by Susan Stoker
“Shut up,” Nash bit out. “I’m just doing my job.”
Rider’s grin widened. “Uh-huh. She’s pretty, and apparently unattached.”
“And passing through.” Nash opened the driver’s side door, praying the woman in the back seat hadn’t heard his brother’s words. He didn’t want her to get the idea he was at all interested. She’d be gone as soon as she placed a call to whomever she had waiting back at the church.
Nash pulled out onto the road, radioed in to dispatch that he had a passenger and would be dropping her off at the garage. When he’d finished reporting in, he glanced at the woman in the back seat. Her face was pale, her pretty auburn hair a wind-blown mess and she kept chewing on her bottom lip. He found himself wanting to kiss the lip and make her stop worrying it.
Dragging his gaze back to the road ahead, he swerved to miss an escaped Brangus bull, wandering across the road. “Damn.” Again, he radioed to dispatch. “Call Raymond Rausch and tell him Francis is loose again. Remind him that he needs to fix the fence on the highway to keep that bull from crossing the road.”
“Roger.” Gretchen, the dispatcher, responded. “Someday someone will hit that damned bull.”
“I sure hope not. I doubt it would hurt the bull, but slamming into him would most likely kill the driver.”
“Exactly.” Gretchen asked for a mile marker sign and promised to call Rausch immediately.
As he entered town, Nash tried to push aside any feelings of guilt or empathy for the bride in the back seat. The best he could do was to find a telephone for her to make a call to her family back wherever she was from. They could come collect their runaway, and she would be on her way. “My brother has a phone at his shop. I can let you in to use it.” He glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
She lifted her chin. “Thank you, but I don’t want to call anyone.”
“Don’t you have family who can come get you?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “I’m not going back.”
Great. Now what was he supposed to do with her? “How about a friend?”
“I don’t have any friends,” she said, her voice firm, but the bottom lip she’d been chewing on trembled.
“Well, I can’t just leave you on the street.”
She glanced down at the ring on her finger and slipped it off. “Is there anywhere I can sell this ring? I’m sure it’s worth something.”
He pulled up in front of Rider’s garage and shifted into Park. “There is a pawn shop two blocks down. Joe might give you something for it.” Staring again at her in the rearview mirror, he added, “Are you sure you want to sell it? Is there no chance of reconciliation between you and your fiancé?”
Her face went another shade paler. “No chance at all.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Could you take me to the pawn shop?” She leaned forward, placing her hand on the back of the seat. “If I could sell the ring, I might be able to pay for a new tire.”
Already, this Good-Samaritan act was delaying him from getting off duty. But he couldn’t drop a barefoot bride on the street. He glanced over his shoulder. “Just so you know, I’m not a taxi service. But after the pawn shop, we’re going to the shoe shop with some of that money.”
She smiled, for the first time since he’d spotted her on the highway. “Thank you. I’m sorry to be so much trouble.” The smile slipped away and her gaze darted out the window.
At the pawn shop, Nash opened the back door for Phoebe. When he bent to lift her out, she placed a hand on his chest. A waft of honeysuckle filled his senses, scrambling his brain cells.
“I can walk. Going barefoot won’t kill me,” she pointed out.
A moment passed while heat radiated from her palm over his chest and throughout his body. Then he straightened, heat climbing up from the collar of his shirt. He held out a hand, instead. She placed hers in his and allowed him to pull her to her little bare feet with the pink toenail polish. When she stood beside him, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
Phoebe bent to gather her train, looped it over her arm and marched into the pawn shop, the sound of the material swishing as she moved louder than any sound her bare feet might have made on the concrete sidewalk.
Why he was thinking about the sound of her bare feet on concrete, Nash didn’t know. He dragged in a deep breath and followed her into the pawn shop.
“Deputy Grayson, where’d you find this pretty little thing?” Big, bald curmudgeon Joe Baumgartner grinned across the counter at Phoebe, holding the ring in his chubby fingers.
