by Olson, Mal
PRAISE FOR MAL OLSON’S DEBUT NOVEL
SHADOW OF DECEIT
“Shadow of Deceit delivers on the author’s promise of adrenaline–kicked romance with great characters, a well–developed plot, and action packed scenes that’ll keep readers turning the pages and wanting more!” Stacey Joy Netzel, award winning author of Lost In Italy.
“Shadow of Deceit is a fast–paced novel that will draw you into the chaos surrounding Tony and Shannon, and won’t let you go until the end.” Sizzling Hot Reviews
“Wow! This one has it all! Non–stop action, hot and sexy characters, betrayal, smokin’ romance, and a thrilling plot.” Beverly at The Wormhole
“In the 150+ books that I read per year, there are very few that receive a five star rating. Shadow of Deceit did just that. Nonstop action, sexual tension, an adventure that had me on the edge of my seat…A fantastic book that had me from page one…” Gothic Mom’s Book Review
“Shadow of Deceit is an excellent suspense novel from start to finish! …If you’re a fan of romantic suspense, add Shadow of Deceit to your list of reads. Mal Olson is on my list of authors to watch–and buy!” Storm Goddess Book Reviews, Nikki
“This was such an intriguing story. I enjoyed every minute of it. So much so, I couldn’t put it down.” Lissette Manning, author
“I love a good romantic suspense story that can draw you in immediately and keep you hanging on til the last page…An excellent read…” Cocktails and Books Review, Shannon
“This read is quite a rush…action packed, full of sexual tension, tragedy and of course deceit!! …I highly recommend this book if you like action packed drama with an interesting romantic twist! I look forward to reading more from Mal Olson!!” Keeping Up With The Rheinlander’s
“Mal Olson writes with the perfect combination of mystery, suspense, and romance to keep every reader pleased with the turn of the page.” The Reading Reviewer, Mary Gramlich
“The plot of this tale was fast–paced and powerful…I believe that this author has done a great job penning this tale and I can’t wait to read more of her work in the future.” The Romance Studio
“Twists and turns and non–stop action kept me guessing throughout. I couldn’t put it down.” Helen Johannes, author
“Olson’s writing is fast paced, full of action and blossoming romance – just the way I like my romantic suspense!” For The Love of Books, Nina
“Shadow of Deceit is a well–written and easy to read page turner which you won’t be able to put down until it’s read.” Me and Reading, Inga
“Shadow of Deceit is one kick–ass romantic suspense that literally has you turning the pages… Whew! A fantastic read.” Carol Henry, author of Romantic Suspense Adventure
“The pace of the story is fast and action packed, from the moment that the book starts until the very end…I highly recommend you read SHADOW OF DECEIT. It’s a great romantic suspense.” The Romance Reviews
TOO SEXY FOR HIS STETSON
Sizzling Hot Sheriff in Action
by
Mal Olson
COPYRIGHT 2013 by Malvern Olson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission of the author. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design
Formatting by Anessa Books
Publishing History
First Edition 2013
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated
as always to
all the real–life special heroes
of the United States Military
and
the law enforcers of our country
who keep us safe
And to my cheerleaders—
family and friends—you know who you are
And to my critique partner extraordinaire—
Melody Marshall
CHAPTER ONE
Brandy’s trigger finger twitched. A bead of sweat tickled its way down her backbone. She was inexperienced, off duty, and miles from her truck, which sat near a trailhead in the mountainous wilderness of northern Idaho, and the intruder she held at gunpoint probably had seventy muscled pounds on her.
She studied the cowboy’s sweet–as–honey, wicked–as–sin smile through the sights of her department–issued Remington semiautomatic rifle. From his pose on the rickety porch of the old log cabin, he assessed her right back. His full lips tugged across Crest–white teeth, exposing a small but sexy gap between his central incisors.
He tipped his head toward the jimmied–open window. “I know this looks bad, Ma’am, but I can explain,” he drawled out “Ma’am” again.
“Deputy Sheriff Brandy Wilcox. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Brandy?” Impervious to the deputy sheriff title, he straightened and angled his dusty black Stetson over his forehead so the brim shadowed his cool–water eyes. “Name like that could make a man real thirsty.”
Brandy had heard just about every come–on in the book, but never from a trespasser on the business end of her rifle. She calculated his over–confident grin, the twinkle in his eyes, the tilt of his head—blond curly hair no less. A sensual package that promised a ride on the wild side—if one was so inclined. Which she was not.
Yet something primal tugged deep in her stomach.
Bracing the Remington more firmly against her shoulder, she steadied her aim and revved up her grit. This guy was banking on his wild smile a little too heavily. What he needed was some taming.
“Okay, drop ‘em.”
When he lowered his arms, she said, “Not your hands, your pants.”
For several beats, he stared at her like he hadn’t heard.
“Lose your Levis,” she urged again. She had no desire to shoot him, but she didn’t have handcuffs on her and she wasn’t about to chance his getting away. If it came to a footrace, his long muscular legs could outrun her in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t get far stomping barefoot in his skivvies through the mountainous shale–scabbed terrain. Not that making a break for it was something she intended to let him try.
