“Ma’am,” Cash said with more force, and the laughing ceased. “You were going seventy-two in a fifty-mile-per-hour zone.”
She bit her lip. “That’s bad, right?”
He nodded. “It’s breaking the law, so yeah. I’d say it’s bad.”
She sighed, then held both her hands toward him, palms up. “Book me,” she said. “Lock me up and throw away the key—as long as I make it to Oak Bluff by ten. That’s when the B and B closes for the night.”
Cash scratched the back of his head. Then he glanced over at his car—the one that had OAK BLUFF SHERIFF painted on either side. He was a man of the law. Rules and regulations. This was all part of the job, which meant he should not let himself get distracted by her teeth grazing her full bottom lip—or the vulnerability he sensed beneath the brash exterior.
“License and insurance card, please, ma’am.”
She smiled again, but something in it seemed forced. It wasn’t as if he knew a thing about this strange woman, but he was trained to read people. Despite not flinching at being pulled over and possibly arrested, she radiated a nervous energy he couldn’t ignore. He’d venture a guess she was not as brazen as she’d have him believe, and something about that bothered him. Cash didn’t get pretense. He might have been a quiet man, but he was a man of meaning—meant what he said and meant what he did. Why couldn’t everyone else just do the same?
“Right,” she said. “I’ve got them both right…” She trailed off as she acted like she was rifling through a giant bag when all she’d done was click open what looked like a fancy as hell billfold.
She chuckled. “So…you’re going to love this, Officer”—she squinted to read his name badge—“Hawkins.”
“Sheriff Hawkins,” he corrected her.
Her cheeks flushed, and he had to remind himself that he was here to write this woman a ticket—not find her in any way attractive.
“Sheriff Hawkins. So—Sheriff. I wasn’t even supposed to be driving tonight. I left everything in the hotel room except for what I needed. That’s why I only put my lip gloss, the room key, and my phone in the clutch.”
“The what?”
“Clutch,” she said, starting to lift the wallet-type contraption.
“Ma’am, please keep your hands on the steering wheel if you’re not going to produce the items I’m asking for.”
She dropped the clutch, or whatever it was, and placed her hands at ten and two with a self-satisfied grin. “It’s a purse that you clutch in your hand. Only enough room for the essentials.”
He crossed his arms. “Something’s not adding up.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Look, you can try to find me guilty of speeding—”
“Seventy-two in a fifty.”
She rolled her eyes. “But I’m not a liar.”
He raised a brow. “The keys?”
“What?”
“The car keys, ma’am. If you only put the essentials in your clutch, where’d you get the car keys?”
Her mouth opened, then closed. Finally she blew out a breath. “I keep the key in this little magnet case and hide it behind the back wheel. Just in case.”
Good Lord, why did he even ask? He didn’t have time for this. Okay. Fine. He had all the time in the world. But all he’d wanted to do was eat his damned sandwich and watch the sunset. He and Dixie would listen to a few hours of a new book, and then they’d go home and have an off-duty beverage or two. Well, Cash would, at least. Dixie would get a fresh bowl of water with two ice cubes—her favorite. But instead his sandwich was getting cold, and he hadn’t even heard the opening remarks of the book, let alone gotten to chapter one.
“In case what?” he asked. Because how the hell long was it going to take to get to the end of this—this situation?
She shrugged. “In case I need to get the hell outta Dodge on a moment’s notice.”
He pressed a palm against the doorframe and leaned down to the window so they were eye level with each other. He could smell hints of her perfume—a light citrus that made him think of an orange grove.
“No license, no insurance, and twenty-two miles over the speed limit. Ms.…?”
“Belle,” she answered quickly. “Olivia Belle.”
“Please step out of the car, Ms. Belle.”
She scoffed. “You’re not serious, are you? I can pay the ticket. I know my debit card number by heart. And I know you can punch my license plate number into your computer thingy and find me. It’s my car, registered in—shit. Michael co-signed for the loan, and that damned bank put his name on the title. Stupid patriarchy,” she mumbled. Then she groaned and opened the door, and the rest of the dress erupted out into the street as she exited the vehicle.
“Lemme get this straight,” he said, averting his gaze from how the bodice of the dress fit her curves like it was meant for her body and hers alone. The dip and swell of her hips, the way the cut of the dress made a heart below her collarbone, and how the soft skin above her breasts rose and fell with each measured breath. “You were just driving twenty-two miles over the speed limit with no license or insurance in a car that is registered to a Michael?”
She winced but nodded.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to do it like this, but if he brought her in any other way, the whole department would call him on it—tell him he was going soft on his first Saturday night offender in a long time.
Cash pulled the cuffs off his belt and quickly clasped one of them around her left wrist, then the other around her right.
He sighed. “Welcome to Oak Bluff, Ms. Belle. You’re under arrest.”
Chapter Two
Sheriff Hawkins read Olivia her rights, then nodded toward the SUV. “You lead the way, ma’am.”
Olivia groaned.
This was a first. Handcuffs. And not in a sexy way. Sure she was speeding, and maybe she’d left before grabbing the necessities like her wallet. And clothes to change into so she wouldn’t have to spend eternity in this monster of a dress. But wasn’t that the whole idea behind fleeing? You leave. Quickly. Without any thought other than self-preservation.
