MOST ELIGIBLE SHERIFF

by Cathy McDavid

“I’ve been a jerk.”

  “I understand why you did what you did.”

  “Then maybe you can explain it to me because I can’t figure out how I could have let you drive away that day.”

  “You were scared.”

  She’d always been able to read him. “I was. It’s been a while since I’ve felt so strongly about a woman.”

  “And the last one betrayed you.”

  He thought the flicker shining in her eyes might be hope. The emotion was certainly growing inside him by leaps and bounds.

  “I want to get to know you. The real Ruby McPhee. Not someone pretending to be her sister.” He took her hand, enjoying the feel of her soft fingers in his. “And I want you to get to know me. The sheriff of Sweetheart. Not the former Reno police officer escaping his past.”

  “Vegas is a long drive.”

  “Sarge will keep me company.”

  “What about the election? Won’t you need to campaign?”

  “I’m going to win, Ruby. The election and your heart. If you’ll give me half a chance.”

  Her answer was to stand on her tiptoes and plant a light kiss on his lips. “Sheriff Dempsey, let me introduce myself. I’m Ruby McPhee.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. McPhee. You don’t happen to be free for dinner anytime soon?”

  She grinned. “As it so happens, my schedule is wide open.”

  Cliff swept her into his arms and kissed her with a hunger that had been building this last, long month. God, he’s missed her.

  Vegas? He’d drive to Maine and back for this. Twice.

  He would have continued kissing her indefinitely if the doors didn’t all at once swing open with a resounding bang.

  They heard a “Sarge, come back here,” before being body slammed by a hundred-and-twenty pounds of excited German shepherd. He’d have knocked Ruby to the floor if Cliff wasn’t there to catch her.

  She knelt and hugged Sarge by the neck as he showered her with kisses. “I missed you, too, boy.”

  People began streaming back into the community center. No one mentioned the recovered wedding ring.

  Xavier strode over to them. “I take it all’s been resolved satisfactorily.”

  Ruby’s cheeks bloomed a pretty pink. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good job, Sheriff.” He shook Cliff’s hand. “I’m impressed.”

  Cliff nodded.

  Ruby touched his arm. “I need to get back to work.” She checked her watch. “The reception’s in four hours.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Xavier said, suddenly sobering.

  “The wedding’s off!” She gave a small gasp.

  “Absolutely not. But you can’t return to work.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re fired.”

  “I didn’t take the—”

  Cliff stepped forward, ready to defend her.

  Xavier chuckled. “You’re fired because you can’t possibly hold down a job in Vegas while the man you love is here in Sweetheart.” He placed an arm around Ruby’s shoulders. “And for your severance pay, I’m giving you and the sheriff the biggest wedding this town has seen. Next to mine, of course.”

  “I—I can’t...”

  “You can, Ruby.”

  She turned to Cliff. “What should I do?”

  “Whatever you want, honey. You’re choice.” Having just found her again, he had no intentions of scaring her away by putting too much pressure on her.

  She chewed her lower lip, then said determinedly, “No, Mr. Xavier, I won’t let you fire me.”

  Cliff was disappointed, but he didn’t show it.

  “Not until after the reception.” She smiled at her boss. “I made a promise.”

  “Good decision.” He gave her a peck on the cheek.

  She searched out Sam. “Do you think I can have my old job back? Scarlett’s old job, I mean.”

  “I have a better one for you,” Cliff’s aunt interrupted Sam before he could answer.

  “Then, I guess I’ve never been so glad to be fired before.”

  Cliff hardly heard the ruckus that erupted as he lost himself in the thrill of kissing Ruby.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  Ruby’s hands trembled, causing the flowers in the bouquet she held to flutter. Were all brides this nervous?

  She looked over at Cliff, tall and handsome in his dress uniform. Perspiration beaded above his brows, and his breathing was shallow. Grooms, too, apparently got nervous.

  He gave her a reassuring smile, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Like that, her jitters dissipated. She was about to become Mrs. Cliff Dempsey, wife of the sheriff of Sweetheart.

  She was also about to become a mother and Cliff a father. Not for seven-and-three-quarter months. Cliff didn’t know it yet. She was saving the news for their honeymoon. A week in a resort at Lake Tahoe.

  Ruby McPhee—make that Dempsey—a mother-to-be. And actually looking forward to it. She’d learned a lot from Erin, Ellie and Evan this past year. Most importantly, that she wasn’t bad with kids at all. She just might be able to successfully raise one or two of her own.

  Cliff would help. The wannabe family man’s fondest wish was finally becoming a reality. She gazed at him again, her love so strong, so powerful, she thought it might just spill out of her.

  The two of them stood side by side in the mayor’s office. Despite Mr. Xavier’s generous offer to pay for their wedding, they’d chosen to have a small, private ceremony officiated by Cliff’s aunt and witnessed by Scarlett and Sam.

