Snowbound with the Sheriff

by Laurel Greer

  “Yes, thanks,” he replied. “And a—” His eyebrows knitted. “What do you want, Stella? Still a vanilla latte drinker?”

  Heat infused her cheeks. “I can buy my own coffee, thanks.”

  He sighed. “Suit yourself. Where are you off to this morning?”

  “The clinic. I’m going to take Lachlan and Maggie some java and catch up with them.”

  Ryan looked puzzled. “Aren’t they doing search-and-rescue training this morning? The team’s practicing a joint exercise with the mountain crew.”

  She blinked. “Not that I know of.”

  Lachlan wouldn’t have double-booked on purpose, would he?

  Maybe he would have, given how livid he’d been. Had he been her early unknown caller? She pulled out her cell and showed Ryan the alert. “Do you recognize this number?”

  He nodded. “It’s the staff line at the mountain’s safety and risk management office.”

  She winced. The voice mail probably was from Lach.

  A quick check of the message confirmed that her half siblings were busy until the afternoon. Lach also pointed out that their grandfather, who was still covering for Maggie on most of the veterinary work, was working that morning.

  Wow. Canceling via voice mail. Talk about taking a page out of her own book.

  “They stood me up,” she mumbled.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “One of them called you.”

  “Lach did. But he could have told me last night.” Now she was going to be spinning her wheels in town for the morning.

  I deserve it. Had she really expected them to roll out the red carpet for her with how she’d treated them over the past six months? Though her brother and Marisol had tried, she supposed, with the bathroom cleaning and changing the sheets.

  Her stomach soured, and the coffee and pastry scents of the shop became overly strong. “He must be angrier with me than I thought.”

  Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Have you seen Laura yet?”

  He knew full well she hadn’t. Her face heated. “No. That’s another reason why I’m here.”

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  The underside of her tongue pinched. If she hadn’t lost their baby and had decided to carry it to term, they’d have a teenager on their hands. She hadn’t been able to picture Ryan as a father then. Hell, he’d claimed he didn’t want to be one many a time while talking about his own dad. But the man in front of her, with his protective stance and shoulders wide enough to hold up the world... “Since when do you like kids?”

  “Since I grew up, Stella. Not sure why you’re so intent on defining me by my teenage mistakes, but I guess that’ll happen when the last mistake I made was a pretty monstrous one.”

  Her cheeks chilled and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yeah, well, it’s a habit.”

  He jerked his head in affirmation. “Laura will steal your heart in a second. She did mine.”

  Seriously? He lets babies steal his heart now? “I—I’m sure she will,” she said. “Unfortunately, work meant not being able to get away.”

  “Not even to see your niece?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Family should always—” The barista called Ryan up. “Excuse me,” he said, striding to the counter.

  Stella uttered silent thanks that he hadn’t finished his thought. He seemed to have far too many opinions on her relationship with her siblings.

  She loved Maggie and Lachlan. And she’d been proud of them from afar. Both successful business owners, both in healthy relationships.

  Since learning about the fire, Stella had also discovered Maggie was head over heels for Sutter Creek’s new librarian and his young daughter. Boyfriend and Maggie were two words she’d never thought would go together. Her sister had never dated someone long enough to use that label, not until Asher and Ruth had worked their way into Maggie’s heart. And thankfully for Lachlan, Marisol’s surprise pregnancy had a far happier ending than Stella’s. He was engaged to the mother of his child, and they were cozied up in a little house—Ryan’s grandmother’s old place, for God’s sake—establishing their lives together.

  But dealing with the repercussions of faulty contraception was a hell of a lot different at thirtysomething than at eighteen. Stella hadn’t even processed being pregnant before she miscarried. A good thing, really—she’d been way too young.

  And the man over at the cream-and-sugar bar, calmly doctoring his brew with a dollop from the small, stainless-steel container labeled 2% milk, had no idea about any of it. What would he say if she told him now? If she filled him in on why she’d come to see him at the ranch that day?

  Stop it. Just don’t go there. Digging up old emotions would only distract her from getting her family put back to rights and finding a new place to land professionally.

  Ryan returned to her side right after she put in her order for a sugar-free vanilla latte.

  “I remembered correctly,” he said smugly.

  She lifted a shoulder and shuffled over to an empty spot at the end of the counter, where a chalkboard had “pick up” written on it in rainbow lettering. “You always had a good memory. Being smart probably comes in handy now.” She waved at the sheriff insignia on his jacket.

  “I was stupid about many, many things. But I’ve earned this badge, Stella. You didn’t see it, being gone. But if you’d give me the chance, I could...” He cleared his throat.

  She lifted an eyebrow, ignoring how the thickness in his voice sent pangs of something ricocheting through her chest.

  Motioning for him to elaborate, she prompted, “Could...?”

  “Make it up to you somehow. How about I start by giving you a ride to the clinic this afternoon? I was planning to head out to talk to Lachlan and Maggie later today, anyway.”

  “The last time I got a ride with you, my life went to hell,” she said, unable to stop a smile at the black humor of his invitation.

  He reddened. “Christ, I—”

  She waved a hand. “I was actually kind of kidding.”

