Through the Sheriff's Eyes

As if that made it all right. Ben hadn’t quite managed to hide his rage, he knew, remembering the way her eyes had dilated when she’d seen his expression.

Ben muttered an obscenity under his breath and felt like a fool, standing here outside the barn, afraid to go in.

Only, he told himself, because he didn’t want to upset Faith.

Too bad he knew a lie when he heard one, even when he was the one telling it.

Still asking himself what he was doing here, Ben stepped inside, then paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Small windows let in some sunlight, and double doors thrown open on one side of the barn to allow customer access to the nursery area outside made a bright rectangle.

The space in here was divided by open shelving units built of rough wood that sectioned off garden supplies from art and antiques from produce. In the middle of the barn, a large counter held displays of hand-canned jams and jellies as well as an old-fashioned cash register.

No one was behind the register. His eye was caught by a woman picking through a bin of Yukon Gold potatoes and filling a bag. He recognized her from the library, where she worked.

Ben nodded. “Ms. Taylor.”

A potato in her hand, she looked up, momentarily apprehensive. “Chief Wheeler. Oh, dear. I hope you’re not here because there’s a problem?”

“No, I came to speak to Ms. Russell or her father. Whoever’s handy.” He smiled. “I might buy some of that raspberry jam while I’m here.”

“It’s divine, isn’t it?” She laughed. “I think Faith is outside helping someone.”

“Thanks.”

He was halfway across the barn when Faith and a pair of women came in from the nursery area. Faith was pulling a flatbed cart with half a dozen large, potted shrubs on it. With her head turned away as she said something to the other women, she didn’t see Ben immediately.

Oh, hell, he thought, frozen in place.

He never got over the shock of the first sight of her. She was so damn beautiful. More than that, she made him think about sunshine, golden roses in bloom and picket fences. Home, the kind he’d never had. She was grace and sweetness.

All good reasons for him to stay away from her. He wasn’t the man for a woman like her, not after the life he’d led. Growing up first with a drug-addict mother, then in foster homes, going straight into the ugly world of inner-city law enforcement—these things didn’t make for a man who could be domesticated enough to belong behind a picket fence.

But damn it, sometimes he just wanted to look at her. To drink in the sight of her corn-silk blond hair, worn most often in a braid that hung down her back or flopped over one slender shoulder. The delicate, beautifully sculpted lines of her face and her pretty mouth. Her eyes—God, her eyes, a blue richer than the sky. Her slim body, endless legs, long-fingered hands he could all too easily imagine touching the five-year-olds she taught every day as she gently guided them.

And yeah, he could imagine those hands touching him, too, although most of the time he didn’t let himself.

This, of course, was why he’d stopped by today. To see her. Nothing else.

He’d gotten himself breathing again when her head abruptly turned and her startling eyes gazed right into his. They widened and darkened, and he’d have sworn color rose in her cheeks.

God, he thought. She thinks I have news about Hardesty.

He was deluding himself if he thought she was reacting to him sexually. Hell, no; he was fated only to be the bearer of tidings, good or ill, as far as Faith Russell was concerned.

It didn’t help that he was wearing his uniform. That was another thing different for him here in West Fork. He’d been on one plainclothes assignment or another for his last ten years in L.A. There, the uniform got taken out of mothballs mainly when he had to attend funerals. Now he embodied the police department in this town, so he wore a uniform most days. It felt both constricting and conspicuous to him. Conspicuous, of course, was the point.

“Ms. Russell,” he said in an easy voice. “Ladies. Looks like you’re in for some fall planting.”

“It’s the best time to put in shrubs and trees,” one of them told him. She studied him with interest. “You’re Chief Wheeler, aren’t you? I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the proposed skateboard park. I know there’s some controversy about it….”

Smiling an apology at Faith, he drew the woman aside and, while her friend paid for the shrubs, let her say her piece. He recognized her name once she introduced herself. Sonja Benoit managed the video-rental store in town, while her husband owned a car dealership. They had two teenage sons, which might have been why Sonja had gotten involved in the grand plans to build the skateboard park on a vacant lot near the high school. It might also be, he speculated, that Guy Benoit was fed up with chasing skateboarders off the grounds of his dealership.

By the time Sonja was satisfied that her committee had his support, her friend was pulling the cart outside and Faith was ringing up the potatoes, corn and lettuce for Ms. Taylor, the library clerk. A moment later, he and Faith were alone. Dust, shimmering in the sunlight, billowed out front as the two vehicles reversed.

Faith turned to look at him as he walked toward her. Her face was nearly expressionless. “Do you have news, Chief Wheeler?”

Not Ben. She hadn’t called him Ben in weeks.

“No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I only stopped by to be sure you’re all right, and that you haven’t heard from Hardesty.”

A shadow passed over her eyes, as if a cloud had blocked the sun from a lake’s surface. But after a moment she shook her head. “If I could tell you how to find him, don’t you think I would?”

No, he wasn’t sure at all. He was very much afraid that Faith still had mixed feelings about her ex-husband. Despite what that scum had done to her, she was the kind of woman who believed in redemption and who wanted to forgive.

Granted, ultimately she’d divorced him. But Ben had asked himself, what was to say she didn’t still want to believe that the man she’d married—and presumably once loved—was really a decent guy, somewhere deep inside? Ben had seen a photo of her taken at the hospital after the brutal beating. The mere idea of Faith, battered and bloodied and bruised, made a tide of violence rise in him.

She would only withdraw further from him if she knew what he was thinking, though, so all Ben could do was say, “Yeah. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t left a message or sent you some kind of little reminder.”

If he hadn’t been looking closely, he might have missed seeing her flinch. She suppressed it quickly and managed to stare straight at him.

“I’ll let you know if I hear from Rory.”

God damn it. She did know something.

But he only nodded brusquely. “All right.” He cleared his throat. “Are you still getting some time in at the gun range?”

“Yes, but not as much.” She made a helpless gesture. “I’m … pretty busy.”

Yeah, that was one way to put it. She was working full-time as a teacher and running a business, too. Not to mention caring for her father. She looked more worn down every time he saw her. Sooner or later, he was afraid, she’d break.

The thought made him feel sick and helpless, and roughened his voice. “Do you keep the gun with you?”

She nodded. “It’s in my purse behind the counter.”

He had mixed feelings about the idea of her owning a handgun at all. Like most cops, Ben would have been happiest if no civilians were armed. In Faith’s case, he was far from convinced that she’d have what it took to shoot her ex-husband. On the other hand, twenty-four-hour-a-day protection for her wasn’t an option, and if Ben knew one thing, it was that Hardesty would be back. His attacks had escalated. He wasn’t done.

Ben frowned. “It would be better if you had it on you.”

“I don’t have enough cleavage to tuck it in my bra,” Faith snapped. “Sorry.”

No, she didn’t have big breasts, but he liked what she had just fine. More than fine. She was long and limber and sexy.

He was very careful not to let his gaze drop to her body, although he was painfully aware of it and how little she wore. The summer heat wave had persisted into October, and it was too damn hot in here for her to wear an overshirt to conceal any kind of holster. The snug-fitting cropped chinos she wore with a cap-sleeved T-shirt that barely touched the waistband of her pants left nowhere to hide anything.

He thrummed with the effort it took not to look.

“Rory wouldn’t dare attack me in here, anyway,” she said, and Ben realized she was blushing. He wondered what she’d seen on his face.

“The time he walked in here and your sister ordered him off the property, she thought he’d have hit her if Gray hadn’t come in.”