Smoky Mountain Sweethearts

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Smoky Mountain Sweethearts Page 23

by Cheryl Harper


  The young woman—Chelsea Owens—was sitting close to Rochester, an arm draped around his shoulders and one of his hands held in her own. She was talking to him so softly that Sam couldn’t make out the words, but it was obvious that she cared about the old man.

  The way she’d charged into his crime scene was...peculiar. It was extraordinary enough that he’d asked Miller to run her to see if anything popped.

  Sam took a moment to study her.

  She had enormous green eyes, delicate features and a full mouth painted a strong red. She had short black hair. He figured it took some sort of product to get it all spiky like that on top. She wasn’t very tall, five foot four or five at most. She wore a short black dress under a black coat and appeared to have a slim, athletic build. He glanced down and noticed her black stockings. They had a sexy pattern on them. He had to admit there was no faulting her legs.

  Not that he’d dated much since Katherine had left him, but when he did, his taste ran to the tall, blonde, leggy type. Chelsea had the legs, but that was about it. Yet he felt a stirring, a tug of attraction that wasn’t customary for him. It wasn’t entirely because of how she looked. It was the courage she’d shown. She was feisty, and that appealed to him. So did how gentle and caring she was with the old man.

  He caught himself smiling. How many people would barge into a crime scene out of concern for the well-being of an acquaintance? And, no small feat, get by a couple of burly cops to do it? He knew that the psychology of some criminals was to come back to the scene of the crime while it was under investigation. That was the reason he’d asked Miller to run her, although he hadn’t truly believed Chelsea Owens had anything to do with the break-in. As he’d expected, Miller reported that other than a speeding ticket, she was clean. There was nothing on her record that suggested criminal activity.

  Sam turned his attention to Rochester again. If he hadn’t come in early—deviating from his normal routine because he hadn’t been able to sleep and thought he’d get the month-end inventory done before the store opened—the place would’ve been unoccupied. Rochester hadn’t seen his assailant, nor did he have any recollection of what had happened. Short-term memory loss wasn’t uncommon with the type of head injury he’d sustained.

  Did the perpetrator or perpetrators go ballistic because they’d expected to find the store empty, and Rochester had spoiled whatever they’d had in mind? Then again, the intruder should’ve known someone was inside since the alarm system hadn’t been armed. If not, that pointed to an amateur again.

  At Rochester’s age, the blow could’ve been fatal. Sam’s anger, immediate and intense, was unproductive, but he couldn’t help it. Despite having been in law enforcement for over a decade, he hadn’t become so calloused that he wasn’t affected by the plight of a victim. He hated to see anyone hurt, but children, the elderly and—label him what you will, he was old-school in some ways—women getting injured bothered him the most.

  On the topic of women... After his initial irritation at Chelsea, he was grateful she’d appeared. When he’d asked Rochester whom they could call, he’d been vehement that they not contact his wife. He’d explained she had a weak heart and he didn’t want to worry her. Sam had to respect the man for caring about his wife and wanting to protect her. Instead, Rochester had given them contact information for his nephew, Adam. Adam worked at the store, too, he’d said. But both numbers he’d provided had gone straight to voice mail. Rochester had cautioned that Adam wasn’t an early riser.

  So, Sam was glad Chelsea had come along to soothe Rochester and keep him company until either the nephew arrived or the paramedics transported him to the hospital. Sam had been worried about the man’s pallor and how fragile he’d seemed. She’d obviously eased some of his tension, and his color was much better.

  Watching her smile at one of the paramedics, he felt a strange churning in his stomach. Her big green eyes were filled with warmth, and the smile accentuated her well-defined cheekbones and delicate nose and chin.

  As the paramedics were helping Rochester onto a stretcher for transport to the hospital, a slim, agitated man rushed into the store.

  “What the heck is going on here?” Sam asked Miller, not hiding his frustration. “Do we have a c’mon-in sign hanging out there?”

  Miller’s cheeks colored again. “He’s the nephew, Adam Rochester. You said to let him in when he got here.”

  It wasn’t Sam’s nature to lose his temper and take it out on members of his team. “Sorry, Joe,” he said with a pat on the young officer’s back. “Coffee’s on me when we drive back to the station.” And he hoped they could wrap up here and be on their way soon.

  There was something that didn’t sit right with him about the break-in, and it wasn’t just that occurrences like this were rare in the small town of Camden Falls.

  Copyright © 2017 by Kate James

  ISBN-13: 9781488012433

  Smoky Mountain Sweethearts

  Copyright © 2017 by Cheryl Harper

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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