COWBOY WITH A BADGE

by Margaret Watson

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  COWBOY WITH A BADGE

  Margaret Watson

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

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  Chapter 1

  ^»

  The red Jeep Cherokee took the last turn into Cameron, Utah, going much too fast. A plume of dark red dust trailed behind it and the roar of its powerful engine echoed off the buildings. Devlin McAllister narrowed his eyes as he watched the car from the window of his office. When the car slowed abruptly and pulled into a parking space across the street from the office, Dev pushed away from the paperwork he'd been trying to finish and jammed his hat onto his head. The driver of the Jeep obviously needed a reminder about the speed limit in Cameron.

  Before he reached the car, the driver's door opened and a woman slid out Slamming the door, she leaned against the car and stared at the buildings on the other side of the street. Tension seemed to ripple down her slender back, and she put up a hand to absently brush at her dark red hair, ruffled by the wind.

  Devlin stopped a few feet away, waiting for her to turn around. But she didn't seem to realize that he was there. As he watched her, he wondered what she found so fascinating about the store-fronts of his town.

  He waited to get her attention, irritation expanding in his chest. But before he could say anything she turned and saw him, and the words caught in his throat.

  Her dark red hair had been pulled back into some kind of braid, but the wind had teased loose several wisps that now curled wildly around her face. Her vivid green eyes watched him with a guarded expression, lingering on his khaki shirt and badge. "Can I help you?" she finally said. Her voice, low and husky, was a perfect match for her sleek, elegant frame and the sophisticated clothes she wore. It was a voice made for satin sheets and long, hot nights.

  Devlin grabbed for his composure. "Can I see your registration and driver's license?"

  "Is there a problem, Officer?" Her voice surrounded him with the taste of sin.

  It had to be the heat of the late summer sun that had his blood stirring in his veins. Unable to look away from her, telling himself to back off, he finally said, "That car of yours has a powerful engine, Ms.…"

  "Fitzpatrick. Carly Fitzpatrick." She held out her hand and Devlin hesitated before he reached for it. He knew instinctively that touching her would be a mistake.

  "Devlin McAllister. I'm the sheriff of Cameron."

  As his fingers wrapped around hers, he felt her tense. Her hand was small and vulnerable, cradled in his palm. It was as delicate as a baby bird, all soft skin and fragile bones. It didn't feel like it belonged to the self-assured woman standing in front of him. Wanting to hold on, he let her hand go and rocked back on his heels.

  "You were going too fast when you rounded that last turn into town."

  Sliding her hand behind her back, she slowly smiled at him. The curve of her lips held a dare, but in her eyes he saw relief. "It's a failing of mine."

  A response flickered deep inside him, unbidden and unwelcome.

  Deliberately squashing it, he glanced down the street. "Be more careful. We watch out for our kids here in Cameron."

  The smile faded from her face as she let her gaze wander over the buildings around them. Devlin saw her hand tighten around the strap of her purse, then she lifted her chin. "That's very commendable, Sheriff." Her voice was expressionless and her face a careful blank.

  His first impulse was to move closer, to protect her from the pain that filled her eyes. He wanted to see her smile again.

  He took a step backward instead. "Pay attention to the speed limit on your way out of town. I'd hate to have to give you a ticket."

  Carly seemed to shake off whatever ghosts had surrounded her as she straightened her shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I'm not passing through. I'm staying here in Cameron." Her mouth curved slightly. "Maybe I was going too fast because I was happy I'd reached my destination."

  "So you've come to see the attractions of southern Utah?" He found himself too anxious for her answer, waiting to hear her say she would take in the sights and be gone in a few days.

  She shook her head, the smile fading. "I'm a journalist. I'm here on business."

  Damn. The last thing he wanted to see was another reporter in Cameron. But she had been staring at the office of the Cameron Weekly Sentinel. "Are you here to buy the newspaper?"

  She twisted to look over her shoulder, but before she turned away he saw a look of profound sadness on her face. "Your town newspaper is for sale?"

  "It has been for a couple of years."

  She stared at if for a few moments, then turned back to him. "No, I'm not here to buy your paper. I'm from Focus." She reached into the Jeep ATV and handed him a business card embossed with the logo of the national mews magazine. "I'm here to do a story on Cameron."

  Slowly he looked up to stare into her eyes. Behind the quiet confidence that surrounded her he sensed an uneasiness, a wariness being held tautly in check. "Why would you want to do that, Ms. Fitzpatrick?" He heard the soft menace in his voice, but he didn't allow his eyes to move from her face.

  She swallowed once but didn't flinch or look away. "Cameron has been in the mews lately, and it looked like an interesting town. The kind of place people might want to visit. And Focus was looking for a small western town to feature as a tourist destination."

  Anger blossomed in his chest and he crumpled her card in his hand. He'd had his bellyful of reporters in the last couple of months. "Cameron isn't interested in being a tourist destination."

  Those cool green eyes of hers didn't waver. "Are you so sure, Sheriff? Are you authorized to speak for the town?"