  His jaw dropped.

  She pressed her lips together, her surprise matching his. When had she ever managed anything close to laughing at that night? There was nothing funny about what they’d done. Stealing his uncle’s pride and joy, an antique pickup with an immaculate, cherry-red paint job. It hadn’t been so immaculate after Stella tried to kiss Ryan while driving and ended up scraping that telephone pole...

  “Don’t you have an entire county to supervise?” she groused, accepting her drink from the barista and taking as large a slurp as she could without burning the roof of her mouth. “Maybe they need you in West Yellowstone or something.”

  He eyed her, his smile knowing. “I manage to be where I’m needed, Stella.”

  “Must be a new skill then.” The bitter comment slipped out before she could stop it. Oh, crap.

  “Yeah, it is,” he said. He motioned for her to go ahead of him as they left the café. “I wouldn’t have been elected sheriff if I wasn’t responsible.”

  “Right. Well.” She took a deep breath. “You go be responsible. I’ll be fine.”

  He cupped her shoulder and stroked it with his thumb. Sparks shimmied down her arm—

  Oh, good grief! How was that still possible?

  “Fine?” he repeated gruffly. “You sure?”

  “Obviously.” She shifted away from his touch, the urge to confess her troubles bubbling to the surface. Stupid latent habit, wanting to use him as a sounding board. It worked so well last time you tried.

  “And I get you not telling me your secrets. But I am a trained investigator. I could figure them out.” Winking, he nodded a farewell and ambled down the street.

  Blood rushed from her limbs. Was he seriously going to look into her life? He wouldn’t find evidence of her miscarriage. Only Lach and Maggie knew
about it, and they wouldn’t tell. But if he started poking around, would her record show that she was working with the fraud investigation? What if other people in the sheriff’s office saw him doing it and learned the details before they were supposed to go public? The way news spread around Sutter Creek, if one person knew, everyone would. And not only did her NDA require silence, it was also humiliating as anything to have people see that she’d trusted the wrong person. Again.

  Damn it. She needed to control what he found out to prevent it from spreading elsewhere. Good thing he hadn’t gotten far, what with his easy, strolling pace.

  “Wait!” She jogged after him, her heels clicking on the board sidewalks. “Don’t investigate me. Please.”

  * * *

  Ryan turned around slowly, Stella’s rapid footsteps reverberating through him. Panic splotched her cheeks pink.

  He glanced to his left, peeking around the giant cupcake painted on the plate-glass window. His aunt Nancy was watching him from behind the counter of the family bakery. She lifted a hand in a wave and an eyebrow in curiosity. He waved back and motioned for Stella to follow him over in front of the next store. Having a conversation in the line at Peak Beans was one thing, but his former flame being agitated right in front of Sweets and Treats was another. He’d be dealing with phone calls all afternoon if Gran was inside helping out.

  Stella hurried to follow him. Her hands clutched her to-go cup—it was the grip of a person struggling to hold it together. The desperation twisting her lips piqued his curiosity even more. Small circles marked the skin under her eyes, even though she was wearing makeup. Maybe her claim that it was more restful to stay at a hotel than at Lachlan’s had been a lie. Whatever her reasons, the thought of him looking into her life was upsetting her, which hadn’t been his intent.

  “I was kidding, Stella. It’s not ethical for me to go poking around in someone’s records without cause.”

  A little color faded from her cheeks. “Crappy joke, Sheriff.”

  “Maybe so. But now I’m actually wondering what’s wrong.” Which was not where his focus needed to be thirty minutes before meeting with the mayor and the head of the county ranching association.

  “So you are going to look into my record?”

  “Do I need to?”

  “No. I didn’t do anything wrong, but—” She rubbed her face with one of her gloved hands.

  His inner problem solver clamored for answers. Not now. He needed to get to the office and deal with work before he could worry about Stella. She’d already delayed him enough.

  Covering the intensity of his curiosity by sipping his coffee, he swallowed and said, “Though that but intrigues me, I have a meeting I need to get to.”

  Her face crumpled. “Please leave it be.”

  “You’re sure you’re not in trouble?”

  She nodded sharply.

  He didn’t believe that for a second—only a threat put that fearful expression on a person’s face—but he didn’t have enough of a reason to investigate, no matter how concerned he was. No matter how strong the need to protect her that settled, unwanted, in his belly. “Not my business then, Stella.”

  She exhaled and took a few backward steps. “Thanks. See you later.”

  “Oh, likely. Excuse me while I head for my meeting.”

  Step one: stop watching her cross the square.

  Necessary, but almost painful to follow through on. Man, she created a picture—those long legs in tight jeans and sexy boots. Tearing his gaze from the alluring sight, he spun and hurried in the direction of his workplace, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of his grandmother’s good friends.

  “What on earth—”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Brooks,” he called, continuing before the older woman could question the reason for his lack of attention. Two minutes later, he strode into the airy foyer of the emergency-services building and waved at the receptionist, who was holding court with a couple of firefighters. His department shared the building with the firefighters and paramedics, which made for convenient interdepartmental dealings, but with a side effect of being gossip central. He did not have time to be the center of the conversation, and by the way the group was looking at him with interest, news of Stella’s arrival had traveled mighty fast.