Nash couldn’t recall a time when Joe smiled, much less grinned. “On the highway. What can you do for her?”
The Joe Nash knew wiped the smile from his face, pulled out a jeweler’s loupe and stared down at the ring. “I don’t know that I can do much. I’m no expert, but this ain’t no diamond. I think it’s a cubic zirconia. I’d have to send it to my cousin in Dallas to be sure.”
Phoebe’s brows dipped. “Cubic zirconia? You’re kidding, right?” She focused those pretty green eyes on the old man, tears pooling to make them even greener. “Is it worth anything?”
Joe shrugged. “Might be worth twenty-five bucks for the gold.”
Nash watched as Phoebe seemed to shrink into her dress, her eyes rounding like a puppy in the animal shelter.
“Is that all?”
The shop owner nodded.
She fingered the locket at her throat. “What about this locket?”
The pawn shop owner shook his head, reached beneath the cabinet, pulled out a tray full of antique lockets and laid it on the counter. “Can’t sell the ones I have.”
Phoebe’s crushed look hit Nash in the gut. Damn. “Is that all you can do, Joe?”
Joe tipped his head, staring at the ring in Phoebe’s hand. “Twenty-five is really more than I think I can sell it for.” He raised his hands, palms upward. “Take it, or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” Phoebe said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The pawn shop owner counted out the bills and handed them to Phoebe. “Sorry I couldn’t give you more.”
She handed him the ring. “You did the best you could. Thank you.” Phoebe turned away, her bare feet tripping over the train she’d let fall to the floor.
Nash dove forward, caught her and lifted her in his arms.
Old Joe rounded the counter and helped pile her dress on top of her. “Good luck, missy. Hope that jerk who stiffed you gets what he deserves.”
Phoebe shot a wide-eyed glance at Joe and stuttered, “Th-thank you.” She wadded the bills in her hand and turned to Nash. “Ready?”
He nodded. As he carried her through the door, her scent wafted beneath his nose. Nash nearly groaned out loud. He had to get her situated soon.
She leaned down and opened the back door of the SUV.
Nash settled her onto the seat and helped her gather as much of the dress as he could, shoving the folds into the vehicle. Finally, he was able to shut the door, figuring he had maybe five more minutes before Rider arrived with her car in tow. If he could wrap this up quickly, he could have her off his hands sooner rather than later.
Feeling like a chauffeur to the rich, he drove the SUV to the only shoe store in town. Sighing, he got out, opened the back door and waited while she got out, the ridiculous dress swelling around her. If anything, it appeared to be getting bigger.
She tiptoed into the store and crossed to the nearest display of sensible shoes.
Lola, the shoe storeowner, hurried from the back toward Phoebe like a hawk swooping in to claim its prey. When she spotted Nash, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening, her dark red lips curling into a smile. “Nash, honey, what can I help you with?” She altered her direction from Phoebe to Nash.
Nash ground his back teeth together.
Though nice enough, Lola had made it clear she had her heart set on Chance, Nash’s older brother. Never mind Lola was easily twenty years older than Chance. Her beh
avior was a constant source of pain for Chance, and he’d told her on more than one occasion he wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, Lola refused to take no for an answer.
Lola touched Nash’s arm. “Where’s that brother of yours?”
“I imagine he’s sleeping. He worked last night.”
“Mmm.” Lola ran her fingers down his chest, tapping the buttons one at a time. “You Grayson men are all so…so…delicious. And men in uniform are so very hard to resist.” Her hand dropped lower, catching on his belt buckle.
Easing back an inch, he captured her hand before she could get her claws into him. “Lola, could you please help Miss Smith find a pair of shoes? She seems to have left the church without hers.”
Lola blinked and turned toward the only other person in the store. “Oh, a customer. How nice of you to bring her to me.” She batted her eyelashes up at Nash. “I’m available tonight, if you’d like to show me your…badge.”
“Not interested, Lola.” He turned her toward Phoebe. “Please, help Miss Smith.”
