Who's the Boss

by Linda Turner

  But Riley wasn't just some stranger on the street. And if she had to picture it in anyone's house, she wanted it to be his. Refusing to ask herself why, she said gruffly, "It is to you," and named a price that was below what Lucille had recommended, but still high enough that she had to fight a blush when she said it.

  Riley only nodded, as if he'd been expecting as much.

  "I'll take it."

  With the writing of a cheek, the transaction was completed. Staring numbly down at the bold scrawl of his signature, Beeca couldn't think of a single thing to say, which was just as well. After carefully retrieving the mirror from the wall, Riley was definitely ready to leave. He kept glancing toward the door, as if he already regretted coming.

  "I hope you'll enjoy it," she whispered in a voice that wasn't nearly as steady as she'd have liked.

  "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get another receipt book."

  She turned away to retrieve another book from Lucille and by the time she got back to the living room, he was gone, the only sign that he'd been there the bare spot' on the wall where the mirror had hung.

  Avoiding glancing at the fireplace altogether, Beeca chatted with strangers like they were old friends, wrote up sales tickets as if she'd been doing it all her life and tried not to wince as one piece after another was carried out of the house.

  It wasn't, however, until the end of the day, when the last buyer had left, leaving only the barest of essentials in the house, that the success of the sale hit her. Gathering at the kitchen table, which she had flatly refused to sell despite numerous offers, she, Chloe, Margaret and Clara watched Lucille count the contents of the cash box for the third time.

  Looking up, Lucille gave her a slow grin, and' Beeca heart started to race.

  "How much?" she asked faintly, afraid to hope.

  "Well," the older woman drawled, playfully dragging out the good news,"after you pay your tax bill: n furl, you'll have about two hundred dollars left."

  "All right!" '

  "I knew you could do it!

  Stunned, Beeca hardly heard Margaret's and Clara's cries of delight.

  Regardless of what happened with the election, she could keep her home.

  Relief washed through her, but the joy she knew she should have felt just wasn't there, and she wouldn't allow herself to wonder why.

  Chapter 11

  By Monday, most of the county had recovered from the flu, the unexpected school holiday caused by the high rate of absenteeism was over and the campaign was back on track.

  Canceled speeches and planned appearances had to be made up," while the shoot-off and cross-country run were still scheduled for the end of the week. With her tax bill no longer hanging over her head like a guillotine, Becca's only concern should have been getting in shape for the upcoming competition. But every time she tried to talk to anyone about her qualifications, all they wanted to discuss was her hot new romance with the sheriff.

  "Excuse me," she said blankly when Jane Bacon, the school secretary, brought the subject up on Monday.

  "What do you mean, everyone's thrilled about me and the sheriff?"

  Laughing, Jane gave her a chiding look.

  "You don't have to pretend, honey. The whole town knows Riley stayed out at your place during the flu epidemic, and I think it's fantastic. That man has needed a good woman for a long time. "

  "But he was sick!"

  "And I'm sure he loved having you take care of him. If 'a little TLC won't soften up a man, I don't know what will."

  "But I'm not... We're not..."

  Jane only laughed and assured her that she and everyone she had talked to were delighted with the news. And, evidently, the gossips in town had been doing a lot of talking.

  After school, Becca was stopped in the grocery store, then at the gas station, and later the Women's Quilting Circle by smiling, giggling, die-hard romantics who couldn't wait to give her all kinds of advice on how to snare Riley.

  And if she was hearing it everywhere she went, the odds were pretty good that Riley was, too.

  Becca cringed at the thought and quickly escaped, but small-town gossip, once started, took on a life of its own.

  She got knowing looks and secretive miles everywhere she went, and even Chloe started to notice. And it didn't stop when she got home. The minute Margaret saw her and Chloe drive up, she immediately bustled over with a lemon meringue pie she'd just baked for them.

  "I made the sheriff one, too," she confided in a hushed aside after Begca had given Chloe permission to carry it inside and cut herself a small piece.

