Jack Murray, Sheriff

Some of the audience chuckled, and Jack, well satisfied, asked for questions. The few he got were friendly enough, the round of applause enthusiastic.

Strange, the things he’d found himself doing. Speechifying hadn’t been covered in the police academy.

Instead of retreating to his seat, Jack strolled to the back of the gym and took up a station near the double doors leading into the central hallway of the two-year-old middle school. Just out of curiosity, he’d stuck his head into the boys’ john earlier. Where you’d expect graffiti, here was gleaming tile. The carpet in the hall wasn’t dirty, the lockers weren’t scraped and dented and scrawled all over with obscene remarks. Inner-city junior highs were armed camps these days; he doubted a single gun was hidden in any of this long bank of lockers.

Folks were lucky in Elk Springs. As a law enforcement officer, he was lucky.

As a man, he was obviously a hell of a lot less so, Jack thought wryly. Beth Sommers was the first woman who had seriously interested him in some time, and he’d struck out.

He propped one shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms and listened to plans for a Christmas bazaar and a fund-raiser to buy new books for the library. Beth stood to give a brief treasurer’s report; since she couldn’t see him, Jack allowed himself the luxury of admiring the straight line of her back and the fine dark hair that had escaped to curl on her nape. For just an instant, he imagined his lips traveling down her neck. The hairs would tickle his nose, but her skin would be silkier than anything he’d ever touched, and her pulse would beat like tiny birds trapped under his mouth.

Hell. It was just as well when she sat back down, putting him out of his misery.

A minute later the meeting broke up and the crowd began filtering out. A few stopped to chat or shake hands and thank him for coming. He was a patient man; except for some emergency exits, this was the only way out. Sooner or later, Beth would pass within a few feet of him.

She was deep in conversation with the president of the parent group as the two women approached the door. It was galling to have Beth glance his way and look vaguely surprised to see him; he was so aware of her, he knew where she was at any given moment. Apparently she didn’t feel the same.

Which she’d made clear enough, Jack reminded himself, irritated. Was he such an egotist, he couldn’t believe a woman wasn’t interested in him?

Answer: no. He’d philosophically accepted refusals before. Meg Patton walking out on him—now, that had been tough. Worse than tough; he knew the one day had changed him in ways he didn’t yet understand. But since Meg, he’d asked out women who weren’t interested. He’d even been dumped a time or two without going into a black depression.

Beth was different. He had trouble believing his own response to her could be so strong if it wasn’t two-way.

He was pretty sure Beth would have nodded and walked right by him if the president hadn’t stopped to hold out her hand.

“Thank you, Sheriff Murray. It was so good of you to take the time tonight to talk to us. I’m really delighted with what you had to say, too. By the way, have you met Beth Sommers?”

He let a trace of a smile touch his lips. “As it happens, I have. Hello, Beth.”

Her answering smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Sheriff. How nice to see you again. And hear you. I really like your program pairing kids with police officers.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Mentally he cursed the president who hadn’t budged from his side and was beaming impartially at them. There were things he wanted to say and couldn’t in front of her. He did the only thing he could think of. “Can I walk you out to your car? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

The alarm in her eyes was quickly masked. “Could you call me at work instead? I really need to rush—I don’t like to leave the kids with a baby-sitter any longer than I can help. And there are obviously people waiting to talk to you.”

He turned his head and saw that it was true; half a dozen women and one man were hovering. And Beth had damn good reason to be nervous about leaving her kids alone with some fifteen-year-old. How would a sitter cope if the girls’ father came hammering on the door?

“No problem,” he conceded, stepping back.

“I’m sorry to run off like this,” she was saying to the president as they passed out of hearing. “I’ll check on those figures and give you a call….”

Something told Jack that Beth would be unavailable if he called her at work. She had just made her refusal that much more emphatic.

WHY COULDN’T Jack Murray look like the last Butte County sheriff, who’d had a tic under one eye and had spent a good deal of time heaving his belt upward to try to contain his belly?