Lola pouted, but pasted a smile on her face. “What can I get you, sweetie?”
Phoebe, her cheeks a rosy shade of pink, pointed at a pair of serviceable boat shoes. “I just need something to wear.”
“Oh, honey, those won’t go with the dress.” Lola plucked a pair of rhinestone-studded stilettos from a display shelf. “How about these?”
“I’m not interested in high heels. I need something I can work in. I need to find a job as soon as possible.”
“Oh, dear heart, you can work in any shoes I sell here. It all depends on what kind of work you’re interested in.”
Phoebe’s brows furrowed.
Nash stepped forward. “Lola, she just needs to be able to walk.” He lifted a tennis shoe from a display shelf. “What can she get for twenty-five dollars?”
Lola blinked. “Nash, you know I can’t discount my inventory that much. I have to pay the rent.”
“You don’t have anything for under twenty-five?” Nash’s hopes of being home in time for dinner were quickly fizzling.
“The only shoes I sell for that price are children’s sizes.” She glanced at Phoebe’s feet and tipped her head. “Your feet are small, but I don’t think they’re quite that small.”
Phoebe held out the bills. “I only have twenty-five dollars. I need shoes and something to wear besides this dress, so that I can find a job and a place to stay.”
“An admirable goal.” Lola tapped a finger to her chin. “There’s a thrift store behind the fire station. If you don’t mind secondhand clothing, you can make that twenty-five go a lot farther than one pair of my cheapest shoes. And the proceeds from the sales go toward the women’s shelter.”
Nash shook his head. “I forgot about the thrift store.”
“I know how it feels to get out of a bad relationship. At least you got smart before you said I do.”
Phoebe gave her a shaky smile.
Lola touched her arm. “Sweetie, I have an apartment over my garage, if you’re interested.”
Phoebe’s face brightened. “I am.” Just as quickly, the light faded. “But I don’t have any money.”
Lola wrapped an arm around her. “I can waive the first month’s rent if you’re willing to clean it yourself. I’ve been using it as a place to store Christmas decorations for the shop.”
“Thank you.” The young bride nodded. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Good.” Lola backed up a step. “Go find some shoes and clothes. I’ll have a key for you when you get back.”
Nash wasn’t so sure he was happy Lola had offered the woman a place to stay. If he had his way, he would have bundled Phoebe onto a bus headed back the way she came. Now it appeared she was staying in town a little longer.
“Come on. We need to get to the thrift shop before they close.” Nash grabbed Phoebe’s hand. At the contact with her hand, an electric charge raced up his arm. He told himself it was nothing. This woman was a stranger. An almost bride, who’d almost married another man, and probably wasn’t staying in Hellfire any longer than it took to figure out the town was too small for her. Most young people moved on, finding the town too cramped and the community too nosey.
Yeah, she’d be gone before the week was out.
No worries, right?
That warm rush of sensations coursing through his veins was in reaction to the hot Texas sun, not the hot little bride holding his hand.
Keep telling yourself that, Nash. Keeping telling yourself. Doing so wouldn’t make it true.
Chapter Three
‡
As Phoebe eased past Deputy Grayson, she caught a whiff of his cologne. No…not really cologne, but the fresh scent of soap, the outdoors and one hundred percent male. No other man she’d been around made her heart skip several beats and then rush into a pounding frenzy.
She was embarrassed, overwrought and afraid of going to jail. At least that was her excuse for the way her breath caught and her pulse pounded whenever the deputy put his hands on her.
In a hurry to move past him, she wasn’t paying much attention to the ground at her feet—not that she could see it below the yards of taffeta and tulle. Why had she picked this dress? She missed the step down from the curb, stumbled and felt a sharp stabbing pain on her big toe. “Ouch!” Phoebe’s knees buckled. She would have fallen except for the big hand that grabbed her elbow and held her up.
“Are you okay?” Grayson bent over her, his brows knit.
She shook her head and pulled the skirt of her dress away from her foot. Deep red blood dripped onto the bright white of the wedding gown still draped across the ground. “I must have stepped on glass or something.”