  "I figured he could use a little fattening up, so I took it to his office after lunch. Have you seen him since the sale?"

  "No, I haven't," she replied, biting back a reluctant grin. Trust Margaret to be as subtle as a blow torch.

  "Just 'because I took care of him when he was sick doesn't mean anything's changed, Margaret. I'm after the man's job, remember? That's not a very good beginning for a friendship. "

  "Who said anything about friendship?" She sniffed, a brazen twinkle in her eyes.

  "Haven't you ever heard that politics makes for strange bedfellows?"

  "Margaret!"

  "Oh, pooh," the woman said with a laugh.

  "I may be getting up there in years, but there's still a fire in my furnace. I haven't forgotten what it's like to be wild for a man.

  "I’m not"

  "My eyesight's not bad, either," she warned teasingly.

  Becca shut her mouth with a snap, the frown she struggled to maintain ruined by the smile that insisted on sliding across her mouth.

  "You're incorrigible, Margaret Hawkins. And I'm not saying another word."

  She didn't have to. Clara and Lucille were more than happy to do it for her. The second she stepped into the house, first one, then the other called, each casually bringing up Riley's name and strongly hinting that, like a champion buck, he was a keeper she shouldn't let get away.

  By the time she finally got off the phone, Becca didn't know whether to laugh or cry. At Margaret's invitation, Chloe went next door to play with her clay, and the second the door slammed behind her, Becca could feel the walls closing in on her.

  Restless, not anxious to confront the unwanted thoughts milling around in her head, she rushed upstairs to change into her sweats. After a quick call to Margaret to let her know where she would be, she hit the road running.

  Riley glanced at the clock, noted it was almost supper time and considered strolling over to the diner before the crowd hit. He didn't have much of an appetite—he hadn't in a while—but if he skipped another meal, he'd never hear the end of it from Myrtle.

  She'd been jawing at him for two days now, threatening to dose him up with her super-duper castor oil elixir if he didn't start eating, and he wasn't anxious to find out how serious she was.

  Grabbing his hat, he stuck his head in the back room, where she was manning the phones.

  "I'm going over to the diner for supper, Myrtle. You want me to bring you anything?"

  On the phone, she motioned him into the room, then said into the receiver, "The sheriff is right here, Mrs. Hawkins. Maybe you d better speak to him yourself

  "Hawkins?" he repeated sharply, already taking the phone from her.

  "Margaret Hawkins?" At her nod, he said into the receiver, "What's wrong, Margaret?"

  "Well, that's just it," the potter said, hesitating.

  "I'm not sure anything is. It's just that Becca went running "

  Cursing himself for letting the mere mention of Becca's name get to him, Riley stiffened. He was all too aware of Myrtle's eyes on him, her sharp gaze missing nothing.

  "And?" he asked shortly.

  "And she hasn't come back."

  "How long has she been gone?"

  "Oh, I'm not sure... maybe an hour."

  "What about Chloe? Where is she?

  "Here with me," she admitted.

  "She's no trouble. I just thought Becca would be back by now. I
talked to Clara and Lucille, and they suggested I call you. Do you think anything's wrong? "

  What he thought was that she and her matchmaking cohorts were at it again along with everyone else in town.

  "I'm sure she's fine, Margaret," he said dryly.

  "She's an experienced jogger, isn't she?"

  "Well, yes, I suppose she is," she said with some reluctance.

  "But she still hasn't caught up on her rest from nursing all of us, and then the strain of the sale, and I'm afraid she s pushing herself too hard. If she collapsed out in the desert somewhere, no one would be able to find her until morning. And it is getting dark."

  It wouldn't be dark for well over an hour and they both knew it.

  "Margaret..."

  At his chiding tone, her manner became abruptly affronted.

  "Obviously you're not interested, Sheriff. I'm sorry I disturbed you.

