feeling of his own. The woman was class, yet she gave off an aura of sensuality that reached inside him and grabbed him where he lived. And all with no effort on her part.

Behind the dark lenses of her glasses, he sensed her assessing his faded work jeans, matching jacket, boots and plaid shirt. Fingering the brim of his hat, Noah figured he failed her fashion test hands-down. He’d spent the past few hours under the hood of his truck. Fashion hadn’t come into his choice of clothing, and it didn’t worry him now.

“We don’t see many cars like this one around here,” he said.

Her head inclined toward the line of pickup trucks dwarfing the car. “I’ve noticed.”