The Sheriff's Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots (Cobble Creek Romance Book 1)

by Kimberly Krey

  “A tug … at your pole.”

  “Ah, that. No, it might take a while. Fishing’s something that takes patience. You’ve got that in you someplace, I’m sure.”

  “Are you kidding? Tsk. I need all sorts of patience while quilting. I’m guessing that’s why I don’t have a whole lot in other areas of my life.” She sighed, glanced over at him again, and felt a warm zing of anticipation. She was on another date with Trent! And could the weather have been more perfect? What could have been a squelching early afternoon by the lake was a pleasant seventy-five-degree gift. Puffy clouds kept the sun from doing its worst, yet the warmth of its rays did not escape them. She set her eyes on her fishing line once more. “So why’s the floating thing two colors?”

  “They’re dull on the bottom so the fish don’t spot them, and bright above the water surface so that you will.”

  She nodded. “Ah—that makes sense.”

  Birds chirped, ducks honked, and insects buzzed around them. Jessie considered a mystery she’d been puzzling over the last few days. Trent had talked about his dad taking him fishing, but he’d said we—not me—like he had a brother or sister. Yet he’d turned around shortly after and said he was an only child.

  She brushed the recurring thought away easily enough; he could have been referring to his mom, a cousin, a friend … but why did she have the feeling he was keeping something from her?

  “Connie told me that you aren’t interested in getting married,” Trent blurted. “Is that true?”

  Dang, way to keep it real. Jessie had purchased her fair share of bath bombs, ones that bubbled and fizzed in the water. It felt as if a similar thing had been dropped into her chest, building heat and mounding foam. “Ummm …”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Is that too personal? I guess I’m just curious to hear what impacted your decision.”

  What had impacted it? A lot. The question usually caused Jessie to close up quicker than a Venus flytrap. But the odd thing was, she didn’t find herself wanting to do that now. Perhaps it was the quiet calm of the open water or the encouraging kindness in the ocean blue of Trent’s eyes, but Jessie was ready for something deeper—deeper with him.

  “Before I moved in with my grandma, I lived with my mom.” Was her voice shaking? Oh, Lord, help me get through this … “She didn’t pick good men in her life. To start, she didn’t know who my dad was. She hadn’t stayed in one place long enough to find out. Beyond that, my mom was a victim of physical abuse in the relationships I saw her in.”

  Jessie tightened her grip on the fishing pole and straightened her shoulders. “I learned to go hide under my bed with the phone and call 911. One time I thought she was dead and that the guy was going to come after me next. He didn’t, though one guy, she didn’t stay with him long, smacked me on the back of the head a few times when he felt like I wasn’t listening to my mom. I really hated him. I hated every man she dated.”

  “So is that the reason you don’t see yourself getting married someday?”

  Jessie gazed at the wood slats of the dock, envisioning a mob of anxious kids as they padded toward the lake, ready to make a splash. Jessie’s mother had made splashes of her own, and the ripples affected Jessie to this day. Which led back to Trent’s question.

  “Pretty much,” she answered. “It’s the reason I decided not to have a man in my life. I came to fear them at a young age.” There was no mystery behind Jessie’s decision, not if one knew her past. The real mystery was why she was ready to abandon her constant (until now) determination to steer clear of men altogether.

  Trent nodded. “Hmm. You know that not all men are like that, right? Some of us would lay down our lives to protect a woman, like the officers who showed up when you called for help.”

  Jessie inched her foot over until the edge of her boot touched his, an odd sort of need building within her. “I know.”

  “So if you found a man like that …” His question died off, causing her gaze to shift back to him. Their eyes met, and a world of longing unfurled within her, hot and pulsing, reaching to connect.

  With him. Only him.

  She gulped.

  “Would you give him a chance?”

  The chirping birds she heard earlier seemed to take flight in her chest, rising higher as she pulled in her next breath. She was already doing that, wasn’t she? But admitting it—out loud—felt like a feat all its own. Come on, Jessie. Take a risk. Something told her that the man beside her was worth it.