  Just forget I called." As far as guilt trips went, it was a beauty

  Half-tempted to call her bluff, Riley hesitated. He had no business going out there. Becca was probably fine—the lady had made it clear on numerous occasions that she could take care of herself—and he didn't like being manipulated.

  Especially when he'd fought like hell to stay away from the Widow Prescott ever since they'd made love. And it hadn't been easy, dammit.

  He'd ended up hanging the mirror he'd bought from her in his bedroom instead of the guest room, and every time he looked at it, he thought of her. And ached. Seeing her again would only make that worse.

  So no one was more surprised than he when he heard himself say, "Don't get all huffy on me, Margaret Hawkins. I know what you're up to, but I'm giving little old ladies a break today; so don't give me a hard time. I'll be out there in a few minutes, okay?"

  Pleased, she made no attempt to hide it.

  "Thank you, dear boy. You just might get my vote before it's over with, after all."

  "Promises, promises." Smiling, he hung up and turned to see Myrtle digging through the sack lunch she'd brought from home. When she pulled out a banana and offered it to him, he arched a brow at her.

  "What's this for?"

  "Your supper," she retorted.

  "You probably wouldn't have eaten anything at the diner, anyway."

  His smile mocking, he took the proffered fruit.

  "You know me too well, Myrtle. I'll see you later."

  After a day of gossip and outright nosiness, the quiet of the desert was something to be savored. Her pace steady, the thud of her running shoes against the asphalt pavement the only sound in her ears, Beeca soaked up the peacefulness of her surroundings. She hadn't jogged in a while and she'd missed it. Given a choice, she could have run for hours, but the sun had already slipped a notch or two toward the horizon, casting long shadows. She'd have to turn back soon.

  Everything in her rebelled at the thought. She wasn't ready. The second she stepped back into the house, she'd have to face the bare spot on the living room wall and the little snippets of conversation about Riley and herself that her mind had been filing away all day.

  If she ran just a little farther, just a little harder, she might be able to outrun her own thoughts and the memory of passion-darkened blue eyes and a slow loving that still had the power to heat her blood.

  " Damn him, why couldn't she get him out of her head? Winded, her lungs burning, she pushed on.

  Fiercely concentrating on the placement of every step, she didn't hear the car behind her at first. When the sound did register, she just moved to the very edge of the shoulder and kept on running, half expecting a local rancher in a dusty pickup' to race by her any second. But the vehicle that drew even with her wasn't a pickup and it made no effort to pass her.

  Frowning, she glanced over just as the beige patrol car pulled to a stop on the shoulder in front of her. She didn't have to see the driver to know who it was. Riley. After the day she'd had, who else could it be?

  Struggling for breath, she stopped beside the car. She would have given anything to be able to greet him with total indifference, but she was hot and sweaty, with her hair pulling from her ponytail-to lay in damp curls around her neck. To her chagrin, she'd never been more aware of herself as a woman than when his eyes took a long, slow glide down her body.

  Her spine ramrod straight, she parked her hands on her hips.

  "Are you pulling me over for speeding?"

  He didn't smile as she'd expected.

  "Not quite. I got a call that you might be in trouble."

  "Trouble?" she par toted in confusion.

  "I'm fine. Who said I wasn't?"

  Before the words were out of her mouth, she knew. She'd told only one person besides Chloe where she was going.

  "Margaret," she groaned.

  "She called you, didn't she?

  He nodded.

  "She thought you should have been back by now."

  "But I haven't even been gone an hour!" Enjoying himself, he started to grin.

  "She claimed it was going to be dark soon and that if something had happened to you, no one would be able to find you until morning. So, being the good sheriff that I am, I came looking for you."

  If she hadn't been so embarrassed, Becca would have been hard-pressed not to laugh.

  "Dammit, Riley, she set you up! What could happen to me out here in the middle of nowhere? You had to know I was fine. "

  He didn't deny it.

  "Maybe I just wanted to see you." The husky admission took the wind right out of her sails. Her heart jerking in her breast, she said weakly, "Don't say that."

