The Sheriff's Secret Wife

by Christyne Butler

  She bit hard at her lip, cutting off her words and dropped her hands. A deep, shuddering breath had her closing her eyes. "Don't you see? This—this sham between us…it's nothing. It's not real to anyone but the law. So here, sign it."

  Frozen by the fervor of her impassioned words, it took a hard swallow before he trusted his voice. "Racy—"

  "Just sign it, Gage…please."

  It was the "please" that got to him. "Fine."

  He placed his glass on the table and took the envelope. Holding it, he patted the outside of his tuxedo jacket. "I—ah, I don't have a pen on me."

  Racy yanked open her purse as he withdrew the paperwork from the envelope.

  He shouldn't be shocked, not really. How had he expected this—whatever this was between the two of them—to end? They couldn't manage a simple dinner date. Did he really think their spur-of-the-moment marriage would transform into the real thing just because dumb luck found him still legally bound to the one woman he'd always wanted?

  He unfolded the papers, mentally steering himself for the words.

  Buyout Proposal?

  After a quick scan of the first few paragraphs, confusion gave way to awareness. He looked up. "You're trying to buy The Blue Creek?"

  Racy stilled, a pen in her outstretched hand. "What?"

  "This says you're offering Max a buyout, contingent on loan approval and a deposit of—" Gage paused and checked the dollar figure listed again. "Is that what you're spending your Vegas winnings on?"

  Racy yanked the papers from his hand. "That is none of your business." She turned and stalked away. "Damn, how could I be so stupid! You'd think at least once I could do something without screwing it up, but no, this is classic me all the way…"

  Her words faded as she disappeared into the ballroom.

  "Hey, wait!" Gage called out, following her. He dodged the staff clearing away soiled linens and folding tables, and saw her exit the other side of the room into the large, open foyer that served as the inn's lobby.

  Racy marched past the check-in counter and stopped at the single antique elevator. She jammed her finger on the up button and spun around. "No, you wait. Right here. I've got the correct paperwork in my room."

  The doors creaked open and she stepped inside.

  "Room?" Gage reached the elevator just as the door slid closed again. "What room?"

  "The bridal suite."

  He spun around to find Leeann standing behind him. "Excuse me?"

  "She's heading to the suite Maggie reserved," Leeann said. "Maggie and Landon were supposed to stay here tonight, but the groom surprised her with a trip to the Caribbean."

  "So why is Racy up there?" With one hand behind his back, he pressed the elevator button.

  If she thought he was just going to scrawl his name on some paperwork and walk out of here, she had another think coming. Thank God she'd given him the wrong document and he had a minute to collect his thoughts.

  Leeann crossed her arms over her chest. "Maggie told her to use the room since it was paid for. I was just about to go up and see if she wanted some company, since she seemed a little edgy, at least for Racy's standards, when I spotted—" She paused, uncertainty crossing her face. "Can I say something? I mean to my friend, Gage, and not to my boss, the sheriff?"

  Gage hesitated, then nodded.

  "I don't know what's going on between you two." She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Personally, I always thought Racy had little use for you, despite what happened in high school."

  Chagrin filled him at the old memories that seemed to be foremost in his mind recently. "What did she tell you?"

  "That's something between girlfriends." She waved away his interruption and continued. "I was gone for a number of years, years that were hard on her. Of course, her whole life has been one of adversity, but she finally seemed to be in a good place this past summer. Until Vegas."

  Leeann took a step closer and lowered her voice, even though no one else was in the lobby. "Maggie believes there's something Racy's not telling us. You and she in the same city, over the same weekend? Could be nothing. But if it's more—if you two are—well, she deserves to be treated like a queen, you know?"

  It was the longest he'd heard his deputy speak since her acceptance speech when she was crowned Miss Indian Paintbrush back in high school. But he knew behind her warning was the warmth of a lifelong friendship.

  "Racy's got a good friend in you."

  Leeann's smile was forced. "That elevator is slower than molasses. If you want to catch her before she gets back down here, you might want to take the stairs. It's the only room on the fourth floor."

  Gage eyed the majestic staircase that rose from the center of the foyer before it turned a hard left and disappeared from sight. He'd already pushed the button calling the elevator back, so he should have time. Or he might meet her on the wide oak stairs.

  He turned back to say something to Leeann, but all he saw was the closing of the ornate cut-glass doors that led to the inn's covered porch.

  Moments later, he was halfway up the stairs, his mind churning over what had happened between him and Racy earlier. She had some explaining to do. About everything. From why she'd blown him off last week to trying to buy the bar. And he wasn't signing a damn thing until he got some answers.

  He reached the top floor and jogged past the elevator. No Racy. At the door displaying a brass plate that read Bridal Suite, he paused to catch his breath and prayed he hadn't missed her. Then he heard not-so-feminine cursing, a yelp of surprise and a crashing sound. He pushed open the unlatched door, rushed inside and was greeted with a loud popping sound before a spray of cold liquid hit him square in the chest.

  He put one hand up to ward off the rush and it splattered into his face. Damn, that stung. He shook his head, trying to clear his eyes. "Racy! What the hell—are you okay?"

  "Yes, I'm fine."

  He wiped away the moisture. "What happened?"

  Racy lay sprawled in front of the lit fireplace with an overturned champagne bucket nearby and ice cubes scattered everywhere. "I tripped over the bucket. What does it look like?"

  He watched her struggle to her feet. Her dress tangled around her legs, revealing strappy shoes and toes painted a matching shade of deep red. Then she bent over to right the bucket and his breath evaporated. The low cut of her dress barely held back her breasts.

