Jessica squinted back from behind her big sunglasses. Was that Cathy Schneider? Holy cow! It was! Cathy had hardly changed at all. Not only was she still rocking her seventh-grade hairdo, but she wore enough accessory items to sink a ship. Thankfully, Jessica’s dark sunglasses shielded her eyes from the glare of Cathy’s bangle bracelets.
Jessica nearly waved. She and Cathy had been friends once. But Cathy didn’t seem to recognize her now, and anyway, Jessica wasn’t here for reunions. She was here to pay her respects to Mavis Long quickly, quietly, and without fanfare.
In a bright red Porsche.
Jessica swallowed a lump the size of Texas. Cathy wasn’t going to be the only person from her past she’d see this weekend. In a town the size of Big Verde, literally everyone was someone from her past, but it was Casey Long who had her concerned. She’d prepared a little speech—Hey, Casey. How have you been? Remember how you took my virginity and tossed me aside like yesterday’s garbage?—but hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. Who knew? Maybe Casey wasn’t even in Big Verde anymore. Maybe he’d hit it big in the rodeo world, just like he’d always dreamed, and was halfway across the country trying not to fall off a bull.
She imagined him being tossed across an arena by an angry black bull with flaring nostrils and cartoon smoke coming out of its ears. And then she realized she’d accidentally revved the Porsche’s engine again. Getting ready to charge.
She sighed. Even if Casey didn’t live in Big Verde anymore, he’d come home for his great-aunt’s funeral. He was a Long, so there would be no getting out of it.
This was ridiculous. How long could a woman sit at an intersection? There was nothing coming as far as the eye could see, so when Cathy turned her back, Jessica eased into the intersection, and then hurried across. The tires squealed just a little, because she wasn’t used to so much power.
And that’s when she heard the siren.
Her body broke out in a sweat. Her skin felt like it was being poked by a million needles. A rush of adrenaline and pure, white hot panic overtook her.
Breathe. At worst, it’s a traffic ticket. Just breathe.
* * *
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
Casey was going to be late for his great-aunt’s funeral. Some dumbass in a red Porsche had run the light just as he’d turned onto Main Street.
He’d have been happy to ignore it—pretend he hadn’t seen it—except he couldn’t because (a) You couldn’t pretend not to see a red Porsche in Big Verde, and (b) There was an audience. He had no choice but to pull the guy over and provide some much-needed excitement for Big Verde’s downtown business district.
Cathy Schneider held up a…broom? as he drove by, and Danny Moreno, the pharmacist at the Rite Aid, waved and smiled in approval when Casey turned the cruiser’s lights on.
The idiot pulled over in front of the Pump ’n’ Go, so at least Casey wouldn’t have to chase him. Four old ranchers, who’d probably been talking shit at the coffee bar, came out to the sidewalk, ready to watch the show.
Casey pulled up behind the Porsche. Big Verde was a small town of locals, but the pretty Texas Hill Country views and green, clear waters of the Rio Verde attracted tourists and city folks looking for country homes. Most of them were nice families who pumped much-needed revenue into the town during the summer. But a few of them were assholes.
He squinted at the Porsche and ran the plates.
It was registered to Carmen Foraccio. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He got out of his cruiser and waved at the sidewalk gawkers before adopting his most menacing scowl.
“Go get ’em, tiger!” one of the ranchers yelled.
Casey couldn’t let a grin ruin the scowl he’d perfected, so he ignored the fan club. He’d give the lady a warning and be done with it.
The car’s window was rolled halfway down, but he couldn’t see inside. At six feet four inches tall, he towered over the car, which seemed like a damn toy next to him. The top of it barely passed his belt buckle. “Good morning,” he said, in the general direction of the window beneath him. “You just blew through a red light.”
“I’m sorry, officer. I think that light must be broken.”
It wasn’t broken. But it did tend to have a mind of its own. Casey had sneaked through it a few times himself, although never while on duty.