It only took her two steps to stumble on the hem of her dress, break the heel off her shoe, and twist her ankle.
“Damn it!” she cried, throwing her cuffed wrists into the air to catch her balance, but she was going down. There were no two ways about it. Except before she hit the pavement, a strong, muscular arm wrapped around her midsection, hauling her back up.
She was smack against Sheriff Grumpy Pants’s chest now, and hell if he wasn’t solid as the trunk of a redwood.
“You all right there, Cinderella?” His warm breath teased the skin on her neck.
“Pardon me?”
He bent down and picked up her broken shoe, dangling the crystal clear stiletto pump in front of her. “Ball gown. Glass slipper. I’d say you walked right out of a fairy tale if you hadn’t ruined a perfectly peaceful Saturday night.”
Olivia scoffed, then spun to face him, but when her full weight fell on her shoeless foot, pain shot through her like a lightning bolt—hot and fast. She yelped, and this time there was no one to catch her as she toppled backward and fell flat on her already-sore-from-driving-four-hours behind.
The sheriff’s eyes widened.
“You’re hurt,” he said matter-of-factly.
She would have liked to have crossed her arms in defiance, affording herself the tiniest bit of dignity, but—handcuffs. So she settled for a glare.
He said nothing, but simply scooped her up and carried her to the passenger side of the Tahoe.
He held her with one arm—dress and all—and opened the door with the other. Then he moved something out of the way and deposited her onto the leather seat.
“You mean you’re not tossing me in the caged-in area in the back?”
“Quiet a second, will you?” he barked, his deep voice tinged with an emotion she couldn’t put her finger on. Annoyance for sure, but there was something else.
; He dropped to a squat, then pushed back the taffeta and tulle—entirely too much material of any sort for a daytime wedding. But the bride had insisted, and everyone knows the bride is the boss, especially when she’s your almost-fiancé’s sister.
Emphasis on the almost.
Coarse hands gingerly cradled her foot.
“Does this hurt?” he asked.
She fisted her fettered hands in the pile of dress on her thighs, then pressed her lips together as he moved her foot slowly from side to side.
“Mmm-hmm,” she squeaked.
“Swelling’s not too bad. Looks like just a mild sprain. I can get you some ice at the station.”
She huffed out a breath. “Maybe there wouldn’t be any sprain if you hadn’t arrested me.”
He took off his sunglasses and stared at her with eyes so green she forgot for a second that she was even wearing handcuffs.
“And if you hadn’t been driving without a license or insurance card at twenty-two miles over the speed limit in my town, I never would have arrested you.”
He stood, pulled the seat belt across her torso and clicked it into place, shoved as much of her dress in the door as he could, then slammed it shut.
Something wet lapped at Olivia’s shoulder, and she wasn’t sure if she should hold still or scream. You were supposed to play dead with a bear, right? Were there a lot of bears in wine country?
The sheriff climbed into the driver’s seat with a swift, fluid movement that told her he and this tank of an automobile were well acquainted.
“Is there a bear in your back seat?” she whispered.
“A what?”
There it was again. Something slobbery and smooth on her skin.
“A bear!” she whisper-shouted.
He froze, one hand white-knuckling the wheel. Then the other reached slowly toward the back seat, but Olivia was too scared to watch. He let out a heart-stopping roar.
She screamed as he yanked his hand back, cradling it to his chest as he threw his head against the back of the seat and—laughed.
She shifted toward the rear of the vehicle to find a German shepherd sitting behind her, tongue hanging out the side of its mouth and tail wagging.
“You’re terrible,” she said.
“And you’re gullible as hell. You must be a long way from home if you think Oak Bluff is bear country.” He scratched under the dog’s chin. “Olivia Belle, meet Dixie. The reason I don’t need a cage back there.”
Olivia swallowed. “But she’s sweet, right? That’s why she was slobbering all over me?”
Pets weren’t really her thing. For one, she lived in an upscale hotel, and it wasn’t one of those pet-friendly ones. Then there was the issue of permanency. Committing to a pet was—well—committing. And the fact she was here instead of in San Francisco saying yes to a guy she’d left on one knee probably said a thing or two about her staying power.
He put the key in the ignition and the massive engine roared to life.
“She’d rip a man’s arm off if I asked her to.” He paused for a couple of beats. “Woman’s, too.” He set his sunglasses in the center console. The sun was setting now, and she guessed he wouldn’t need them anymore. Then he shifted into gear and pulled off the shoulder of the road.
She swallowed and decided to sit very still. But then she saw her Bug sitting there as they began to move. “Wait!” she cried. “What about my car?”
He kept his eyes on the road so all she could see was his profile—the strong line of his stubbled jaw, a crooked nose that was somehow perfectly imperfect.
She, however, was just imperfect. At least when it came to relationships. She always found a reason to run. And today she’d run to the one place she thought she could find answers, the tiny town of Oak Bluff.
“I’ll send a couple deputies—licensed drivers—out to get it after I bring you in.”
