A Lawman in Her Stocking

After several moments of awkward silence, Dylan placed his hand at her lower back and guided her through the door into the adjoining sheriff’s office. Walking behind the desk, he flexed his hand in an effort to stop the tingling that ran the length of his arm and spread throughout his torso. He’d probably been gripping the rope too tight, he decided. It was just plain ridiculous to think it had anything to do with feeling the warmth of her skin through the crisp fabric of her blouse.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, Ms. Montgomery?” he suggested, removing his wide-brimmed Resistol from a hook on the wall. He jammed it onto his head before turning to face her.

While he waited for her to collect her thoughts, his gaze traveled to her copper-colored hair. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she’d piled it on top of her head in that god-awful knot. It looked like a baseball plopped down in the middle of a bird’s nest.

“I want to report an elderly gentleman—” She stopped abruptly. “Sheriff, are you listening to me?”

She’d planted her fists on her shapely hips, drawing his attention to her feminine form. She expected him to listen with a distraction like that?

“Now what was that about an old man?” he managed to ask.

“I said there’s an elderly gentleman accosting women on Main Street.”

“Here? In Tranquillity? Are you sure?”

Dylan watched her cheeks flush with indignation at his dubious questions. The color highlighted the few golden freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Her big blue eyes and perfectly shaped lips made him think of long winter nights snuggled beneath the covers of his king-size bed.

He shook his head to dislodge the wayward thought. She’d said something else, but he’d missed it again. Damn! He’d better get his mind off the woman’s looks and back to the business at hand.

“What was that?”

“I told you the old guy just grabbed me and kissed me,” she stated, her patience clearly wearing thinner by the minute.

Dylan heaved a sigh as he looked over the top of her head to stare out the plate-glass window of his orderly office. What had happened to the pleasant lady who charmed the socks off the all-male town council? All the mayor and town council members had been able to talk about for the past week was what a sweet little gal that Montgomery woman was.

He shook his head. It never ceased to amaze him how a female could be so amiable when things went her way and how quarrelsome she could get when they didn’t.

Turning his attention back to the woman standing on the other side of the desk, he silently cursed. He could deal with her insistence and tone of voice easy enough. It was the way she looked that made sweat pop out on his forehead and upper lip. Why did Brenna Montgomery have to be so darned…cute?

But what was up with her clothes? he wondered when her long skirt rustled. Her white, ruffled collar went clear up to her chin and her black skirt just barely cleared the floor. Dressed as she was, she reminded him of the schoolmarms in the old, western movies he’d watched as a kid.

“That’s all there was to it?” he finally asked. “Just a simple kiss?”

“Wasn’t that enough?” When he remained silent, she looked incredulous. “Surely you don’t think I’d make up something like this?”

“No.”

His stomach did a back flip. It didn’t matter how her hair was styled, what kind of clothes she wore, or how kissable her lips looked; he’d always been a sucker when it came to redheads and ladies in distress. And Brenna Montgomery was both—all wrapped up into one neat little package.

Brenna felt a shiver slither up her spine and her tendency to crave chocolate whenever she became nervous rushed forward as the sheriff’s brilliant, green gaze narrowed on her upturned face. She’d been so shocked to find the man shirtless and dangling from the firehouse ceiling, she hadn’t noticed anything about him beyond his various muscle groups.

And what impressive, well-defined muscle groups they were, too. Bulging biceps, a ridged stomach and all that masculine bare skin had taken her by surprise. But the sight of the webbed harness pulling the denim tight across his impressive attributes had struck her absolutely speechless.

Sheriff Dylan Chandler certainly wasn’t the average, run-of-the-mill, civil servant. In fact, she couldn’t find one darned thing average or ordinary about the man.

His badge certified he was supposed to be one of the good guys. But didn’t they wear white hats? His cowboy hat was outlaw-black, and combined with the lock of ebony hair hanging low on his forehead and the five o’clock shadow covering his lean cheeks, he appeared a little wild, relatively dangerous and totally fascinating.

Irritated with herself for giving the man’s rugged good looks and bulging muscle mass a second thought, she took a deep breath, shored up her courage and asked, “What do you intend to do about this?”

