by Avery Flynn
She stomped through the slushy ditch water and leaned inside the wreckage to swipe her gym bag from the floor in front of the passenger seat, then slogged her way up to the highway. The deer was nowhere to be found. Lucky him.
Grimacing, she punched in the number for her mechanic. Thanks to her many trips to Mad Mike's Mechanical, she'd memorized it months ago.
“Thanks for calling Mad Mike's. What can we do to make you happy?” Hailey's chipper voice carried over the phone's static connection.
“Hey, Hailey.”
“Oh no, Beth. What’s going on with that cute car of yours this time?”
“I lost at a game of chicken with a deer on Highway 28 and ended up in a ditch.”
“Oh my goodness! Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?”
“Thanks, but I'm okay.” Shading her eyes against the early afternoon sun, she scanned the road for a landmark. “I'm near mile marker twelve. Can you send out the tow truck?”
“Sure thing, sweetie. Mike'll be right there.”
After thirty minutes of alternating between swearing this time she'd get a new car and playing cellphone scrabble, the tow truck finally rumbled to a stop in front of her. Relief loosened the tightness in her shoulders and she stood, brushing dirt from the seat of her jeans.
The crunch of another set of tires on the gravel caught her attention and she glanced up to see a familiar dark blue pickup stop behind the tow truck. Her heart sped up and she smoothed her hair before she could stop herself.
Concern tightened Hank's square jaw when he stepped down from his truck and Beth's insides melted into warm goo. Damn that man.
Five days into a two-week vacation, he'd given up his Dry Creek County Sheriff uniform for jeans, a T-shirt and a scraggly beard that he somehow made appealing. Her fingers itched to feel the prickle of the three-day beard, to run through his thick brown hair that she knew from years of lustful observation curled if he let it grow to his collar. He was the stuff of dreams. Naughty, sweaty, tasty dreams.
The object of her desire strolled across the cracked asphalt to her side. The smell of fresh coffee wafted up from the paper cup in his large hands and mixed with the woodsy scent of his cologne.
“Are you okay?” Worry weighed heavy in his deep voice and he brushed a stray hair away from her face, his eyes searching for injuries.
Every objection to touching him evaporated and all her thoughts focused on how much she wanted to wrap her arms around his waist and soak up his strength.
“I do believe I can arrest you for looking at someone like that. You've got to be breaking some decency laws.”
Taking a deep breath, she recovered her bearings. Mostly. “You're out of your jurisdiction, sheriff.”
Hank fisted his free hand and fought to calm his jumpy nerves. Yep, he was out of his jurisdiction, out of his league, out of luck and out of his mind for wanting Beth. Badly.
His gaze combed over her, from her silky brown hair to the tips of her red cowboy boots. Her glasses were a little cockeyed, but she didn’t have a scratch on her and for the first time since he’d heard about the accident, something inside him loosened.
A cough interrupted his inspection. Hank and Beth turned toward the short, squat man in a red Mad Mike's Mechanical T-shirt kicking dirt with the tip of his steel-toed boot. Damn, he'd forgotten all about Mike and the reason they were both there. “You got her all hooked up?”
“Yep. Jus' need ya to move over a bit so I can get her pulled up from the ditch.”
Before he could say a word, Beth strode to the other side of the road, her head high, purposefully not looking his way.
He shuffled over a few feet and watched as Mike pushed a button, setting off a cacophony of clanking chains. The chains pulled tight with a loud clang and that ridiculously small car Beth drove slid backwards up the ditch. It took Mike a few minutes to pull the car up, secure it to the trailer and begin the process of ensuring everything was safe for the drive back to his shop in Dry Creek.
Hank used the time to get a handle on the lust that had been riding roughshod over his body since he saw with his own eyes that Beth was okay. But he couldn't look away from Beth's curves framed by her V-neck black sweater and worn jeans. She stretched, extending one arm toward the clear blue sky and pushing her small tits forward. His cock transformed into steel and he unconsciously took a step forward.