“Excuse me? You want me to strip?” A trill of elation noticeably brightened his whisky–smooth voice. His expression bounced between “this is my lucky day” and disbelief.
“You got it. And while you’re at it, you can get rid of the shirt too.”
The fine lines defining his too–blue eyes crinkled as his expression turned sultry, and charisma dripped off his broad shoulders like summer rain over mountain granite.
Charisma, hell. That would get him exactly nowhere with her. “Necessary precaution. I wouldn’t want you trying to mosey off.” Not before she could engage an on–duty deputy to make an arrest.
She may have looked as young and inexperienced as she was, but she was physically and mentally tougher than her feminine five–foot–four frame suggested. She could outshoot and outthink every cadet in her graduating class at the police academy.
Revenge had a way of empowering a woman.
Despite her upbringing, she’d beaten the odds. She was making something of herself, and she wasn’t about to be intimidated by this guy and his toothpaste poster–boy smile, nor the blond, sweat–soaked curls straggling across his collar. Or the pumped biceps stretching the fabric of his shirtsleeves.
“I’m still waiting.”
“You’re serious?” He eyed the lettering on her I’m a Redneck Woman T–shirt, a fifty–cent find at Goodwill. “I usually like to get to know a woman a little
before taking my clothes off and having a good time.” The dazzle of his smile cranked the charisma meter several notches higher.
“I can assure you, you won’t be having a good time.” Smart ass.
“That’s debatable. I’m already enjoying this more than you can imagine.”
Too eagerly, his fingers began tugging open his shirt buttons, revealing a deep triangle of bronzed skin dusted with tawny chest hair. More sun–kissed eye candy than she was ready to cope with.
As he slid buttons through buttonholes, her gaze skidded to a stop on abs honed like corrugated steel. She tore her glance upward only to meet those unnerving eyes, speckles of light glinting in the azure pools.
As he reached for the fastener on the waistband of his slim–fit 510’s, the heat blooming on Brandy’s cheeks slid south. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Still, he couldn’t run far in his underwear. Seconds ticked by. Golden sunbeams gleamed off beads of sweat on muscles she didn’t really want to notice, but her attention was completely captured by the liquid heat trickling down his chest. She worked harder to convince herself the quiver in her gut came from adrenaline not feminine hormones. At any moment, her survival instincts and training would take over and stop this ridiculous sensual reaction to him. “Turn around and take off your boots.”
“My boots?” The first sign of indignation crept into his voice. “Brandy, Honey, I think you’re making a big mistake. Did you ever hear of fairness in apprehension?”
“You sound experienced.” Obviously, this wasn’t his first tangle with the law. “Have you heard of justification of lethal force? Consider yourself lucky that I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later. Now turn around and get to work on those boots.”
“What about my Miranda rights? Or the proposition that a man’s innocent until proven guilty?” he asked even as he followed orders and pivoted, presenting her with a view of his equally impressive backside.
But rather than shucking off his well–worn snakeskin Justins, he removed his shirt and slowly slid his belt through the loops, making a sensual striptease out of the movements.
The cotton fabric of Brandy’s T–shirt dampened, and her concentration started to wane. Not because the temperature was flirting with triple digits and the August sun had bullied every cloud from the sky. The blame rested on blue eyes that had messed with her thermostat.
She cleared her throat. “The arresting officer will read you your rights. For now, I’d get to work on those boots if I were you.”
“You want to separate me from my boots, you’re going to have to do it yourself.” His back still to her, he planted his scuffed heels firmly on the cabin’s splintered porch boards and glanced over his shoulder.
“On the other hand, if you’re really interested in seeing what’s under my jeans, I’m all yours, Honey. I do love a redneck woman.”
Her heart hammered against the fabric of the particular T–shirt she wished she hadn’t selected that morning, which was clinging to her chest like shrink wrap. The Gretchen Wilson song title had made her laugh out loud when she’d come across the tee on the bargain table at the Goodwill store, and because it was a ridiculously outrageous tag for Brandy Wilcox, she’d bought it as a joke.
As she pondered her purchase mistake of the year, wind–tossed grit scratched her throat. Expelling a slow, controlled breath, she dipped into the pocket of her jeans for her cell phone. “You have the right to remain silent in the face of any questions that might be put to you.” With hardly a waver in her voice, she added, “Do you understand?”
For untold sun–blistered seconds, he exercised his right to remain silent. She steadied the rifle, her finger alongside the trigger, and flipped her phone open with her free hand. Glanced down to read the screen. The blank, dead screen.
In the pristine silence, the sound of a zipper rasped.
Lord. Way too much sinewy, masculine muscle made her insides twist. The heat index rose to equator level. Before Mr. Totally Ripped revealed the answer to the age old question “boxers or briefs,” Brandy choked out, “Hold it right there.”
Jeans hanging low on his hips, he swiveled and faced her. “So, Brandy, what are you doing roaming around out here all by yourself?”