Dylan pushed back the brim of his Resistol with his thumb, then folded his arms across his chest. He’d stopped several barroom bawls before they ever got started with that narrow-eyed stare he’d just given her. And for a second or two, he’d thought she might back down. But it was clear she wasn’t intimidated by him. Nope. Not even a little bit.

He almost smiled. For the first time in six years, his bluff had been called. And by a cute little redhead with freckles, no less. Amazing!

“Do you want to file a formal complaint, Ms. Montgomery?”

When she carefully avoided his gaze, he decided that he might not be losing his touch after all.

“No, I’m not going to file a complaint,” she said, brushing imaginary lint from her skirt. “The old guy didn’t exactly threaten me.” She squared her shoulders and finally met his gaze head-on. “But I don’t want it to happen again. I found it very frightening to have a total stranger grab me in a bear hug and kiss me. Even if it was on the cheek.”

“I understand, Ms. Montgomery. Did the old gent hand you a rose just before he kissed you?” When she nodded, Dylan grinned. “I have a good idea who you’re talking about, and believe me, you were in no danger. I’ll ask him about it, but it’s my bet you’ve just been officially welcomed to town by Pete Winstead.”

“I don’t care who he is,” she said. “The man scared the bejeebers out of me.”

Dylan frowned. “It was only a little peck on the cheek.”

“Yes, but you have no idea how frightening something like that can be for a woman.” She seemed to be gathering a full head of steam as she stared at him, and the heightening color on her pale cheeks fascinated the hell out of him. “Where I come from, his actions might even be considered an…” She paused as if searching for the right word, then glaring at him, finished, “…an assault.”

Dylan couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud. “Did the old geezer say anything during this alleged assault?”

The glare she sent his way was so heated it could have fried bacon. “Yes, but I was so frightened, I didn’t understand what he said.” She wrinkled her cute little nose. “Besides, he smelled like beer.”

Dylan’s grin instantly disappeared. “You have something against a man drinking a beer after a hard day’s work?”

“Well…no—”

“Then let me clue you in on the way things are around these parts, Ms. Montgomery. Nearly every man in town stops by Luke’s Bar and Grill after work for a beer and the latest gossip. It’s a tradition—drink a beer, swap a story or two and go home.” Dylan shrugged. “Pete’s no different than the rest of us. He goes to Luke’s regularly. But I’ve never known him to drink more than two beers at one sitting.”

“I realize this is a tight-knit, little community and, believe me, I want to be a part of it just like everyone else.” Her ankle-length skirt rustled like a bed of dry leaves when she tapped her toe. “But Pete Winstead’s drinking habits aren’t the issue here. When a stranger grabs a woman and kisses her, it can be very frightening. It’s your job to prevent things like that from happening.”

Dylan’s arms dropped to his sides, his hands flexing in frustration. He was good at his job and he didn’t need a high-strung, big-city female telling him how to do it. He’d had that happen once, he wasn’t going to allow it to happen a second time.

He leaned forward and braced his hands on the polished surface of the desk. “I said I’d talk to him. Now, is there anything else you feel the need to complain about, Ms. Montgomery?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good if I did, now would it, Sheriff?” She’d managed to make his title sound like a dirty word.

Before he had a chance to respond, she turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her so hard that the plate-glass window rattled ominously.

Shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, Dylan silently watched her march across the street, gather the yards of her ridiculous skirt into a bunch around her knees and stuff it all into an aging Toyota.

He didn’t doubt for a minute that the incident with Pete had scared the hell out of her. Her pale complexion and the tremor in her voice when she walked into the firehouse had been quite genuine.

But he’d dealt with Brenna Montgomery’s brand of trouble before and wanted no part of it. Her kind moved in and started trying to change everything in sight. Her complaint was proof enough of that. She hadn’t even been a resident of Tranquillity two full weeks and she was already trying to stop his uncle Pete’s friendly tradition.

Dylan shook his head. No doubt about it. That little lady was going to be trouble with a great big, capital T. Unfortunately, even in those weird clothes Brenna Montgomery had to be the best-looking trouble he’d ever laid eyes on.

And he had a feeling if she stayed in town, Tranquillity would never be the same.

“Get a grip, Brenna. The sheriff’s probably right about old Deke,” Abigail Montgomery said.