Shit. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone, including Amanda when they first started dating.
It took him years to see through her manipulative ways and extricate himself from her razor-sharp talons. Not a good loser, Amanda swore he'd never find anyone as good as her, especially since he was just a washed-up ballplayer with a bum knee and a criminal justice degree. The thing was, she'd had him so twisted up during the final days of their marriage that he'd believed her. Some days he still did.
Maybe that's why Beth burned so hot yet acted so cold toward him, because she thought he wasn’t worth her time.
“All righty then. You're all set.” Mike slapped the Mini Cooper's bumper.
“Great.” Beth lugged her gym bag up from the highway shoulder then crossed the road. “Can you drop me off at my house?”
Mike's gaze slid over to Hank as he wiped away the nonexistent sweat from his forehead with a greasy rag. “Um, well...”
“I'll give you a ride.” Hank started toward his truck, chewing the inside of his cheek, nervous about how she'd react to the story he and Mike concocted. “Suzie threw up in Mike's cab and it smells like a sewer in there.”
Oblivious to the defamation, the rotund feline slept curled in a ball on the cab's dashboard.
Mike kept his gaze locked on the pothole to the left of his back tire. “Yep. Wouldn't want you to have to spend time in there. Uh, that's why I brought Hank along.”
Beth snorted, her suspicious gaze flickering between the men.
He didn't blame her; if Mike played poker as bad as he lied, there was no way Hank would have lost fifty dollars to him last night. Lucky for him, he’d been paying off that loss when the call came in about Beth’s car.
“Front door service.” Holding out his hands, palms up, he flashed the affable, baby-kissing grin he'd perfected during last fall's election. “Promise my truck does not smell like cat puke.”
Sighing, Beth pivoted and walked to his truck. As she slid into the passenger seat, he nodded a silent thank you to Mike. Now he had the twenty-minute drive into Dry Creek to convince her to go out to dinner and a movie. Nothing life threatening. Really, how hard could it be?
As soon as he shut the driver's side door and the smell of her vanilla and lilac perfume teased his senses, his mind went blank.
“Why is Mike giving you a thumbs up?”
Glancing at the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the tow truck, he spotted Mike standing in the middle of the highway with a smartass grin on his face and his thumb stuck up as if he were hitching a ride. Mike always was subtle. “Who knows why he does half the things he does.”
Beth settled back into the seat and proceeded to stare out the window, ignoring him completely. A million idiotic conversation starters rattled around his head, but he couldn't get his dry mouth to form the words. The silence ate away at Hank's nerves. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he checked her out. The woman sat straight as a board, nervous energy pulsing from her brown skin, finding its outlet as she fiddled with the green nylon strap of her gym bag.
He should say something. Anything. He was a grown man driving with a woman he'd known for most of his life. When had it gotten so hard to talk to her?
The sugar beet factory loomed on the horizon, with the big box stores only a little bit farther on. In another few minutes they'd be in Dry Creek proper. A couple of stoplights later and they'd be in front of her adobe bungalow on Kaftan Street. His heartbeat sped up like a thirteen-year-old nerd’s walking up to the prettiest, most popular girl in school.
A block from her house, he couldn't take the silence a
nymore and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “So, I heard Sarah Jane made a mint when she sold her place. You thinking of selling your grandparents' place?”
Beth spun around in her seat and nailed him with a deadly glare. “I'm never selling, and if you know who the asshole is who's trying to intimidate me into selling, you can tell him that it won’t work.”
Someone threatened her? Anger squeezed his chest. He slammed on the brakes in front of her house, making his truck tires squeal. “What the hell are you talking about? And why is this the first I'm hearing about it?”
She stopped fidgeting with the bag's strap. Her whole body went still as her big brown eyes regarded him. Uncertainty flashed across her face and her forehead crinkled. Her gaze flicked away for an instant. When she looked at him again with a stubborn tilt to her chin, his temple throbbed.
He wasn't going to like this, not one bit. Stubborn woman was going to make him certifiably nuts.
