by Joan Reeves
"Being agreeable is what got me stuck transforming Hogan's chicken scratch into a report. If this report's for the Mayor of Murphy's Cove, why can't Mr. Hotshot Consultant get someone in that police department to type it?"
"Maybe he likes the way you glow like a red warning light when he hands you his notes."
"It's the principle involved. I'm a deputy, not a secretary."
When Grace just chuckled, Susannah frowned. "Well, I am. Or I would be if I were given half a chance. Stop laughing. This isn't funny."
"You're too danged serious. Lighten up. Be nice to Hogan. After all, he was pretty gracious about that little faux pas as you call it."
"He was not! He was obnoxious and overbearing. I'll tell you what his initials stand for. D is for demanding. E is for egotistical. To top it all off, he got Uncle Barney to tear up the ticket."
"Tickets," Grace corrected. "One for parking. The other was for a cracked tail light on the Suburban he was driving. At least that's what you said."
"Tickets then. And the tail light was cracked." Susannah hoped Grace attributed the crimson that stained her cheeks to anger. That day, meeting Hogan again, here in her town, had shaken her. After her uncle had introduced him, Hogan had possessed the nerve to ask her to lunch. Fear had flooded her. Fear that he thought they could have a fling. Fear that he didn't want a fling. Most of all, fear that she might not be able to keep her hands off him.
When she'd declined his offer, his eyes had mocked her. She'd pretended to be absorbed in the fax from the state police that she'd been reading.
In a voice so soft she'd thought perhaps she'd imagined it, he'd said, "Coward."
Alarmed that he'd nailed it so perfectly, she'd not dared to look up. Moments later, the door had opened and closed. He'd left without challenging her further.
Later, returning from lunch, she'd seen a black Suburban pull up and double park behind the cars filling the diagonal slots in front of the Sheriff's office. She honestly hadn't realized it was Hogan driving until she'd walked over to ask the driver to park in the lot across from the courthouse.
His blue eyes had gleamed with amusement. And with something else. Something that made her breath catch. Suddenly, the heat of the July day intensified. She knew what Hogan was thinking. She could read it in his gaze as clearly as she could feel it in the pulse points of her body. And that really scared her. If only he hadn't looked at her that way. If the corner of his mouth hadn't lifted in that little smile.
All it had taken to send panic chasing after the shiver of sexual awareness was his softly spoken question. "Don't you think we have something to talk about, Susy?"
The timbre of his voice and the heat in his gaze were like flame to dry tinder. Terrified at her body's response to everything about him, Susannah had backed away. She shook her head. "Don't call me Susy." She knew her quavering voice must have matched her "deer in the headlights" expression.
"No heart to heart talk today? No problem. I'll be here a few weeks. We've got time."
Susannah had felt all the blood drain from her face. She'd felt hot and cold all in the same moment. She could find no words to counter what she viewed as a threat. To be honest, there was a traitorous part of her that wished she could leap into his arms. Into his bed. But that would be disastrous.
All she'd had to do was make a joke about that night. Pretend that she was sophisticated. Unfortunately, she'd lost the ability to put together a coherent sentence, much less a smart, hip response to defuse the situation. So she'd taken refuge from his searching gaze and husky voice by whipping out her ticket book from her khaki shirt pocket. Gruffly she'd explained he was illegally parked. She'd only intended to write a warning. But Hogan had flirted. He'd winked and softly said, "Are you sure you don't want to go someplace private and talk about this, Deputy? Maybe we can work something out?"
That had just increased her panic. In a flash she saw a future she dreaded. He'd finish his job at Murphy's Cove and shake the dust of this small town. If she yielded to her emotions, he'd leave her with nothing but regret. She'd ripped the ticket out and handed it to him. He'd laughed.
The sound was the match to her fuse. She seared him with a glance and walked around the Suburban, making a pretense of inspecting the lights on the rear of the Burb just to buy her panicked brain more time. In her most official voice, she said, "Your right rear tail light is cracked."