  “Yes,” she said under her breath. “I think I already am.”

  A light scatter of raindrops pattered the rooftop as Jessie toured Trent’s home once more, this time on her own. It worked out perfectly—Trent could prepare the fish, and she didn’t have to lose her appetite at the sight of it all. Perhaps one day she’d get used to it.

  The idea came so naturally it took a second to realize what she’d just concluded: If she spent more time with Trent, if they became serious at one point, she might get used to watching him gut and fillet the fish. The mere thought brought that pleasing, teasing warmth back to her blood as she climbed the split-log stairs.

  Wow. The carpet he’d picked out was perfect. A warm color, caught between beige and gold. She had to hand it to him—the guy had good taste. Simplistic, of course, which was good for resale, she figured. And the perfect base for some decorative touches like window treatments and throw pillows. His furniture was on the masculine side. Large, dark leather or wood. The master bedroom had her picturing a life with him, waking up by his side in this very home.

  The appeal was nearly foreign to her. It seemed that each day since Trent came into the picture, Jessie had been less and less satisfied with her life plan. Less tantalized by thoughts of living life alone. How had Grandma done it? Chances were other men stepped in, hoping to sweep her off her feet. Griff was most likely one of them.

  The second room was completely empty; not even a box had been placed there. The third and final room held a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. She could almost see him sitting there late at night. She’d come in, rub his shoulders, and tell him it was time for bed.

  Similar thoughts accompanied her as she made her way back into the kitchen, the lovely sound of rain still tapping its dance. It made his place seem all the more cozy, like a bright, lovely shelter from the building storm.

  Trent flicked open a cupboard at the island and pulled out a cast-iron pan. “We’ll be using this baby,” he said, his tone praising. “Get it going on the heat …” He flicked the knob to the gas fire top while sliding the pan onto the cooking surface. “Let that get hot,” he mumbled, turning his attention to the fillets on the cutting board.

  “Here,” Jessie said, rounding the island and pulling out a stool. “You keep going. I’ll be your audience.”

  He flashed a gorgeous grin. “What, I’ve got my very own cooking show now?”

  “Yep.”

  He puffed out his muscular chest, coughed low in his throat, and gave her a nod. “Okay, then. Next I’m going to coat the pan with olive oil.”

  “Is that extra virgin?” Jessie asked, raising her hand.

  “What?”

  A giggle escaped her lips. “If it is, you can call it E.V.O.O. for short.”

  “Sounds longer than the other way to me.” He reached for a white cloth and patted his hands dry. “Now we’re going to score the skin of the fish so the meat doesn’t curl away from it.” His hands moved nicely around the comparatively small fillets as he cut marks into the tops of each piece. He reached for the heavy-looking pan and tilted it this way and that until the inside was coated with oil.

  After hovering his hand above the area to check the heat, he lowered the fish onto the pan. With each piece, the sizzling increased. He stepped over to the pantry, swung open the door, and fetched a small, portable spice rack. She watched as he cracked pepper, garlic salt, and lemon salt over the fillets. When he opened the fridge, Jessie saw it was nearly empty. Among the few things she saw were a la
rge can of coffee grounds, a small bottle of cream, and a jar of pickles. He shifted that to the side and retrieved a single lemon.

  She smiled, enjoying this side of Trent, and liking the way he talked aloud as he cooked. She hadn’t realized it, but Trent had cooked a pot of rice in a cooker on the counter. Once it was ready, he piled the rice on the center of a plate, plopped a pat of butter on top before seasoning it, and then gently rested the trout fillets along the sides.

  “One more squeeze of lemon,” he mumbled, “and then we’re ready.”

  Jessie decided to give him applause—seeing that she was his only audience member. “That was great,” she said. “Smells great, too. I can’t wait to taste it.” She walked over to the cabinet she’d seen him open earlier and grabbed two glasses. “I’ll get us some drinks. Are you okay with water?”

  “Works for me.”