She let out a relieved breath. At least he wasn’t towing it.
She raised her cuffed hands to the visor above her. “What’s this?” she asked, fingertips brushing the edge of an envelope. “Looks like a wedding invitation.” Seemed like everyone was planning weddings, getting married, or proposing. And she was just flat-out running.
He wrapped a hand around one of her wrists and lowered both hands to her lap. “None of your concern is what it is,” he said gruffly.
She groaned. “Are these really even necessary? It’s not as if I resisted arrest. And I’m hobbled now, so I can’t exactly tuck and roll and make a break for it.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he held back the grin. It made her think the burst of laughter she’d just seen from him was something rare. Because a man who fought off a smile was a man who liked others to view him a certain way.
He tugged at a small key ring that was attached to his belt with what looked like a retractable cord. Without looking, he inserted the small key into the base of each cuff and released her.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He nodded.
She reached for her swollen ankle and rubbed it gingerly.
“Pain’s pretty bad?” he asked.
She shrugged. She’d broken her arm in eighth grade. That had been the most excruciating physical pain she’d ever experienced. But worse was her parents arguing in the ER about whose fault the accident was when it was their arguing that had initially caused it. But by that point in her life, her parents had found any reason they could to scream at each other, and they’d long since stopped making sure she wasn’t around to hear.
The divorce dragged on for years, finalized just months before she’d left for college. She hadn’t lived with either parent since.
“That all depends. You gonna make me sleep in a cell tonight instead of the cozy bed-and-breakfast I booked?”
He sighed. “You got someone who can fax in a copy of your license and insurance?”
Emily was the night manager tonight—and Olivia’s closest friend. She had a key to Olivia’s room. It would just be a matter of avoiding Michael if he hadn’t gotten his own room after her disappearing act this afternoon.
“Yes!” she said, feeling the tiniest bit triumphant. Because, come on—she needed a small win here.
He sighed. “If you can prove you’re a licensed driver, that the car is registered with your insurance, then I guess that’ll just leave the speeding. And making my dinner cold.”
They pulled to a stop in front of a small two-story brick building that looked about a hundred years old. Yet it was charming as hell, as was every other shop or restaurant that lined the street.
“Sixteen Oak Bluff Way,” she said, remarking on the address that was stenciled on the sign below the more prominent OAK BLUFF SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT. “So the bed-and-breakfast is—”
“Across the street and two doors down, next to Lucinda’s Antiques, which is closed on account of the owner having to go to a funeral.”
“The bed-and-breakfast?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“The bed-and-breakfast is closed?”
He shook his head. “Lucinda’s. Her third husband passed. He lived about an hour outside of town.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “How sad. Wait; did you say third husband?”
He ran a hand through dark brown hair. It was cropped close, but just long enough that fingers could get partially buried. Not that she was thinking of such things about a total stranger who—up until a few minutes ago—had a laundry list of items to arrest her for. It didn’t matter that she’d been with Michael since their last semester of grad school and was now in her first year as event coordinator at Hotel Blue—the hotel his parents owned. She could count on one hand how many times she’d run her fingers through his hair in the past six months—or him through hers.
Eighteen months—her longest relationship to date. She’d thought he was going to ask her to move in. She’d privately entertained the thought of not living in the place where she worked. But then she’d be ten miles from the place
where she spent ninety percent of her time.
But he hadn’t asked her to move in. He’d proposed.
“Ms. Belle?” she heard the sheriff say, then realized by his tone it probably wasn’t the first time.
“Huh?” she answered. “What?”
He shook his head. “I was explaining how Lucinda’s third husband wasn’t from Oak Bluff. He wanted to be buried by his parents, and Lucinda respected that. So she’s there for a few days, getting his affairs in order.”
“Oh,” she said absently. “What happened to the other two husbands…if you don’t mind me asking?”
He shrugged. “Lost the first one to lung cancer.” He paused for a second, and she wasn’t sure he was going to say more. But then he continued. “The guy was a stubborn smoker who just couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—quit. Second one got thrown from a horse who got spooked. And Earl? Well, he was older. Had a lot of health issues, but she loved him. And he treated her real good.”
She didn’t know Lucinda but was already fascinated by a woman who could commit to three different men. Even if they all ended in heartache, she kept on keeping on. Walked down that aisle three times. Buried three men she seemed to have loved.
Olivia let out a bitter laugh. If anything happened to one of her parents, the other would probably show up at the funeral just to dance on the grave.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said flatly. “Absolutely nothing about anything is funny.”
He raised a brow, then threw open his door and hopped out of the truck. In seconds he was at her side of the car. The door swung open, but then he stood there, hands on hips.
“What?” she asked.
He crossed his arms now. “I’m just puzzling out how it’s gonna look when I carry you in there and then throw the book at you.”
She rolled her eyes, then slapped on the cuffs. “Does this help?” she asked. “Big bad sheriff worried everyone’s gonna think he’s a marshmallow?” She wiggled out of her good shoe. “And I can walk just fine,” she lied. She swung her legs to the right, then looked down. It was a few feet drop to just hop out. And she’d already screwed herself into losing her balance with her wrists bound again.
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