  They weren’t the only ones in attendance. Demitri, of course, was there. Unbelievably, his and Scarlett’s last reconciliation had stuck. They were soon off to Australia and the Great Barrier Reef for three months.

  Maeve and the children, too, as well as Annie. Ruby wouldn’t have been able to pull off even this small service without the other women’s help. She’d miss Scarlett terribly, but Maeve and Annie’s friendship would help fill the void. The two had even traveled with Ruby on her last trip to Vegas when she’d purchased her wedding dress and finalized the sale of her condo.

  Cliff’s parents had flown in for the wedding. Ruby had gotten to know them over this past year and considered herself the luckiest bride ever to have such delightful in-laws. Her parents arrived that morning—separately—and were making an effort to get along for Ruby’s sake, something she greatly appreciated.

  The mayor delivered a short, deeply moving speech before having Ruby and Cliff recite their vows. “Do you have the rings?” she asked.

  Erin and Ellie pushed Sarge forward. “Go on,” they chimed.

  Until then, the dog been sitting quietly. At the girls’ prodding, he hop-walked toward Ruby and Cliff. The frilly white pillow strapped to his back bobbed back and forth. Two gold rings were tied to the pillow, joined with a single silk ribbon.

  Cliff patted Sarge and untied the rings, giving his to Ruby and holding on to hers. His job done, Sarge lay down at their feet. Resting his head on his paws, he made a woofing sound. His way of saying, “Well, it took you long enough.”

  After the “with this ring I thee wed” parts were done, the mayor announced, “You may kiss your bride.”

  Cliff did. Thoroughly enough to curl Ruby’s toes inside her dressy white heels. She certainly had a lot to look forward to over the next fifty or sixty years.

  He held her close a moment longer and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Ruby. I have from the first moment I saw you.”

  “I love you, too.” She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of telling him that.

  They turned to accept the congratulations of their family and friends. Sarge howled, something Ruby had never heard him do. Erin, Ellie and Evan rushed over to dispense hug
s. The men made a show of shaking hands and clapping shoulders. More congratulations followed.

  The biggest hug came from the mayor. “Welcome to the family,” she gushed.

  “Thank you for everything.”

  “Let’s eat,” Ellie announced.

  “Who’s hungry?” Cliff asked.

  “I want cake,” Evan said. He’d grown a lot in the last year, as had his vocabulary.

  Ruby ruffled his hair. “Well, young man, we just happen to have cake.”

  The reception would include a few more people than the service. About a hundred. Ruby had overseen the preparations herself. All in a day’s work for Sweetheart’s catering coordinator.

  After Mr. Xavier’s extravagant wedding last summer, couples had started returning to Sweetheart. Slowly at first, then in droves. Tourists, too. The site where Cliff had saved Scarlett and apprehended Crowley was the town’s newest attraction.

  Ruby didn’t care what brought people to Sweetheart as long as they came. Except for Crowley. She wanted him to stay far, far away. Even with the plea he accepted, it would be several years before he was eligible for parole. Ruby felt certain they’d seen the last of him.

  Sam opened the door to the mayor’s office. It was only a few yards to the community center where the reception was being held.

  Cliff held Ruby’s hand as they stepped outside into the bright afternoon sunlight—and were promptly greeted by hundreds of people.

  Where had they all come from? And when? They filled the parking lot and overflowed into the street.

  “Wh-what’s going on?” she stammered.

  A cheer rose up, filling the air.

  The mayor put her mouth to Ruby’s ear. “You didn’t think Sweetheart’s favorite couple was getting married without half the town showing up.”

  Ruby couldn’t believe it. She shared a joyful smile with Cliff.

  “Better give them what they came for,” the mayor hollered above the noise.

  Cliff gathered Ruby into to his arms.

  “Kiss her, kiss her,” the crowd chanted.

  Cliff obliged, and the cheering escalated.

  Arm in arm, they waved to the crowd as they walked to the community center where the celebration continued long into the night, as wondrous and magical as the town in which they lived.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from AIMING FOR THE COWBOY by Mary Leo.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin American Romance story.

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  Chapter One

  The hoots and whistles from the crowd in the stands at Horsemen’s Arena in Las Vegas should have been enough to give Helen Shaw the adrenaline rush she needed to jack up her excitement for the coming event. But it wasn’t.

  As she and her horse, Tater—a honey-colored Nokota she had purchased from Colt Granger two years ago—made their way out to the main arena, Helen’s stomach brutally pitched, reminding her that something was definitely off this evening.

  “Shoot ’em dead,” her teammate Sarah Hunter yelled as Helen passed her. Sarah’s ride would be coming up after two more riders competed.

  “You, too!” Helen yelled back to her. They were on the same team, but they competed individually, which was the reason why Helen liked the sport so much. Even though they were competitors, everyone in the equine sport acted as if they were all part of one big extended family, which was something Helen needed at the moment, a friendly reminder that she would be all right.