  "Why not? Because we're both running for the same job? Because you're not looking for a man and I've sworn off of women?"

  She had to give him credit—he went right to the heart of the matter.

  "Isn't that enough?"

  "To make me stop wanting you? No," he retorted bluntly, "it's not.

  And there's not a damn thing I can do about it. "

  " He didn't sound any happier about it than she did, and suddenly, just knowing that she wasn't the only one having difficulty coming to grips with the loving they'd shared made Becca feel better than she had in days.

  "Me, either," she said ruefully.

  "I guess we'll have to live with it. I'll talk to Margaret. And Clara and Lucille," she added.

  "They won't bother you again." She hoped.

  She expected him to leave after that, but he hesitated, his narrowed gaze taking' in the desert surroundings, the empty road that stretched all the way to the horizon, the peace of the late afternoon. Turning back to her, he asked, "How much farther were you going to jog?"

  It was a question her husband would have asked her, a demand of an accounting of her time that had her stiffening reflexively with resentment.

  "I don't know. Why?" Her tone all but shouted back off and too late, Riley realized he must have sounded just like Tom Prescott.

  "I'm not him, Becca."

  She didn't have to ask who he meant. The quiet reminder brought the sting of color to her cheeks, but her eyes never flinched away from his.

  "I didn't say you were.

  I just. “She shrugged, unable to find a simple excuse for her knee-jerk reaction.

  "I guess I just don't like answering to anyone. If you're worried I won't be safe out here" —

  "Did I say that?"

  "No, but I know you. You think a woman can't cross the street without having a man there to stop traffic for her."

  His mouth quirking, he spread his arms wide and gave her a look of wounded innocence.

  "Hey, what can I say?

  Superman's busy, so somebody has to look after the damsels in distress.

  Personally, I thought I was doing a pretty darn good job. "

  "Well, of course you would. You've got a hero complex."

  "And you don't need me to hold your hand."

  It was a statement, not a question, one that weeks ago, Becca wouldn't have had any trouble agreeing with. But something had chang
ed—she'd changed. And while she still didn't need him to hold her hand, want, she discovered with some surprise, was a whole other issue. Pride and the past, however, forced her to answer with a lie.

  "Not to cross the street or anything else."

  "Good. Because it's kind of hard to jog and hold hands at the same time."

  Caught off guard, she repeated blankly, "Jog?" Giving her a wicked grin, he turned back to his car and grabbed the mike of his radio to call in to the office.

  "Hey, Myrtle, how're things going back at the ranch?"

  "Slower than a snail on ice," she drawled, crackling at her own wit.

  "Why?"

  "I was thinking about taking off early and saving the county some money, since I worked all that overtime "during the flu epidemic. Have Mark and John reported in? '

  "They're here now giving me grief because things are so slow. You want to talk to them?"

  "No, just tell John to take charge. I'm sure between the two of them, he and Mark can handle whatever crops up.

  I'll check in later to make sure everything's okay. " Unable to believe her ears, Becca waited impatiently for him to sign off.

  "You're going to jog in your uniform?" He grinned.

  "No, I've got my running clothes in the rear." Moving to the back of the car, he unlocked the trunk.

  "Hang on a second and I'll be all set."

  "You're going to change here?" .

  She sounded so horrified, Riley had to laugh.

  "Have you got a better suggestion? I haven't seen another vehicle since I left your house. So who's going to see?"

  "I will?" Even as the words left her mouth, Becca realized how ludicrous they sounded. She'd made love with the man, for God's sake!

  It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him naked before.

  His shirt already unbuttoned, Riley’s eyes danced with devilment as he shrugged out of it.

  "I don't mind. Do you?"

  "Yes!" He was pushing her buttons and loving it. And she was letting him. Wanting to shake him until even the tooth in his head rattled, Becca gave serious consideration to calling his bluff and watching him. But seeing him naked when they were making love was one thing.