But no, Murray moved with the contained grace of a man aware of his strength and able to use it. Despite a sexy mouth, a permanent crease over the bridge of his nose should have given him a Scrooge-like appearance, but instead lent him a brooding air guaranteed to attract the least susceptible of women. Her.

Was she an idiot to refuse to have dinner with the man? Beth wondered, unlocking her car. Maybe it was unfair to assume he was like Ray under the skin, when she had never heard him raise his voice or seen him show even a flicker of anger.

Chances were, it would turn out that they didn’t even like each other, and then she could quit waging this internal war.

Of course, she thought ruefully, maybe he’d had no intention of asking her out again. Maybe he had only wanted to know whether Ray had been behaving himself.

At home, Beth let herself in the kitchen door and found the baby-sitter in the living room, glued to the flickering television.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Sommers.” Half her attention was still on the screen, until a commercial suddenly blared and Tiffany turned the set off.

“How did things go?” Beth asked briskly, counting out dollar bills from her wallet.

The teenager gave a blithe shrug. “Fine. I put them to bed a while ago.”

“Oh, good. Did, um, anybody call this evening?” Beth felt a little guilty about not warning Tiffany. But there were days when the phone didn’t ring at all, days when Ray was probably on the road hauling freight. She’d been afraid if she warned the teenager, Tiffany would tell the older sister raising her and she might refuse to let the girl baby-sit for Beth. A decent sitter was hard enough to come up with as it was; she didn’t dare scare off the two girls she used. As a single parent, she was too dependent on them.

“No, but Lauren told me you were getting lots of calls where somebody hangs up.” Tiffany’s eyes were bright with curiosity. “Maybe you should call the police or something.”

If one more person told her that, Beth thought she might scream. But she managed an offhanded smile. “Oh, if we ignore the whole thing, whoever is making the calls will give up.”

“You could get Caller ID,” she added helpfully.

“I am considering that.”

“You know, the sheriff for the whole county lives only a couple of doors down from us.” Tiffany marveled at the idea. “My sister said he was talking at the middle school tonight. You heard him, didn’t you? Isn’t he cool?” Despite the fact that Beth was now holding the front door open, the ponytailed teenager made no move to leave. She continued enthusiastically, “He was there talking to the principal when one of the chaperons for the dance caught a couple of guys spray-painting the administration building Friday night after the game. I don’t know what he said to them, I mean, they wouldn’t tell anybody, but everybody says he really scared them. I bet he could help you.”

Her open admiration made Beth grit her teeth. It also hardened her sagging resolve. She was not interested in a man who scared anybody—even teenage boys who probably deserved it.

“Thank you for your suggestion, Tiffany,” she said, in a tone that she hoped was both pleasant and dismissive. “I’ll watch until you get home.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Sommers.” Her feelings apparently not hurt, Tiffany bounded down the porch steps with all the grace of a puppy, and cut across the lawn. In the middle of the street she turned and cheerfully waved.

Beth waved back, waiting until the girl disappeared inside the brick house kitty-corner to her own. Only then did Beth close and lock the front door, her hand still fumbling on the unfamiliar brass dead bolt.

Every time she touched the shiny new locks, Beth was reminded of Ray. As she made her way up to bed, she acknowledged the sharp feeling of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. This was Thursday night; tomorrow evening Steph and Lauren’s weekend with their dad began.

She lay in bed, sleep hours away, and prayed: Please let him be in a good mood. Please please please let him bring them home on time.

CHAPTER FOUR

STANDING IN the living room where she could keep one eye on the clock, the other on the empty street, Beth clutched the cordless phone in a grip so tight she felt as if the plastic case should crack.

Ray was now four hours and thirty-two minutes late bringing the girls home. Call the police, everyone had said. Finally, in terror, she’d known she had no other choice.

And look what good it had done her.

He’s how late? they’d asked. Only a few hours? Perhaps car trouble…

“Ma’am,” the officer on the other end of the line said patiently, “has your ex-husband threatened to take the children?”

Any other time, Beth would have been annoyed; tonight, his condescension only quickened the panic beating in her breast. He wasn’t going to help her. She could tell already.