  Instead of focusing in on her game, Helen was busy gulping down deep breaths of rich animal-scented air, trying to calm her overactive stomach. The familiar smells of horse stalls usually quieted any nerves she might have, so she didn’t understand the growing nausea.

  What could she have eaten to cause such a reaction in her stomach? Yes, she was nervous, but she’d checked and rechecked everything: the braided rein felt steady in her hands; her two single-shot Cimarron .45s were loaded with black powder and secure in their double front rig; her royal-blue cattleman-type hat sat snug on her head; the custom-made, matching blue leather chaps hung easy on her legs; and the lapis lazuli flower pendant her friend Colt had given her for good luck felt a little like his warm kisses around her neck.

  She was ready to take on this moment. If she won, she would move on to the next regional championship event for cowboy mounted shooting in the fall. Something she’d been working toward for the past three years.

  Tater slowed to an easy canter as they made their way through the metal gate. Helen could hear the pop-pop-pop from the male competitor in front of her as he fired at the target balloons from his mount. An announcer rattled on about the cowboy’s time and his abilities in the usual jumble of garbled words that large arenas’ PA systems seemed to produce.

  Then, in an instant, the crowd whistled and cheered as Helen and the cowboy passed each other, nodding recognition as she and Tater finally reached their starting point.

  The announcer mumbled something about Tater then focused on there being a lady in the house, which he did every time a woman rode out. Cowboy mounted shooting was one of the few events where women and men competed against each other, and because of this, most of the announcers seemed to overcompensate with political correctness to let the audience know a “lady” had approached the main arena.

  Helen eased Tater into a faster canter, making tight circles in front of the short course. The buzzer sounded and without much thought, Helen drew her first weapon, leaned forward in the saddle, and Tater took off for the semicircle of five white balloons. In one swift movement Helen took aim, clicked back the rough hammer, pulled the trigger and popped the first balloon, then the second, third, fourth and fifth. She quickly holstered her gun and drew the second firearm, all the while guiding Tater around the red barrel at the far end of the course, his hooves pounding dirt, his breathing hard and heavy. Tater felt like the wind guiding her toward each target. The constant hammering of his strong legs and the sharp angle of his muscled body as they rounded the barrel added to Helen’s supreme confidence and focus. She took aim once again and popped each of the five remaining red balloons on the run down as she and Tater raced straight to the end of the course. Holstering her second gun, totally in sync with her horse, totally in tune with the power of the event, Helen knew she’d broken a record.

  The crowd cheered. The announcer did his “woo-hoo” bit, and continued his warble about how “this cowgirl can ride!” Then he gave the audience her overall ranking stats as everyone waited for her score.

  When the clatter died down, Helen and Tater eased up to a more effortless gait, and she noticed the five-foot-tall digital clock gave her a winning time.

  “We did it, boy.”

  Helen beamed, and just as she patted her approval on Tater’s hindquarters, the nausea overtook her with a vengeance. This time Helen couldn’t control it and she vomited down the side of her lovely blue chaps, causing what could only be described as an overreaction by the handlers, who immediately called in medical.

  Suspecting the flu, her team leader insisted she see a doctor, and before Helen could get herself together enough to object to all the fuss, she was transported to an urgent care facility, where an overly sympathetic nurse and stoic f
emale doctor hit her with a barrage of questions. When Helen admitted this wasn’t the first time she’d vomited in the past few weeks, the doctor recommended a complete physical, which included a urine sample and enough vials of blood to satisfy a vampire.

  “The good news is you don’t have the flu,” Doctor Joyce said as she slipped off her latex gloves and tossed them in the small silver trash can. “You can sit up.”

  Helen slid her feet out of the stirrups and quickly pushed herself upright, holding the front of her paper gown closed, ready for anything the doctor threw at her.

  “That sounds as if there’s some bad news coming. Give it to me straight, Doc. I can handle it.” Helen let out a heavy sigh as anxiety gripped her body. She’d been feeling sick for weeks, and suspected the absolute worse, but was hoping it would pass.

  It hadn’t.

  She knew all about cancer and heart disease, both of which had claimed the lives of several family members. She only hoped if it was something horrible, she had time to do a few of the things on her bucket list.

  She sighed. “How much time do I have?”

  “About seven months,” Doctor Joyce told her in a calm voice.

  Helen figured that’s how these things went. The doctor remained composed while the patient freaked out.

  Helen was not the freak-out type. She prided herself on remaining cool under any circumstance. “Will I suffer?”

  “That depends.”

  Despite her strong inner convictions, Helen’s eyes welled up as hot tears stung her face. She wiped them away with the tissue Doctor Joyce offered her. “I always knew it would be like this, but I thought I’d have more time. There’s so much I want to do. So many things I want to see. But mostly, I want to win the world championship of cowboy mounted shooting. I’m so close I can taste it.”

  Doctor Joyce wrote something down in Helen’s file then sat on a black stool. “You’ll still get to do those things, just not this year. You can even ride until the baby makes you feel unbalanced, if you take it easy.”