  “Heard you pulled over an interesting car last night, Sheriff,” Graydon Halloran, the town’s youngest firefighter called out, a pot-stirring smile on his face.

  Ryan narrowed his eyes and paused with his hand on the door that led to his department’s space. “Since when do you have access to the computer records, Halloran?”

  “I don’t. Who needs technology when your grandma’s around? She was talking to my mom. Who kindly brought me breakfast and all sorts of questions about your dating life.”

  The back of Ryan’s neck prickled. Graydon Halloran’s mom was the very rancher he was about to meet with. She’d put her clout as a local cattle maven behind him in the last election, a critical step for his campaign success. If it wasn’t for Georgie Halloran and her brother, whose family owned Sutter Mountain Resort, he wouldn’t be sheriff. He’d have to make sure she knew Stella’s return to town wasn’t going to affect his commitment to the county one iota.

  “I’m well aware my grandmother keeps the gossip chain greased,” he said. “I just didn’t think she would work so damn fast. It isn’t even ten o’clock.”

  But Sweets and Treats opened at six, and Gran was used to waking up early from having owned and run the place until she was in her early seventies. She made harassing his aunts a regular part of her week. Which meant she must have been talking up Stella’s visit while doing her morning rounds. Christ. Had she seen them talking on the sidewalk just now? If so, he’d never let him hear the end of it.

  “My mom’s in your office,” Graydon said. “Probably waiting to grill you worse than she just did me.”

  “She’s here already?” Ryan checked the clock on the wall behind the receptionist. He had ten minutes until the meeting was supposed to start, and he always liked being the first to arrive.

  Swearing under his breath, he dismissed the group at the reception desk with a wave and pushed through the door.

  Deputy Wayne Ross leaned against the counter lining one side of the space. He stirred his coffee with a wooden stir stick, watching Ryan, and lifted his graying eyebrows. “You sure know how to roll out the welcome mat, Sheriff. Woulda thought you’d have given Stella a break for old time’s sake.”

  Ryan hurried past, weaving through the work stations dividing the open-concept space. “We agreed that stretch of highway needed extra attention, Wayne. And I didn’t initially know Stella was driving. She was in a rental.”

  “Not the first time she’s been pulled over in someone else’s vehicle,” the deputy quipped.

  Turning to fix Wayne with a glare, Ryan said, “No point in bringing that up.”

  “Tell that to Miz Georgie in there.” Wayne gestured at Ryan’s office with his World’s Best Grandpa mug. “She’s on a mission of some sort.”

  The eggs Ryan had eaten for breakfast churned in his stomach. Fixing an impervious expression on his face, he entered his office. The tension he felt eased off a little when he saw Georgie was alone; the mayor hadn’t arrived yet. But her concerned expression was enough to have him tasting bacon.

  “Georgie Halloran, what can I do you for?”

  The woman sat in one of the chairs surrounding the four-person table he kept opposite his desk. She was white and nearing sixty, but looked a decade younger. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled off her tanned face in a no-nonsense ponytail, and she wore a plain blouse and jeans with cowboy boots that were far more on the working end of the style spectrum. She reminded him of Stella’s sister, Maggie, that way. Stella, on the other hand, had been in her all-black, urban getup this morning. Nothing near what she should be wearing to clean up a burned-down
barn. Maggie would set her straight, get her in something more appropriate. Something equally hot...

  “Close the door, Sheriff,” Georgie said briskly. “I know you’ve got some new developments to keep that mind of yours racing, and I want to throw a few thoughts into the mix for you to mull over.”

  Heat rushed up the back of his neck at having been caught on the verge of daydreaming. Focus, Rafferty. Georgie Halloran is more important to your future than Stella will ever be.

  “I’m not late, am I?” he asked, keeping his tone light. He hung his jacket on the coatrack in the corner and took a seat across from her, adjusting his duty belt as he settled into the chair. “Meeting’s at ten?”

  “This isn’t about the cattle theft.”

  “No?”

  Her expression softened. Given her daughters were older than Graydon and fairly close in age to Ryan, her motherly gaze suited the age gap between Georgie and him. But this wasn’t their normal dynamic. The only person in the world who’d ever mothered him was his grandmother.

  “Your aunt’s croissants were on point this morning,” she said. “Worthy bakery visit.”

  He tilted his head. “I know police officers are stereotyped for their love of baked goods, but—”

  “I need you to promise me you’re not going to up and move to New York on me, Ryan.”

  “Ah.” He sat back in his chair and took a drink from his to-go cup. “Figured you were here about Stella.”

  “I remember you back then. Her, too.” Sadness flickered across her face. “And I know what I’ve invested in you now. You have a heart for this community. And Stella Reid doesn’t.”

  “All fairly irrelevant, Georgie. Our relationship since she left has consisted of a roadside conversation and a chance encounter in a coffee line. Both within the last twelve hours.”

  Both of which knocked me on my ass.

  She nodded, crossing her arms. “Your grandmother looked worried this morning. I wanted to see for myself that she was off base. You severed your connection with Stella too long ago for it to cause problems for you now.”