She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the rifle. “Maintaining my sharp–shooter’s status.”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Maybe you should put down that rifle before you accidentally kill someone. Namely me. It would be ill advised for a deputy to shoot a suspect merely on probable cause. That could get said deputy in a lot of trouble. Guaranteed.”
“If I take you down, Mister, it won’t be any accident, and it won’t necessarily kill you.”
His tongue played sexily over the sweat collecting on the indentation above his upper lip. “You’re that good, huh?”
Double entendre intended—she was sure. Definitely too sexy for his Stetson.
“Good enough to put a hole in your hat and a crease in your skull without turning you into a pulseless, non–breathing suspect. I don’t think you want to chance that. It would smart a whole lot. Guaranteed.”
“That’s some mighty big talk for such a little lady.” The grin that tilted the corner of his mouth irritated more than intimidated her.
“A little lady with a big gun that could put a crease just about anywhere I choose.” She lowered the barrel of the rifle and set her aim in the vicinity of his zipper. “That’d smart a whole lot more. Absolutely guaranteed.”
It warmed her heart when he came to his senses and reined in his smile.
“You’ll be having a little conversation with Lieutenant Deputy Beringer when he arrives in town,” she added.
“Beringer?” The name caught his attention. “Isn’t he one of the old boys who works out of Boise?”
Too bad such a cute cowboy had obviously been tangling with the law from one end of Idaho to the other. “He’s joining the Little Chute team. I take it you’ve crossed paths with him before?”
“You could say that. I imagine you’re good friends with Deputy Beringer?”
“Very good friends.” She stretched the truth and glanced at the still blank screen on her phone before stuffing it back into her pocket.
Okay, think, Wilcox. How the hell was she going to make contact with the department and get this guy back to town? A good deputy always has a backup plan.
The unmistakable rumble of a vehicle pummeling over bedrock interrupted the silence. Dear God, hopefully, it was someone who could assist. A measure of relief pulsed through her veins, and the knot in her stomach relaxed. At this point, she’d be willing to commandeer the help of just about anyone who showed up.
Two seconds later, a bullet pinged and ricocheted off the log siding of the cabin. Her solar plexus clenched, and she ducked. Holy cripes! Now she needed a backup plan for the backup plan.
“Get down,” she yelled while flinging herself to the ground.
The man in the Stetson followed her lead, his pumped chest filling her view as he crashed to the ground several feet away. Another shot exploded, brain–rattlingly close to her head. Like a combat soldier hunkered on her knees and elbows, she squiggled through bone–dry dirt and moved closer to the burglar.
High–octane adrenaline shot through her bloodstream as smoking cartridges continued to carve up the cabin’s rough–hewn logs. Rifle positioned against her body, prone on her stomach, she arched her back. She steadied herself on her elbows, and aimed, firing repeatedly. Shell casings rained down. The air reeked with the stench of gunpowder.
In reply, another round of rapid gunfire exploded from the opposition.
“Stay down, minimize the target,” she ordered. Suspected burglar or not, she was responsible for this yahoo.
“You think?” He managed to zip his jeans, keep his Stetson from getting shot full of holes, and crawl next to her, wedging his body against hers. Hot body.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered,” she said. He was probably scared o
ut of his mind.
He pressed closer, maneuvered, and somehow placed himself between her and the opposition. “We’re not hanging around here like a couple of sitting ducks.” He rose to a crouch. “On three, unload five or six rounds at those SOBs, and then we’re out of here. Up that hill.” He pointed to the rise beyond the cabin. “Zigzag.”
Brandy touched her finger to the trigger and pressed it repeatedly.
“Go!” he yelled.
The minute she jumped up, the man in the snakeskin boots snatched her arm and pushed her in front of him. His warm hand pressed against her back as he urged her toward the sharply rising slope. If they made it up the hill without sprouting holes in their circulatory systems, they could disappear into the woods.
Toeing her hiking boots into the rocky incline, she pushed for all she was worth, jogging uphill, and closed in on the ridge.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” His big hand flattened on her butt and boosted her over the top of the embankment.
Chin first, she landed in dried leaves. He thudded down next to her, then pushed up, pulling her to her feet. Embraced by tree shadows, Brandy jerked her head around to look down at the cabin. Four men. Dark green SUV. Make that six men, counting the two who’d just pulled up in a familiar truck and who were at the very moment scrambling out of her rusty Ford, which she’d left parked along the road.
“They’ve got my truck!” Her jaw snapped shut. Damn, that truck was the first vehicle she’d ever owned. While she lamented her loss, her detainee grabbed her arm and took off, charging deeper into the woods.
In the span of twenty minutes, she’d encountered more action than she’d seen during her entire first month of field training. She should have been scared, but she wasn’t. Instead, the adrenaline pumping through her system charged her with energy. Harnessing the energy, she forged along the footpath through dense thicket, Stetson Man at her side. Rounds of ammunition bombarded the pristine wilderness around them.
“Keep going,” he ordered.
Excuse me, who’s in charge? For a split second, she entertained the idea of setting him straight.