  She joined him at the table beneath a dangling copper light fixture, and the conversation picked up its comfortable rhythm—light talk, mostly. Jessie was glad to leave the heavy stuff behind for now. She was simply reveling in a getting-to-know-you game like she’d never had before. It was like unwrapping a delicious piece of chocolate and discovering that it was the real deal, not some cheap, waxy imitation. And as they cleaned up dishes at the sink, laughing one minute and shamelessly flirting the next, Jessie realized that what she said was true. She really was giving Trent Lockheart, a man she believed could and would protect her, a chance. And she had to admit that it felt great.

  Just as the thought occurred to her, Trent ran his hand down the length of a dishtowel before whacking her on the butt with the corner.

  She spun around and snatched it from him with her first try. “Hey,” she said, wrapping the cloth around both of his wrists. “A kid in my home economics class did that to me once and he lived to regret it.”

  He grinned, boasting that beautiful dimple in his cheek. “Oh, yeah? What’d you do?”

  She smiled back. “Gave him a cup of salt instead of sugar. We were making syrup; it was so disgusting. You should’ve seen his face!”

  The two broke into a laugh; the blend was something magical. And as the laughter died down, she and Trent barely catching their breath, he rested his forehead on hers and took her hands in his. “I really like you, Jessie.”

  For a moment, she let herself bask in those words, but then something occurred to her. She straightened up, backing away from him to better see his face.

  Trent tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just waiting for you to finish the sentence.” After all, he was too good to be true, wasn’t he?

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

  “You really like me, but …”

  He shook his head. “But nothing. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t think it’d upset you.”

  “That’s really all you were going to say?” She bit at her lip, wishing she could wash the embarrassment off her face. Wishing she could wash the sudden need for him off her body.

  This time he nodded, reached up to cradle her cheek, and came in for a slow, lingering kiss. “Yes,” he murmured against her parted lips, fanning at the need she felt for him. He kissed her again. “I really like you—that’s all.”

  Her heart was a fragile, fluttering mess. It took her a moment to recover as she repeated his words in her mind. He liked her. “Good,” she managed. “Cuz I kinda like you too.” She took hold of his hand and led him toward the front room, hoping to recover from the mental whiplash she’d just endured. “Guess what I brought?”

  “What?”

  “Dessert.”

  Trent gave her a sideways glance, but Jessie continued toward the sofa where she’d set her purse. “See?” She pulled a large chocolate bar from her bag.

  “Nice,” he said.

  Jessie nodded. “It might not be a lava cake, but this right here is one of the best-tasting chocolates you’ll ever have.” She eyed him up and down with a wry smile. “It’s the real deal.”

  He grinned, and Jessie inwardly prayed her impression of Trent was true: that he too was, in fact, the real deal.

  Chapter 18

  The front door of the Country Quilt Inn was becoming so familiar to Trent that he almost let himself in. He’d stayed there for a couple of weeks, and in the few weeks since moving out, he had been there on multiple occasions. First to pick Jessie up for their fishing date, next to help her install a towel rack on the deck—couldn’t have anyone else getting slivers from that damaged wood. There were the times he’d stopped by after his shift just to say hi. They’d taken walks around the pond, crossed the water in paddleboats, and spent a fair amount of time cuddling on the front porch. Each time, she seemed to open up to him more and more.

  She was the closest thing he’d had to a girlfriend since he was a grown man, and he’d only known her for a month. A dang good month. With the Fourth of July celebration coming up, they had plenty of late nights to look forward to.

  But today they had work to do. Jessie had agreed to help him pick out a few things to finish off his house. If he were being honest, Trent could probably go the rest of his life without rugs or throw pillows, but he knew it was time he could spend with her, and he liked that.

  The door swung open, and Trent’s breath caught somewhere between his lips and his lungs. He could look at that face for the rest of his life. “Hi.” It came out raspy and hitched.

  A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, causing those apple cheeks to pop. “Howdy, Sheriff.” She leaned casually against the doorframe.