“License and proof of insurance, please,” Casey responded. He didn’t have time to stand here socializing.
“Okay, hold on a sec.”
Casey sighed and tapped his foot.
The voice, like the name, sounded familiar. It stirred up a feeling of nostalgia, which was weird, because when he tried to locate Carmen Foraccio in his memory banks, he came up blank.
He backed up a bit and peeked through the window. And what he saw was a very nice, round ass in a tight black skirt as the woman dug around in the glove compartment. The skirt crawled up her thighs as she struggled, and Casey straightened quickly, feeling as if he’d sneaked a peek on purpose, which he absolutely had not.
“I’m trying to find the insurance card,” the woman said with a muffled voice.
Casey shifted from foot to foot as he experienced…Irritation? Excitement?
He’d definitely heard that voice before.
“Still looking!” she called.
Casey looked at his watch. “Ma’am, that’s fine. Just your license please. I’ll look up the insurance.”
“Um, okay. Hold on…”
He glanced in the window again. Got an eyeful of curvy thigh as Ms. Foraccio switched course to dig behind the passenger seat.
“It’s in my purse.”
Casey stared up at the blue sky. Whistled. Tried not to look back into the car or at the sidewalk Pump ’n’ Go gawkers who were by now hoping to witness a pat down.
“Oh…” the woman said with a shaky voice that made Casey wonder what was coming next.
“My…”
He glanced back inside the car to see the woman frantically patting herself down and squirming in the seat.
“God.”
She looked up at him. Big movie star glasses concealed nearly the entire upper half of her heart-shaped face. Below the glasses were pouty lips, pink and shiny from something that probably tasted like bubble gum, not that he was thinking about what her lips tasted like.
A part of him was definitely thinking about what her lips tasted like. And another part of him, for some stupid reason, felt like it already knew.
“Is there a problem, ma’am?”
He hoped his voice sounded firmer than he felt, because for some damn reason his legs were shaky.
“I think I left my purse at the hotel.”
Casey stood up straight and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Ms. Foraccio, I’m afraid I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle.”
He sighed and cracked his knuckles.
Shit.
Chapter Two
Jessica couldn’t believe she’d left her purse at the hotel. The car was registered to Carmen, so this should be interesting.
She lowered the window the rest of the way. She couldn’t see his badge. Just his waist, which was bedazzled by a huge silver belt buckle. HILL COUNTRY-COUNTY RODEO CHAMP.
Not surprising in Big Verde. And she didn’t doubt his cop status, since in addition to the belt buckle, he also had a nightstick and a holstered gun.
“Please step out of the vehicle,” the officer repeated.
“Am I going to be arrested?”
“Not if you do what I ask and exit the vehicle. Unless you’re wanted for murder or have a shit ton of parking tickets.”
Jesus. Would this guy back up or bend down? She really didn’t want to continue talking to the belt buckle. She was nervous, and that made her want to do things like lean out the window, put her lips right up to that ridiculous chunk of rodeo metal, and yell, “I’ll take a burger and fries! And supersize it!”
She swallowed those words right down and instead said, “I
need to make a phone call.” Dang! Her phone was in her purse.
“We’re not at the part where you get to make a phone call yet,” the smart-ass said. “Now I need you to get out of the car, nice and slow.”
The man took a couple of steps back and bent down to peer in the window. It was a relief to put some distance between her and the belt buckle.
Aviator cop glasses rested on a long Roman nose, over lips drawn into a tight, straight line. And below those lips, which were full and promising despite being pursed like they’d just sucked on a lemon, was a very familiar chin. With a cleft.
Jessica gripped the steering wheel as her body went into fight-or-flight mode.
Fight: Hey, Casey. How have you been? Remember how you took my virginity and tossed me aside like yesterday’s garbage?
Or
Flight: This Porsche could outrun a cop, right?
Also: Casey was a cop? What the hell?
Without thinking—because thoughts were impossible once your lizard brain took over—she revved the engine.