"Well, gee whiz, Officer," he said in a parody of a Texas drawl. "You sure as shootin' better write that up. Can't let a lawless desperado like me get away with anything."
His mocking voice spurred her on. Retribution was a bitch with a ticket book in hand. Ripping the second ticket from the book, she handed it to him with a flourish. "As you wish."
"You must not have been in uniform longer than a nano second, or you'd know you don't give tickets to other law enforcement personnel. It's not professional."
His jeering words burned her. She'd wanted to smack him with her ticket book.
Fortunately, her uncle had arrived just then. It hadn't taken the Sheriff long to get the picture. He'd tsk tsked a bit, taken the tickets from Hogan, and stuffed them in his pants pocket. She'd known her uncle would tear the tickets up. And he had.
Battle lines were drawn that day. When Hogan dropped by, he alternated between flirting outrageously and treating her like a child. She countered with whatever put-down fit the occasion. She was just counting the days until he packed up and went back to wherever he'd come from. Until then, her best defense was a good offense.
Still, it hurt that her best friend's mother seemed to side with Hogan. "Grace, you don't think it's right for Hogan to act as if he's above the law, do you?"
"Oh, pish. You're too young to be such a stickler for rules. Just once I'd like to see you thumb your nose at responsibility."
Grace's outburst surprised Susannah. "You make me sound like a, well, like a stick in the mud. A pompous stick in the mud at that."
"Kids should be kids, but you skipped over that and went straight to adulthood. You're too serious to moralize like this."
Surprised, Susannah asked, "Do I really sound so self-righteous?"
"No, hon, no." Grace smiled and held her thumb and index finger close together. "Well, maybe just a teeny bit. You gotta quit judging people and how they should or shouldn't act. And quit assuming responsibility for other people. You've been doing that since you were seven. It's time to live your own life. Let others live theirs. Good golly. Have some fun. Stop being as unyielding as a clod of sun-baked mud."
Grace's assessment hurt. A lot. Susannah blinked to dispel the sudden moisture that threatened to turn into tears. "I was just saying that Hogan, as a hotshot consultant, should set an example for others."
"It's not as if he robbed a bank. All he did was double park."
"That's illegal. He was impeding traffic flow. He could have caused a traffic jam."
"Oh, come on. Not only is this the smallest dang county in Texas, it's also got the smallest towns. The closest thing to a traffic jam here in Vance was when Cici Rojas's pet sheep got loose and rammed the plate glass window at the bank."
Susannah smiled at the memory. She'd been fifteen when the massively overweight Ruffles had made his great escape.
"Now that assault sheep impeded traffic when everybody jumped out of their cars to try to catch him. Would you have written tickets for all of them or joined in the effort to catch Ruffles? I'm just saying that sometimes there might be mitigating circumstances to consider."
Resignation seeped through Susannah. "You should have been a preacher the way you keep at a person until she admits her sins. All right. Maybe he wasn't impeding traffic. I'll even admit, I should have let him off with a verbal warning."
"You've got a bad case of Rookie Cop. Ever hear about pride going before a fall?"
The phone rang again. Susannah decided it was better that Grace thought she was a gung ho rookie than to have her learn the truth. She listened to Grace's side of the conv
ersation, hoping someone, somewhere, needed a deputy. But the call was from another of Grace's friends. No escape. The only thing more boring than this job was the small town she couldn't escape from either. And the only thing more boring than that was her personal life.
In college, she'd had friends. And dates. Though she'd never let any relationship slide into the perilous waters of romance. She sure didn't have to worry about that here. Eligible men were as scarce as unbroken sand dollars on a Gulf coast beach. Not that she cared, she silently affirmed. She'd decided long ago that all she wanted was a career. She'd be a good cop. If her uncle would give her a chance. She didn't want romance, but a social life would be nice.
Unfortunately, her high school friends had deserted Vance for the bright lights of Houston or San Antonio. She didn't blame them. She'd have done the same if it hadn't been for her mother. Luke Orland, her high school boyfriend, was now a cop down in Murphy's Cove, but they hadn't hooked up when she'd come home. To Luke, women were divided into two groups. Those good for sexy fun and games, and those he'd never get between the sheets. She still fell into the latter category.
