A Lawman in Her Stocking

“Pete,” Brenna corrected her grandmother. “The old man’s name is Pete.”

Abigail waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. I’m not interested in the old goat. I want to know more about the hunk wearing the badge.”

Brenna sighed. She and her grandmother had been down this road before. “What’s to tell? He listened to my complaint, then gave me his biased opinion.”

Abigail’s bright orange curls danced as she shook her head. “You know what I mean. What color are his eyes and hair? How tall is he? Is he a super stud or a major dud?”

Exasperated, Brenna stared at the woman. Since her retirement a little over a year ago as a high school guidance counselor, Abigail had made it her sole purpose in life to find Brenna a husband. She’d even gone so far as to sell the house she and Brenna had shared since the death of Brenna’s parents ten years ago to move to Tranquillity, Texas, with Brenna in order to keep up the pressure.

“Granny, every time I meet a man, we go through this same inquisition. Aren’t you getting a little tired of it?”

“Brenna Elaine Montgomery, you’re almost twenty-six years old and the only thing you’ve had that even resembles a serious relationship was a college fling with that jerk, Tim Miller.”

“Tom Mitchell,” Brenna said, making a face. “And he taught me a valuable lesson—men use women, then cast them aside when they’re done.”

“If you’ll remember, I told you from the beginning he reminded me of a weasel. And when he talked you into helping him get through law school, I knew I was right.” Abigail shook her head. “But don’t judge all men by that loser.”

Brenna felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Well, I haven’t seen a man yet who could tempt me into finding out if my first assessment was wrong.”

Abigail gave her a knowing look. “Maybe old Devin—”

“Dylan.”

“Whatever. Maybe he’ll prove you wrong.” Her grandmother’s gray eyes twinkled merrily. “You know, that’s probably why you’re so uptight all the time. You need a man like Darwin in your life and a little hanky-panky to help you unwind.”

“Granny!”

“I just call it the way I see it.” Abigail pushed the sleeves of her hot-pink, nylon warm-up jacket to her elbows and leaned forward in the ladder-back chair. “Now, tell me about Sheriff Chancellor. You know I never get tired of talking about good-looking men.”

“His name is Chandler.”

“Whatever.”

Brenna frowned. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.” Abigail winked. “I’ll bet my new Reeboks this guy is a real stud. Probably better-looking than Mel Gibson and muscled up like Ronald Schwasenhoofer.”

“Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

“Whatever.”

Brenna rose from the table to place her plate in the dishwasher. She was only delaying the inevitable. Abigail Montgomery could have been a top-notch interrogator for the CIA.

“Just how did you arrive at your conclusion that the sheriff had to be something special?”

“I didn’t deal with teenagers for over forty years and not learn to recognize a hedge job when I see one,” Abigail shot back. “You think he’s a hunk.”

“I do not.”

“Do too. Now spill it.”

Brenna threw up her hands, as much in exasperation as in surrender. “He’s tall—”

“How tall?” Abigail pressed.

“I’d say he’s a little over six feet tall and has black hair and green eyes.” When her grandmother frowned at the lack of information, Brenna tried to sound indifferent. “He looks to be somewhere in his early thirties. Now, that’s all I know about the man. And all I care to know.”

“Uh-oh! He must have a spare tire around his waist.” Abigail shook her head. “Don’t worry. The way you cook, the extra weight will drop off the poor man like leaves from a tree.”

Brenna ignored the remark about her lack of cooking skills as she remembered the sheriff’s assortment of lean muscles. Her mouth went dry. “His stomach is actually quite flat.”

“No teeth?”

A picture of his devastating smile flitted through Brenna’s mind. “He has beautiful teeth.”

“Got a real honker, huh?”

“Granny, will you stop?” Brenna placed her hands on her hips as she fought back a smile. “He doesn’t have a big nose. And even if he did, I doubt that it would detract from his good looks.”

“Ah-ha!” Abigail cried triumphantly. “Now we’re getting down to the nitty gritty. He’s that good-looking, huh?” She gave Brenna a wink and a wicked grin. “I’ll bet he’s a hell of a kisser, too.”

“Granny—”

“Are you going to need the car tonight?” Abigail asked, suddenly.

Dazed at how fast her grandmother had changed subjects, Brenna shook her head. “No, I can walk to class. Why?”

“I wanted to drive down to Alpine with one of my new friends.”

“That will be nice,” Brenna said, glad her grandmother had made friends so soon after their move to Tranquillity. “What do you have planned?”

Abigail’s grin turned wicked. “We’re going cruising for a stud muffin for you. Any preferences?”

“Granny, please don’t start in again with the you-need-a-husband routine.”

“Oh, lighten up,” Abigail said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just going to a movie. Want me to drop you off at the town hall?”

Brenna breathed a sigh of relief. She was never quite sure when the woman was serious and when she wasn’t. “No, thanks. It’s not far, and I need the exercise.”

Her grandmother shook her head. “I can’t figure out why you’re so concerned about staying in shape if you aren’t interested in attracting a man.”

“Granny—”

“Okay. I’ll shut up for now,” Abigail said, glancing at her Mickey Mouse watch. “Time to pick up my friend.” She propelled herself from the chair and started into the living room. Turning back she shook her finger at Brenna. “Just remember I’d like to have a great-grandchild before I’m too senile to appreciate it. And that Sheriff Antler—”

“Chandler.”

“Whatever,” Abigail said, waving her hand. “He sounds like a great prospect for the father.”