  In spite of his anger he felt a flicker of admiration for the way she stood up to him. He tried to smother it. "I'm speaking as someone who's lived in this town all my life. We like Cameron just the way it is."

  Her glance touched deliberately on several of the more rundown buildings along Main Street

  "Do you?"

  He felt himself flush. "We don't need tourist money. There are too many strings attached."

  "And what kind of money would come with absolutely no strings attached?" She quirked an eyebrow at him and rested her hands on her hips. The elegant jacket she wore fell open, revealing a filmy white shirt with a hint of lace underneath it.

  Another, stronger emotion replaced the anger, gnawing at him with the sharp teeth of hunger too long ignored. He clamped down on his imagination and looked away. He would not allow himself to want this reporter.

  "You're wasting your time here. Once people find put why you're in Cameron, no one will be interested in talking to you."

  "That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

  She stepped sideways and slid back into the Jeep. The white shirt tightened against her for an instant, outlining the swell of her breasts, and Devlin felt the heat scorch his body.

  "Thanks for your advice," she said, giving him a cool smile. She turned the engine on, and the Jeep purred beneath her hands. "Oh, by the way, maybe you can tell me where this is."

  She reached over to the other seat and straightened, studying a slip of paper. "I'm staying at Melba Corboy's. The address is…"

  "I know where Melba lives," he interrupted. Thank God. If anyone could drive a nosy reporter out of Cameron, it was Melba Corboy. "Take the next left then the second right. It's the third house on your right."

  She set the paper down and stared over at him. Her eyes were level with his, making it impossible not to read the challenge in their green depths. "I'll see you around town, Sheriff."

  "That you will."
He stepped back and watched her drive away, keeping carefully under the speed limit. Her car turned the corner and disappeared. After a few moments the sound of her engine died away and the dust settled back onto the street and Cameron looked no different than it had a half-hour earlier.

  But it had changed. The air quivered with possibilities and Carly Fitzpatrick's face lingered in his memory. His body throbbed with a need he wanted to dismiss, but couldn't. Yeah, something had changed in Cameron. And he didn't like it one damn bit.

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  Several hours later, Carly eased the Jeep into a parking space on Main Street

  and cut the engine. She sat in the silence for a moment, looking at the buildings lining the street. Vague memories stirred, but they brought nothing but remembered pain. Resolutely she pushed them away, focusing instead on the present. She excelled at that. Pulling out the brochures she had collected before she arrived in Cameron, she scanned the list of businesses for a restaurant.

  The only one she found was called Heaven on Seventh, which meant it was a couple of blocks from Main Street

  . She'd done her homework before she arrived in town, and she knew the layout of Cameron. Sliding out of the Jeep, she closed and locked the door and headed in the direction of Seventh Street

  . She might as well take a look around town while she was looking for dinner.

  More than a few of the buildings she passed looked old and faded. In spite of the sheriff's words, this was a town that could use some tourist money. As she thought of Devlin McAllister, she caught herself glancing toward the sheriff's office. She hastily looked away, but not before she'd scanned the windows for a glimpse of the man.

  Remembering the tall sheriff with the golden hair and gray eyes, and her unexpected reaction to him, she forced herself to walk faster. She would not be sidetracked from her mission in Cameron by anyone, and especially not by a McAllister. As she rounded the corner onto Seventh Street

  , she forced herself to slow down and relax. Could there be any greater irony than the fact that the first person she met after arriving in Cameron was a McAllister?

  Only the fact that she'd been immediately attracted to him, she told herself grimly. But that was nothing she couldn't handle. She'd stay away from him and do the job she'd come here to do. And who knows? She might actually write an article about the town, too.

  Spotting several trucks on the street in the next block, Carly realized she'd almost found the restaurant. When she pushed open the door, though, she stopped in her tracks.

  Flower-filled baskets hung from the walls and the windowsills and decorated every table. Their sweet fragrance mingled with the smell of good food, creating a heady perfume she wanted to simply stand and inhale. As she looked around the restaurant, she noticed that the ceiling was painted to look like a blue sky, with wispy clouds she could almost swear were drifting past.

  "Pretty amazing, isn't it?"

  Jerking her gaze away from the ceiling, she realized that Devlin McAllister was standing in front of her. He was holding his hat and his golden brown hair gleamed in the lights twinkling down from the ceiling.

  Carly forced herself to look away and glance around the restaurant again. "It's beautiful. Is the food as good as the decor?"

  "It's better. Janie is a wizard when it comes to food."

  "Evening, Sheriff." A perky teenaged girl holding a stack of menus smiled up at him, and Carly watched him smile back. Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes and his face was transformed by a dimple in his right cheek. Her finger itched to trace the dimple, to feel the bristly roughness of his five o'clock shadow. Appalled at herself, she curled her fingers into a fist and took a step away from him.

  "Table for two?" the waitress asked.

  The sheriff shot Carly an amused glance, then shook his head. "Two singles, please, Mandy."

  The girl furrowed her forehead. "We've only got one table open. You look like you know one another. Are you sure you don't want to share?"

  "Go ahead and give Ms. Fitzpatrick the table. I'll take mine to go," the sheriff replied.