Boring job. Boring town. Boring personal life. The triple threat was about to do her in.
Maybe it would be more bearable when Paula came home. Grace's daughter taught at Sam Houston State, the college they'd both attended. When the summer semester ended next week, she'd be home. That might save her sanity.
To Susannah's annoyance, after Grace finished the latest call, she picked up where she'd left off. "You've always been a rule follower, but in law enforcement, professional courtesy is as important as protecting and serving. You don't write the Mayor's pal a ticket. Especially when the Mayor runs the richest town in the county. And you sure don't ticket a cruiser from another police department." Then Grace spoiled the whole effect of her professional courtesy lecture by giggling like a school girl. "There's easier ways to get a stud muffin like Hogan to notice you."
Horrified, Susannah stared at Grace. Surely the woman couldn't know. "I did not write him a ticket so he'd notice me. Even if the governor declares D. E. Hogan heaven's gift to womankind, I wouldn't be interested. He's not even what I'd call handsome."
"Well, Susy Q," a male voice drawled. "I'm mortally wounded. Are you sure you don't find me appealing?"
The Trouble With Love by Joan Reeves
Book 1: Texas One Night Stands
Available Now
Excerpt from Special Delivery by Elaine Raco Chase
Roxanne stared at him with growing suspicion. "What is your idea of the right incentive?"
"Strip gin would be interesting." Bram drew the first card. "Of course I know what your reaction would be, and I can hear Aunt Mathilda shrieking in horror, a lacy hankie pressed to her mouth while she hunts for smelling salts to ward off the vapors."
"Aunt Mathilda, vapors? Hmm. Strip gin?" Roxanne picked a card and slowly began to reorganize her hand. "I really think it's time I told you the truth about me and my family and especially, Aunt Mathilda." Roxanne tutted Bram silent when he tried to interrupt.
"Mathilda was...quite precocious. At fifteen she got her first job. Ever hear of Minsky's? Burlesque?" She fluttered her lashes and smiled. "Take ten terrific girls and only nine costumes? Aunt Mathilda was the tenth girl.
"She'd adore playing strip gin, especially if she could lose. And with all due respect to your minor in psychiatry, I have no inhibitions at playing either." One at a time Roxanne displayed her cards on the table. "Gin. And I'll take your shirt."
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Elaine Raco Chase is the award-winning author of 17 paperback novels, contemporary category romance and romantic suspense. She has over 3 million books in print and is published in 25 countries and 15 languages. Her first nonfiction book, Amateur Detectives, part of the Writer's Digest Howdunit line was nominated for the prestigious Agatha Christie Award. She has won two WaldenBook Sales Awards for top Romance Novel of the Year. Currently, she is writing a new romantic suspense series and teaching creative writing classes.
Excerpt, In the Garden of Seduction by Cynthia Wicklund
Book 2: The Garden Series
The last thing Cassandra had promised herself was to keep her distance from the marquess. Away from him she had resolve, but in his presence she lost sight of why she should avoid him. He wooed her with ardent words and hungry looks, and she responded like clay in his experienced hands. He must be gratified, Cassandra thought, by how easily he could manipulate her.
"Have you been waiting long?"
He came up behind her where she sat on the garden bench, and a thrill of fear seized her before she realized who it was. Her hand flew to her throat.
"You frightened me."
"I apologize," Lord Sutherfield said as he moved around the bench and sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder. "I was caught in a conversation and it took a moment to extricate myself. I was afraid you would not wait for me."
"I should not be here at all," she fretted, examining her hands where they lay in her lap.
He leaned forward, and from the corner of her eye she could see him studying her profile.
"I see. I was delayed just long enough for you to regret having come. I wish you wouldn't feel that way."
Cassandra looked at him directly. "An unmarried female of good character does not have a secret meeting with a gentleman, especially a gentleman whose reputation with the ladies is suspect. Why I always forget that when I'm in your company, I'll never know."