“Ma’am—”
That voice! It was lower than she remembered, but it was definitely the voice of Casey Long.
What was he doing in law enforcement? She never would have seen that coming. In high school, Casey had been the town’s rebel teen, and they’d been such a dumb cliché—Good Girl falls for Bad Boy—before Casey had gotten what he’d wanted and then forgotten her.
She’d never forgotten him though. And even in her terrified rage, something softened inside her. Dang it. That was what made him dangerous.
The engine raced again. She must have depressed the pedal without realizing it.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
She was totally thinking about it.
“Ma’am, I’m late for a funeral. And I hate funerals almost as much as I hate weddings. I do, however, love a good car chase. So, you can damn well bet I’ll catch you. And then I’ll spend the rest of the morning doing the paperwork associated with your arrest, which will get me out of having to go to the funeral. If I’m lucky, I can drag it out and escape the reception as well.” He cracked his knuckles. “Your call.”
Jessica bit her bottom lip so she wouldn’t fuss at him for wanting to miss his own aunt’s funeral. Heartless. The bastard was still completely heartless.
His jaw jutted out stubbornly. She knew a pair of icy blue eyes glared at her from behind the shades. Eyes you could fall into. Eyes that were so hypnotic they could make you do just about anything.
She turned off the ignition. Unbuckled her seat belt.
“Nice and slow now,” Casey said, hand hovering near his gun.
She opened the door and stepped out, shrinking beneath the scrutiny of the growing crowd at the Pump ’n’ Go.
“Remove your sunglasses, please.”
The sound of his voice sent vibrations through her body; vibrations that were not entirely unpleasant. Some things might have changed, like Casey being a freaking cop, but the effect of his voice on her body hadn’t. She suspected her pupils were dilated.
She pursed her lips in annoyance, and glanced at the nightstick and holstered gun on his belt. Slowly, she took off her sunglasses and looked up. Way up, because Casey had added a couple of inches to his height since the last time she’d seen him. He was at least a foot taller than she was.
His stubborn jaw went slack with recognition.
She gave a little wave. “Hi, Casey.”
So much for the prepared speech.
Casey yanked his aviators off, and she had to blink once, twice, three times at those baby blues.
“Jess? Jessica Acosta?”
She sighed. At least he remembered her name.
“The one and only. Sorry I’m not the fabulous Carmen Follacio—”
“Pardon?”
Jesus! She’d said Follacio, which sounded dang close to fellatio.
“I’m not Carmen Foraccio,” Jessica tried again. “She’s loaned me her car.”
Casey, still looking stunned, ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. His face indicated he was drawing a blank. Was it possible he hadn’t heard of Carmen Foraccio, famous celebrity chef and star of the Food Channel’s hit show Funky Fusions?
But that hair. He still wore it longer than he should. It curled past his collar and showed no signs of thinning. It took everything Jessica had to keep her hands to herself. As usual, she ran her mouth as a distraction. “Are you really a cop, or did you steal that car?”
“Darlin’, I’m the sheriff of Verde County. If one of us is driving a stolen car, my bet is on you.”
Did he really just call her darlin’?
She crossed her arms over her chest, but then Casey grinned at her, and she felt it all the way to her angrily tapping toes. She couldn’t tell if he was grinning in a teasing way, or in an I can’t wait to put you in handcuffs way.
Both options made her tingle all over, so maybe she shouldn’t be thinking about handcuffs. But there they were. Hanging on Casey’s belt.
The grin finally reached his eyes, as if he found the idea of himself as a sheriff every bit as amusing as she did, and it set a herd of butterflies loose in her stomach.
Casey Long had been the town’s teenaged hooligan. Only he hadn’t ridden a motorcycle. He’d ridden bulls. And if the gigantic rodeo belt buckle was any indication, he still did.
Casey started writing in his little book. He ripped out a page and handed it to her. “This is for the stoplight.”
He ripped out another. “And this is for having no proof of insurance.”
And another. “And this is for not having a driver’s license on you.”