  He hadn’t realized how much the wind was blowing, but as it caught the length of Jessie’s hair and lifted it off her shoulders, Trent felt the strength of it himself.

  “Uh-oh. Am I in trouble again?”

  He chuckled. “As a matter of fact, you are.”

  “Oh yeah?” Her smile grew. “What for?”

  Trent’s pulse broke into full speed. For making me love you. He gulped, then summoned his best drawl. “I hear you been causing mischief at the Cobble Creek Junior High. Filling sugar containers with salt. A lot of folks been getting real sick, ya know?”

  She shifted her weight to the other foot and folded her arms. “Well, I’d like to file a complaint of my own.”

  “Oh yeah? What for?”

  “For the guy who smacked my butt with a towel.”

  “Alright, ma’am. What’s his name?” For a split second Trent wondered if it was Benny who’d sparked her home-economics revenge. He’d said they were close, after all.

  Jessie cleared her throat, a fresh spark of amusement in those hazel eyes. “His name is Trent Lockheart.”

  He couldn’t bite back the laugh that came. “Touché,” he said in a long, southern drawl. “Touché, little missy.”

  It was the perfect start to the day: playful banter with the woman he couldn’t get enough of. Their greeting seemed to set the mood for the drive to the furniture warehouse as well. A combination of innocent conversation and dangerous chemistry, the blend was nothing short of addictive.

  “Oh, I got the worst phone call yesterday,” Jessie said, speaking louder over the wind as he helped her out of the truck. “Sheila and Nate might lose their home.”

  “You’re kidding. Because of the hospital bills?” Trent wrapped his arm around her as they walked, catching scents of her hair with the breeze.

  “No,” Jessie said. “It’s because of her ex. He’s suing her for half the cost of the house. She has to come up with the cash for it, and she can’t do that unless she sells.”

  Trent cursed under his breath. “Like the woman hasn’t suffered enough.” As they approached the storefront, Trent realized the place looked dark behind the glass, save a small light glowing somewhere in a far corner. He checked his watch, then eyed the store hours posted on the door. “These guys don’t open for another fifteen minutes,” he said. “Should we wait in the car?”

  “No, let’s take a walk instead.”

&nbs
p; He liked the way she nestled into him. “Sounds good to me.” When Trent was with Jessie, he never felt rushed to get back home and care for the yard or take care of the list of things he still planned to do with the home. It was the opposite. In fact, he never wanted their time to end.

  “I worry about Nate, too,” she said as they rounded the front corner of the building. “Already he’s trying to build his new business and make money so they can keep the house, and he’s done such a good job. But then suddenly they’re forced to sell it anyway.” She stopped walking, her face hardening as she shook her head. “Sometimes I just want to show up at that stupid man’s place and … I don’t know, make him understand how much damage he’s doing.”

  The passion he saw in her eyes was one of the things he liked most about Jessie. She was the ultimate bleeding heart. He’d noticed some of the mail she received at the inn and could see that she was a regular contributor to causes ranging from animal rescue to cancer research.

  She started walking again, turning to give Trent a playful look. “Think you can arrest him for me?”

  He laughed. “Sure.”

  “Really?” She looked so pleased that he wondered if she took him seriously.

  “Yeah. I can beat him up, too, if you’d like.”

  She laughed some more. “Sometimes I wish I could.”

  “I like that about you.”

  Jessie lifted a brow. “That I wish I could beat up random men?”

  He shook his head. “Not random. You like to protect people, just in your own way.”

  Her face turned thoughtful. “Hmm. You know, one thing I could do is let Sheila help run the inn for me.”

  Trent rubbed a hand over her arm as another strong wind picked up. “Could you use the help there?”

  “Well, Char’s going to retire soon. In fact, she’s practically given her notice already. She’s just hanging on until I find a replacement. I guess they could stay in the place downstairs …” she mumbled. “Plus if I ever wanted to move out or get married, Sheila could move into the suite that I’m in and Nate could live in his own quarters downstairs. He turns nineteen soon. Can you believe that?”