"I would not deliberately hurt you, Miss James." He snorted then as if he did not believe his own words. "I want to do the right thing, I really do, but your company affects me as well."
"It does?"
"Yes, indeed. Why does that surprise you?"
Cassandra stared at his handsome face, the shadows emphasizing his brow, the high cheekbones. He watched her with eyes that burned earnestly, and all at once she was consumed with the need to touch him.
"Do it!" he growled in a hoarse whisper.
He knew. Oh, he knew! Was her desire that obvious? Could he see her confusion, her fear, the attraction she fought?
"Do it," he urged her again.
Although she shook her head, Cassandra did not have the strength to resist his impassioned plea. Her hand moved to his lean jaw. Caressing the hollow of his cheek, she felt the hint of a stubble. His teeth clenched as he sucked in a harsh breath through flaring nostrils.
He grabbed her wrist and pressed his mouth into her palm, raising heated eyes to hers.
Cassandra could feel herself melting. She had no power in the face of such irresistible persuasion. The age-old barriers of self-protection were slipping away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. If the marquess continued to pursue her, before long repercussions would have no meaning. Until it was too late.
He was aware of the effect his lovemaking had on her, and she wanted to be indifferent to him. In desperation she tried to remember why she was here in the first place.
"Timothy," Cassandra said, slipping her hand from his grasp and drawing away from him.
"What? Oh, yes...." The marquess sat, blinking as though clearing his vision. "I forgot," he said in a sheepish voice. An odd expression on his face indicated that he, also, had been moved by their exchange.
"You were going to tell me how our patient is doing." She sounded normal even though her insides continued to tremble.
"Timothy is healing quite nicely," Lord Sutherfield said in a businesslike fashion. "I'm worried about what we are to do with him once he is well. I know Mr. Bailey has been searching for his son."
"We can't return that child to his father."
"Do you have any suggestions?" His attitude did not encourage optimism that Timothy's problem could be solved easily.
"No. I hoped you had something in mind."
"Can't say I do, but I'll see what can be done."
"Would you?" Cassandra gazed at him imploringly. It was her turn to use wiles to gain what she wanted. She had to
refrain from batting her lashes at him.
He chortled softly. "When you look at me like that, dear heart, I feel pushed to make the effort. But then you already knew that, didn't you?"
Unable to help herself, she laughed with him. "I've never met anyone like you."
"Is that a good thing?" the marquess asked tenderly.
Cassandra glanced at him before quickly looking away. "I haven't a clue, my lord. I'll have to let you know when I discover the answer."
Lord Sutherfield rose to his feet and took her by the hand. "Walk with me."
"Shouldn't I go back to the party? I'm sure to be missed," she said, allowing him to help her stand.
"What would you do if you were back in London and still living with Quintin James? Would a stroll in the garden be such a wicked thing?"
The question was a shrewd one. She didn't intend to let him know it, though.
"Perhaps not, but my father doesn't know you. I think if he were to meet you he'd be as cautious as my grandfather."
The marquess drew her arm through his and leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. "I'd like to think the caution is yours."
"That makes no sense at all," she said impatiently.
"It does if it is you rather than me you do not trust."
Lord Sutherfield's warm breath drifted down her neck, causing her skin to prickle with excitement. Just when she had herself in check, he began the onslaught anew. Her body responded as it always did when his tone turned suggestive.
Ambling down the winding path, they moved away from the safety of the house. The doors to the parlor had been thrown open to the main garden, and the voices of those guests still partying could be heard drifting from inside. If she were taking her little walk with the marquess right outside those doors, it would probably be considered completely respectable.
They came upon a majestic oak looming out of the darkness at the end of the path, its branches spanning nearly thirty feet. Moonlight seeped through the aged limbs, splintered patches of illumination creating a fey realm beneath the sprawling canopy of the tree. The gauze of Cassandra's dress sparkled like dozens of tiny, glowing night beetles in the dimness. Just like a sprite, she reflected whimsically, touched by the enchantment of the balmy evening.