“Never mind, I'm sure it's nothing.” She waved her long fingers in the air as if brushing off an invisible inconvenience. “Thanks for the ride home.”
He grabbed her left hand as her right reached for the door handle. Her warmth shocked his fingers and slithered up his arm. “Bullshit. I've known you since you were young enough to eat your own boogers. You wouldn't have said it if it was nothing.”
Yanking ineffectively to free her hand, she shot him a dirty look. “Let me go, Hank. It's none of your damn business.”
Pulling her close so that their faces nearly touched, he fought to rein in the caveman urge to drag her somewhere safe and hide her away from anything bad in the world. “If it involves you, it is my business.”
Damn straight. As soon as he dropped her off, he'd do some snooping of his own. He knew a few deputies in neighboring Council County who didn't appreciate Sheriff Wilcox's brand of flexible ethics. Time to call in some favors, find out what the hell was going on and fix it.
Her eyes went wide, showing off the gold flecks in her dark irises. She inhaled a shaky breath. “Look,” she whispered. “I know you're Claire's big brother and we've known each other forever, but I can't let you involve yourself in this. It's not in your jurisdiction. It's not your house. You're like a brother to me and I don't want you to get sucked into my trouble.”
A dark laugh rumbled up from some aching part of his soul. “Like a brother.” The words would have hurt like a kick to the balls if she hadn't been lying through her teeth. “You're full of it, Beth. I know it and you know it. The way your body reacts to mine is far from sisterly. You want me just as damn bad as I want you. What I can't figure out is why you're denying it.”
With a ferocious tug, she pulled her captured hand free. “What you're feeling is your business, but I want you the hell out of mine.”
She thrust the door open, hooked her gym bag over one shoulder and hopped down from the truck.
He wished it was that easy. Something happened to him during dinner at Juanita’s and cemented at Claire’s house as soon as his hand settled onto her hip and he pulled her closer in the hallway's dim light. In that half second of hesitation before she relaxed in his arms, he'd never been so afraid in all his life. But as soon as he'd tasted her lips, all of that faded to the background.
Time for a play fake. “I'll leave you alone on one condition.”
Eyeing him warily, she crossed her arms. “What's that?”
Hank got out of the truck and strolled over to the passenger side, stopping next to her. At five feet, nine inches, she would fit perfectly against his taller frame. He had to stop himself from reaching out and pulling her to him. “Kiss me.”
Her mouth gaped open and she slammed the passenger door shut before marching up the short paved path to her porch, her sweet ass swinging the whole time.
Lust slammed into him, hardening his cock and threatening the zipper on his jeans.
She never said no to a dare.
“If you still only think of me in brotherly terms, I won't bother you again. Unless, of course, you’re chicken.”
She stopped with her back to him. “One kiss?”
“One little kiss.”
A fall breeze brushed the tips of her brown hair across her back and she straightened her shoulders. Spinning around, she made her way back to him with a fuck-you strut. Stopping just short of his feet, she dropped her gym bag. It hit the pavement with a thud, the whole world seeming to have gone silent around them.
“Let's get it over with.”
Something primal inside of him howled its approval. He wanted to devour her full lips then and there.
Stick to the plan, dude.
He held firm. Barely. “Okay, you can kiss me.”
“Wait a minute—”
“You're the one who says there's nothing between us, so I figure you should set the tone of the kiss. It's up to you to disprove my theory.”
“Of all the stupid things.” She huffed out a breath. “Fine.”
Hank held his breath, hoping all his bluster would pay off. God, this woman undid him.
She laid her soft hand against his chest. There was no way she could miss the hammering behind his ribs. Navy-blue nails shone bright against the red of his cotton shirt. Her shoulders twitched with a shiver. A flicker of doubt shook him. Maybe she'd ignored him after the party for a reason.
Then her lips touched his. Chocolate and caramel coffee teased his taste buds as their tongues twisted around each other. Lightning shot through his system, turning his muscles to steel. He clenched his hands to keep from filling them with her high, round ass and grinding her against his hard cock.