  Carly noticed the flash of disappointment, quickly hidden, in his gray eyes, and had a sudden revelation. Of course he wouldn't want to eat dinner in his office. As sheriff, he probably spent too much time there already.

  She heard herself say, "I don't mind sharing if the sheriff doesn't."

  Mandy gave them a wide smile and said, "Far out. This way, please."

  When she turned her back, the sheriff put his hand on Carly's arm. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

  She couldn't speak. The heat from his fingers burned into her arm, sending waves of sensation through her. Staring at him, listening to the blood roaring in her ears, she completely forgot what he had asked her. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Are you sure you want to share a table with me?" He had dropped his hand and taken a step backward, and she wondered if he'd felt the crackling tension that enveloped them, too.

  "I don't mind." She struggled to regain her composure. "I can pump you for information about Cameron."

  His face hardened. "It sounds like you never forget you're a reporter."

  "I'll never forget why I'm here," she told him, then turned away to follow Mandy before he could read anything in her face. No, she wasn't likely to forget why she was here. And she wasn't likely to forget that it started with the McAllisters.

  By the time they'd studied the menu and placed their order with the grinning Mandy, Carly had managed to slip back into her role as a reporter. But before she could ask Devlin a question about Cameron, he leaned back in the booth and gave her a smile. The reappearance of the dimple made her toes tingle.

  "I thought Melba Corboy was supposed to feed you dinner."

  The slow tumbling of her stomach had nothing to do with food. "Why didn't you warn me about her cooking?" she asked.

  His smile turned into a grin. "You never asked for my opinion. There are probably some people who'd like the food she serves."

  "Maybe someone who hadn't eaten in a month." She shuddered. "And even then it would be iffy."

  "Melba does like her grease," Devlin said, and this time he laughed. "Wait until you try her breakfasts."

  "The experience of a lifetime, I'm sure," she said, and found herself smiling back.

  Something flew between them and lingered in the fragrant air of the diner. Carly shifted uneasily on her seat, but couldn't make herself look away from Devlin. His gray eyes held hers, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

  "There are a few other places you can stay in Cameron," he finally said. "I can give you a list of the boarding houses."

  Carly shook her head. "I couldn't do that to Ms. Corboy. I already gave her a deposit for the first two weeks. I'll tell her that my schedule is going to be irregular and not to count on me for meals. Then I'll make it a point not to be around at dinner."

  Devlin watched her for a moment. "You don't want to hurt that old bat's feelings, do you?"

  She heard the disbelief in his voice. "What's wrong with that?"

  He shook his head. "Melba is the meanest, most ornery, most cantankerous person in Cameron. She was a teacher before she retired, and she still scares me. And you're worried about hurting her feelings?"

  "I made an arrangement with her, and I'll honor it." She'd seen the list of boarding houses in Cameron, and she had deliberately chosen Melba Corboy's. The reason why was no business of the sheriff's.

  The sheriff leaned back against the vinyl cushion of the booth and watched her with unreadable eyes. "What do you know? A reporter with some ethics. I didn't realize such a creature existed."

  He stretched his long legs out next to hers and the heat swirled around her, trying to catch her in its grip. She deliberately shifted away from it as she worked to rein in her temper. She wouldn't accomplish what she'd come here to do if she let him provoke her. "I didn't realize that small-town reporters were so ruthless and hard-driving, Sheriff McAllister."

  His eyes flickered in
acknowledgment, then he gave her a reluctant smile. "Touché, Ms. Fitzpatrick. But since all good reporters do their homework, I'm sure you know we don't have any reporters here. The Cameron Weekly Sentinel is on its last legs. We're lucky to get it printed once a month."

  She didn't know that, and she struggled to hide her sadness at the news. Had her family's legacy come to such an ignominious end? "Then where did you get your bias? Or is it just more of the popular media bashing?"

  He scowled and sat up straight, leaning over toward her. She wanted to lean away from the intensity that poured from him, but she forced herself to face him.

  "You came to Cameron because of what happened here a couple of months ago, didn't you?"

  No, she didn't, but the incidents had been a convenient cover. "Yes," she lied smoothly.

  "Well, so have a herd of other reporters. They've been harassing my citizens, following them all over town to get their so-called stories. They've trespassed on Grady Farrell's ranch and followed Becca Farrell on her veterinary calls. They've snooped around Damien Kane's house. There have been a couple of near accidents because of them, and they act like we should be honored to have them here. I have no respect for reporters because the ones who've been in Cameron don't deserve my respect."

  "I was once shaken down for a bribe by a police officer in Los Angeles. Does that mean I should expect the same from you?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  He stared at her for a moment. She was amazed when the dimple on his cheek flashed at her again. "Touché again, Ms. Fitzpatrick. You're right—all reporters are not the same. I'll remember not to underestimate you."

  She didn't want his admiration, she told herself. And she didn't want the awareness that she saw in his eyes, or the tension that still swirled around them. All she wanted from Devlin McAllister was justice. And she would get it.

  "Tell me about Cameron," she said, deliberately leading the conversation onto safer ground.