“Is it still in your foot?” he asked, bending closer to study her bleeding toe. “Well, damn. You can’t go bleeding all over town.” Once again, he scooped her into his arms.
That familiar scent of him wrapped around her with his arms. Phoebe’s heartbeat did that quirky thing of stopping and then pounding hard as if she were racing for a finish line. “I’m so sorry to be such a mess. I didn’t think before I left…” She shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes. Before one could drop, she glanced away, refusing to appear weak in front of such a strong, virile man. If she wanted to be independent, she sure as hell had to start acting like it. “Put me down. I can manage.”
“The hell you can.” He juggled her body and opened the back door to the SUV, setting her on the seat. Then he pointed a finger. “Stay.” Before she could respond, he turned toward the rear of the vehicle and opened the hatch.
“I’m not a dog,” Phoebe grumbled. Just like her father, the deputy had given her a command and expected her to follow it. If she weren’t bleeding and barefoot, she’d get her ass out of the back of Grayson’s vehicle and march right out of his life. But she was bleeding…and barefoot. As Grayson appeared, Phoebe’s stomach rumbled loudly. And hungry.
It didn’t seem possible, but the deputy’s frown deepened. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
Phoebe didn’t want to think about food. She had a dead fiancé in the trunk of a stolen car. An even louder burble sounded from her belly. Pressing a hand to the tight wedding dress, she shrugged. “Yesterday evening at the rehearsal dinner,” she answered, although she hadn’t really touched the expensive filet mignon the chef prepared for her and the rest of her bridal party.
Sitting at the table with Ryan on one side and her father on the other, her mother across the table from her, laughing and flirting with one of her father’s business partners, Phoebe had experienced a wave of panic. Her stomach knotted and her hands clenched in her lap. She was marrying a man her father had selected. A man she’d dated and kissed several times, but she really didn’t know. How had she let this happen?
“Hey, it’s not all that bad. Just a little cut.” Deputy Grayson glanced up from the first-aid kit he laid on the ground.
Phoebe bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. So much for being tou
gh and independent. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Trying to convince me?” He glanced up, his mouth quirking upward on one corner. “Or yourself?”
She laughed, though it sounded more like a sob. “Ever have one of those days that goes wrong in so many ways your head spins?”
He snorted. “As a sheriff’s deputy and a ranch owner, yes. More often than you can imagine.”
Phoebe stared down at the top of his cowboy hat as he bent to open the first aid kit. “You own a ranch?”
He nodded, extracting an alcohol prep pad. “My brothers and I own a ranch close to town. We run cattle and horses.”
“And you’re a deputy?”
He shrugged and tore open the packet. “I like to keep busy since coming home from the war.” He lifted her foot in one of his big hands and studied the cut. “I don’t see anything embedded in the wound.”
Phoebe wiggled her toes. “I can’t feel any.”
“This might sting a little.” He touched the alcohol-soaked pad to the pad of her toe.
A sharp flash of pain ripped through her toe. Phoebe instinctively gasped and jerked back her foot.
Grayson held her foot firmly in his hand and waited for her to relax. “Ready?”
She braced herself and nodded. “Just do it.”
He cleaned the wound and applied a sterile bandage. Then he tucked her into the back of the vehicle. “Let’s find some shoes, before you cut another toe.” He closed the door, effectively locking her in the SUV.
Phoebe sat in the back seat, her foot and leg tingling from the deputy’s gentle touch. Shoes, clothes and then she had to find a way to get out of Hellfire. The deputy was proving to be far too attractive. For a woman who should have been married by now, she was having highly inappropriate thoughts about a virtual stranger.
The handsome deputy stowed the kit in the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat. Without a word, he drove a couple blocks, turned and parked in front of another building.
Phoebe grabbed the door handle and tried to open it, remembering at the last minute it was locked.
He opened it. Instead of backing away to let her get out on her own, he bent and lifted her into his arms.