With a low moan, she pressed her body into his, rubbing her perfect, handful-sized tits across his chest. Her fingers curved around his head, tangled in his hair and severed the tenuous hold he had on his self-control. Like a starving man presented with a buffet, he feasted on the kiss. His hands roamed to the bottom of her soft wool sweater, snuck underneath the hem and caressed the soft skin above the low waist of her jeans.
Her vanilla perfume surrounded him as he lowered his mouth to taste the sweetness of her neck. He lost himself to the hungry lust streaming through his veins and the moaning woman in his arms. There was no street, no gawking neighbors, no one else in the world.
“Hank, stop.” Beth's breath brushed against his cheek.
More plea than demand, her words sliced through his euphoria. Unwilling to let her go yet, he lifted his head but kept his fingers tucked into her waistband. Still tasting her on his lips, he couldn't form any words.
A flush pinked her cheeks as she pursed her kiss-swollen lips. “So…that's…out of the way.”
Her hand shook when she patted him on the chest, her fingers lingering for a few seconds over his pounding heart. With a sigh, she pulled out of his embrace and trudged up to the house, never looking back.
She thought this was over? After a kiss like that? His balls couldn't be any bluer if they were made of blueberries. For a smart woman, she sure wasn't thinking straight.
“Like hell,” he growled.
Chapter Six
The cinnamon roll's gooey, sugary goodness melted on Beth's tongue and she closed her eyes to better savor the ecstasy. If this couldn't make a Monday better, she couldn't imagine what would. Margret Goodwin may be the biggest gossip in Dry Creek, but her divine baking ability made a visit to her shop a must.
“So where’d you disappear to during the party?” Claire asked.
Beth spotted the poof of Margret's frizzy platinum hair sticking up over the top of the half-full lemonade dispenser. Making eye contact with Claire, Beth shrugged a shoulder toward the counter at Margret's inept attempt at covert eavesdropping. The bell above the bakery's door jangled and Margret scurried away from her hiding spot to help the newcomer.
Humor sparkled in Claire’s brown eyes. She swiped the last bite of cinnamon roll from their shared plate and stuffed it into her mouth.
Playacting a pout, Beth stuck out her tongue.
“True, but that means the icing is all mine.”
The fight for the last bit of a shared treat was a tradition dating back to second grade, when Beth introduced Claire to the honey-covered, fried pastry decadence known as a sopapilla. Sure, this time Claire had gotten the last of the cinnamon roll, but the frosting was a worthy consolation prize. Scooping the creamy, white goodness onto a finger and into her mouth, Beth savored its sweetness. It would all go straight to her well-padded ass, but it was worth it. Her eyes closed, she barely noticed when the air shifted around her.
“Now, where have I seen that look on your face before?” Hank plopped down into one of the pink-and-white-striped chairs at the table. He greeted Claire with a quick, “Hey, sis.”
The azure shade of his button-up shirt brought out the green hues in his hazel eyes, drawing her in and promising a future of warm spring days and everything perfect and good. With Hank’s gaze locked on her, mesmerizing her, she barely heard his chair scrape against the floor as he scooted it closer until their knees touched.
Beth froze, her finger still in her mouth, her skin vibrating until electricity spread up her tense thigh to her fast dampening panties. Shit. How did he do this to her through so many layers of clothes? Imagine her response if they were naked. Her skin flushed. Better yet, don't think of that.
“Can I borrow your spoon?” His words were innocent but the gravelly tone promised all sorts of indecent experiences.
Her nipples jutted against her lacy bra and she thanked God the padding hid proof of her desire.
Steam floated up from his paper coffee cup and he dumped three packets of sugar into the dark brew. Grabbing the spoon, he wriggled his eyebrows at her.
With all the grace of a bull in a china shop, Margret delivered a chocolate sprinkle donut to the table and ever so slowly walked to the nearby counter, where she rearranged the cups, peeking over her shoulder every few moments.