She looked at the three pieces of paper. Warnings. He’d given her warnings.
“Thank you, Casey. Seriously, I’m just trying—”
“Jess,” he said, cutting her off. “Why are you back?”
Suddenly, the fuller face and lower voice and broader shoulders disappeared, and she was looking into the emotional blue eyes of eighteen-year-old Casey Long. It made eighteen-year-old Jess pop to the surface of her consciousness like a cork.
And eighteen-year-old Jess had not been very smart.
* * *
What the hell was Jessica Acosta doing back in Big Verde? God. His hands were shaking.
Unacceptable.
She looked 100 percent the same. And that meant 100 percent hot. But lots of women were hot. They didn’t do to him whatever the hell it was that Jess was doing to him. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to handcuff her and throw her in the back of his cruiser and never let her out of his sight, because the last time he’d let her out of his sight, she’d run off and he’d never seen her again.
Until now.
He struggled to maintain control over his facial features. But it was hard. He’d fantasized about this encounter for years, and it typically played out in one of two scenarios.
Scenario One: He reads her the riot act. You think you can just waltz out of somebody’s life without so much as a good-bye and then just show up out of the blue like nothing happened? Then they attack each other and have sex.
Scenario Two: He falls to the ground in a heap and cries like a baby because he’s so damn glad to see her again. Then they attack each other and have sex.
She stood there with her arms crossed, her toes tapping, and her eyes flitting back and forth from him to her car, no doubt ready to jump right in and leave him standing in her dust. Maybe he should have thought of a third scenario involving a car chase.
He cleared his throat. “Coming home for a visit?”
“Funeral,” she stammered.
There was only one funeral in Big Verde today. “Aunt Mavis’s?”
Jess nodded.
Why on earth would she be going to Aunt Mavis’s funeral? Of all the reasons to come home, why would it be for that? A million questions were piling up in his throat. He swallowed, so they wouldn’t fly out of his mouth, but they got stuck halfway down.
>
“Jess…”
Why did you leave? Where did you go? Didn’t you know it would crush me?
She’d left the day after high school graduation. They’d shared their hopes and dreams for the future—he’d wanted to be a professional bull rider and Jess wanted to open a restaurant—and promised to be together forever, just the night before.
Forever hadn’t even lasted twenty-four hours. She and her mom had skipped town without a trace.
Jess stared at the ground. Offered no explanation.
Casey found his voice. “Well, we’re both going to be late if we don’t get a move on. We might have to use the lights.”
“What? Wait, no—”
“Let’s go, Ms. Acosta.” A horrible thought smacked him in the face. “It is still Ms. Acosta, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Let’s go then.”
She wasn’t married. He tried not to feel giddy about it and failed.
Jessica got back in her car, and Casey jogged to his cruiser. Then he pulled out onto the road and passed Jess, turned on the lights, and waited for her to follow.
He didn’t know why he’d turned the damn lights on. The funeral home was two blocks up. But Jessica Acosta was back in town, and that made him feel excited and happy and uncomfortable all at the same time. The occasion seemed to call for lights and sirens.
Chapter Three
Jessica’s stomach clenched at the sight of so many cars lining the street. Small-town funerals were big deals, and everyone in Big Verde would be at this one. People often sat around looking for who hadn’t come instead of who had.
For a town matriarch like Mavis Long, the place would be packed. In fact, people had gathered on the lawn, where chairs were set up and speakers were mounted on tripods. The little chapel was probably out of seating already.
Jessica drove slowly past all the pickups, SUVs, and cars, trying to ignore the flashing lights in front of her.
What had possessed Casey to turn on the dang lights? Was he out of his mind?
A few folks were still getting out of their vehicles, chatting with each other and attempting to tame unruly cowlicks on little boys. Most were in their Sunday best. This meant western leisure suits for the older men, and clean jeans with shirts tucked in for the younger men and boys. Most ladies and girls wore conservative dresses. Very conservative dresses.
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