Her Honor-bound Lawman

Previously published under the pseudonym Kari Sutherland

Silhouette Romance

Heartfire, Homefire #973

Silhouette Special Edition

Wish on the Moon #741

KAREN ROSE SMITH

lives in Pennsylvania with her husband of twenty-nine years. She believes in happily-ever-afters and enjoys writing about them. A former teacher, she now writes romances full-time. She likes to hear from readers, and they can write to her at: P.O. Box 1545, Hanover, PA 17331.

Storkville folks hardly remember the day the town bore another name—because the residents keep bearing bundles of joy! No longer known for its safe neighborhoods and idyllic landscape, Storkville is baby-bootie capital of the world! We even have a legend for the explosion of “uplets”—“When the stork visits, he bestows many bouncing bundles on those whose love is boundless!” Of course, some—Gertie Anderson—still insist a certain lemonade recipe, which is “guaranteed” to help along prospective mothers, is the real stork! But whether the little darlings come from the cabbage patch or the delivery room, Storkville folks never underestimate the beauty of holding a child—or the enchantment of first love and the wonder of second chances….

Contents

Prologue (#ueb69dbcb-6dee-5544-916d-b553c289f062)

Chapter One (#ub324a90a-8d32-565f-8b94-a27c0897224d)

Chapter Two (#u0f48b7b2-228f-5109-9bb8-6b69ad4eba93)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue

Sheriff Tucker Malone set down the sheaf of papers in his hand and pushed away from the desk in his office. Rising to his feet, he rolled his shoulders and went to stand at the window. He was too distracted to work, and the distraction was a woman named Emma.

Halloween night in Storkville, Nebraska, was usually quiet with only a few reports of pranks. He’d stayed late tonight in case he was needed. He’d stayed late tonight because he was unsettled by his reactions to a woman who couldn’t remember her own name. Fortunately she’d been wearing a necklace with “Emma” engraved on it. But that’s the only clue he’d had to begin his investigation.

Turning away from the window, he picked up the snapshot of her that lay on his desk. He’d taken it so he could fax it to surrounding towns. Certainly she belonged somewhere…to someone. A mugger had stolen her purse, as well as her overnight satchel, and with them anything that had identified her. No one in Storkville knew her. But she couldn’t have come too far. There had been no abandoned vehicles around the town. It was a mystery.

Her sparkling green eyes stared up at him from the photograph, and her curly, dark coppery-red hair surrounded her face like a soft cloud. Her skin was so delicate, her smile so sweet, and whenever he looked at her a protective urge surged through him….

Get a grip, he scolded himself. Find out who she is so you can send her back where she belongs.

She’d spent the last three days under his roof, and it was driving him crazy. For the past two months Emma had been staying with Gertie Anderson who had witnessed her mugging and fall. But when Gertie’s family had swept in from Sweden as an unexpected surprise, there hadn’t been room for Emma. Before Tucker’s better sense had caught his words, he’d offered her a room in his house.

Hoping Emma had turned in by now—it was almost eleven—he grabbed his leather bomber jacket from the old-fashioned clothes tree and snatched his Stetson from the rack on the wall. After he left his office, he stopped at an open doorway and bid Earl Grimes and Barry Sanchek a peaceful night.

The dispatcher, Cora Beth Harper, smiled at him as he passed her desk. “You’ve been putting in some long hours. Take care driving.” Cora Beth had coal black hair that Tucker suspected was helped by a bottle of dye. She was plump with a voice that could stay calm in any situation, and she liked to mother everyone.

“Page me if you need me,” he said as he usually did, and she nodded as he went out the door.

The Cedar County Sheriff’s Department’s black SUV sat at the curb. He pulled out the keys and pressed the remote to unlock it. As he climbed inside, he thought about the three years he’d lived in Storkville and the relative peace he’d found here. Taking a job as interim sheriff had probably saved his sanity as well as his career…although being sheriff in Storkville, Nebraska was a world away from being an undercover cop in Chicago. But the citizens of Storkville had liked the way he’d worked and elected him to a four-year term. This place, as well as his job, had given his life rhythm again and maybe even some meaning.

Streetlights illuminated residential areas as Tucker briefly cruised through them, making sure everything was quiet, everything was the way it should be, even though he realized that behind closed doors, sometimes nothing was the way it should be.

A short time later, he turned into the driveway to the garage attached to a two-story Colonial and pressed the remote for the double door. Now and then he still wondered why he’d bought a house this big. But it had been at a discount price because it needed fixing up. It had three bedrooms and a bath upstairs, a living room, large kitchen, and small den downstairs. And an unfinished basement.

It wasn’t as if he had dreams of a family in the future. He’d given up those fantasies when he’d signed his divorce papers. Actually, he’d given up those fantasies the night—

Cutting off the memories he wouldn’t tolerate, he pulled in beside his truck, lowered the garage door and climbed out of the SUV. When he opened the door leading down a short hall, he headed for the kitchen. The light was still burning over the sink. Emma must have left it on for him.

After he shrugged out of his jacket, he hung it on the peg on the wall, his hat on the rack atop it. As he strode into the kitchen, he heard a low noise—the murmur of the TV.

Apparently Emma hadn’t turned in yet.

The sound of Tucker’s SUV pulling into the driveway had alerted Emma to his return. He’d said he would be late. She’d decided to wait up for him, to spend a few minutes with one of the few people she felt familiar with. The bump on her head from her fall had wiped out her past, and she was struggling to deal with that. What if she never remembered? What if she had to just go on from here?

Aunt Gertie, Tucker, and the workers at the day-care center where she volunteered were the only people she knew in the world. When Tucker had offered her a room under his roof, she’d been reluctant to accept, but Aunt Gertie—as most of the town called her—had soothed Emma’s doubts with something she’d already known deep in her soul. Aunt Gertie had said, “Tucker Malone is the most honorable man I know. He’ll keep you safe, and he’ll do everything in his power to find out who you are.”

Hearing the garage door close, Emma took a deep breath. She didn’t know what her experience with men in the past had been. Not much, apparently, because after the doctor at the hospital had examined her, he’d told her she was still a virgin. Whatever it had been, she suspected Tucker Malone was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.

She heard his boots on the linoleum in the kitchen. She heard him walk through the dining room. When he appeared in the doorway to the living room, her heart skipped a beat.

He was at least six-two, with dark brown hair, enhanced by a bit of silver at the temples, that skimmed the collar of his tan sheriff’s shirt. His shoulders were broad, and the dark brown stripe that went down the sides of his trousers emphasized his long legs. Her gaze met his. As always, the strength and intensity she found in his dark brown eyes awed her, so much so that her mouth went dry. She’d learned he was a man of few words most of the time. He’d checked on her often when she’d been at Aunt Gertie’s. Although she’d been under his roof for three days, she still didn’t know much about him.

His brows arched up now, and she knew it was an inquiry asking why she was still up.

She motioned to the two glasses she’d set on a tray on the dark pine coffee table and managed to find her voice. “I thought you might like some cider.”

Leaning against the doorway, not making a move to come sit beside her on the tan-and-green plaid sofa, he asked, “Did many kids come to the door for tricks or treats?”

“I gave out all of the candy and popcorn balls. But I have a few cookies left.” She gestured to the dish sitting between the glasses.

Tucker crossed to her slowly, and she saw his gaze linger on her hair, then pass down the emerald green sweater and slacks that she wore. Everything inside of her seemed to race, and she felt heat stain her cheeks. She fingered the necklace around her neck, the only proof of who she was.

“Did you make these?” he asked gruffly.

She nodded.