  He scrubbed both hands over his face. Partially to get rid of the last of the liquid, and partially to block the tempting image in front of him. Too late. She bent again, now reaching for ice cubes. His body responded, hard and fast.

  She tossed a few handfuls of ice into the bucket and kicked the rest into the blazing fire. "What a waste. And that was the good stuff—what in the hell are you doing?"

  Gage stopped mid-peel, his tuxedo jacket hanging from his arms. He looked up to find Racy staring at him. He continued to tug and placed the jacket on the back of a wing chair. "Trying to save what I can of this rented tux."

  "No one told you to strip. And what are you doing up here?"

  He tugged at his drenched cotton shirt. "We need to talk. Do you think I could get a towel or something?"

  Racy stared at him for a long moment. She then heaved a deep sigh and marched past him, slamming closed the door he'd left open when he'd charged in. He exhaled sharply as she disappeared through another doorway. The bathroom, he guessed.

  His gaze moved around the room. Only one way in and lots of windows. It looked like at one time it could've been two rooms, but now was one large space. Matching chairs flanked the fireplace and a huge four-poster bed, piled high with flowery bedding and at least a dozen pillows, took up the far wall.

  He recognized the warm Old World French country style thanks to his mom, who'd redecorated the family's home over the last few years. She preferred bright reds, greens and black, while this room, from the wallpaper to the fresh flowers, was done in soft colors and full of charm and romance. Tailor-made for a new bride and gro
om who wanted to make their special day unforgettable.

  He closed his eyes, but the image came anyway.

  Racy, dressed in white lace. Soft, flowing and completely transparent in the candlelight. She emerged from the bathroom, red curls falling in soft waves over her shoulders, concealing the tiny silk ties that held the nightie together. She walked toward him, a matching set of champagne glasses in her hands, a large diamond ring, his ring, sparkling on her finger.

  Standing in front of him, a sweet smile on her face, she offered him a glass. He ignored it and instead pulled her into his arms, giving one of those silk ties an easy tug. A cloud of lace floated to the ground as he—

  A soft thud in the face ended the fantasy. He caught the bath towel before it fell to the floor.

  "There's your towel."

  Racy stood across the room. She'd changed out of her dress, but instead of silk and lace, she wore pajamas in the same style he'd given her the night she'd stayed at his place. Only this time she wore the bottoms, too. And hers were pink.

  Okay, the fantasy had to change a bit, but he was up for that. Very up.

  "You changed." His words came out in a rough whisper as he rubbed the towel over his soggy shirt. It didn't help. He yanked the shirt from his pants and unbuttoned it.

  "M-my dress got wet, too." Racy's gaze traveled the length of him before she crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. "And the double-sided tape that kept my boobs from falling out was starting to itch."

  He didn't know how to respond to that so he remained silent, noticing she kept her gaze focused on the fire as he rubbed the towel over his bare chest. Her hair remained piled on top of her head and she still wore the dangling earrings from the wedding. He glanced down. Her shoes were gone and her bare toes curled into the carpet.

  Damn! Sexy and sweet at the same time.

  His gaze traveled upward as he walked toward her. "Are those Eiffel Towers you're wearing?"

  "Not that it's any of your business—" she looked at him again "—but Maggie, Leeann and I exchanged pajamas for our last birthdays."

  "And your dream destination is Paris."

  Her mouth dropped open. "How'd you know?"

  He took a step closer, the towel partially obscuring his view as he rubbed at his hair. "You told me in Vegas."

  "I did not."

  "Yes, you did." One more step and he was directly in front of her. He dropped the towel. He wanted to see her face. "Right after I fished you out of the fountain at that hotel with the fake Eiffel Tower."

  The memory was as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

  She'd slipped off her high heels and was calf-deep in water before he'd realized what she was doing. He'd gone in after her, cowboy boots and all, when they'd caught the attention of a security guard. He'd carried her in his arms the six blocks back to their hotel before she'd insisted on—

  "I don't remember."

  Her soft words caused the recall to fade. He couldn't tell if she was lying or not. "But you do remem—"

  "What I remember is you dropping the bomb about our invalid annulment two weeks ago." She cut him off as she pushed past, hurried to the desk and flipped through a manila folder.

  Gage draped the towel back over his head to muffle his groan of frustration. Back to square one. Less than square one, if Racy had her way.

  "Where'd you get the money to have that paperwork drawn up, anyway?" He latched on to the first thought that came into his head. "That firm charges a bundle."

  "None of your business."

  He tossed the towel to the floor and crossed the room. Grabbing her by the arm, he spun her around. "Racy—"

  "Take your hands off me."

  Gage released her, but braced his arms on the desk, trapping her with his body. "You need to explain and you need to do it now."

  "I don't have to do anything—"

  "Then you can go back to your fancy lawyer and drop a large retainer on him because your simple and quiet divorce is going to get loud and ugly."

  Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't do that!"

  He leaned in closer. "And I never thought you'd blow me off last Sunday, but I guess both of us can be wrong, huh?"

  "Now, there's an understatement."

  "Enough of the riddles and innuendos. For someone who prides herself on being direct, you certainly seem to enjoy dancing in circles when it comes to talking to me."

  "You want direct?"

  "Yes."

  "Fine. What did you promise Travis and Daniel?" She jabbed him in the chest with a pointed finger. "Are you going to look the other way when it comes to zoning laws? Or maybe you gave them each a get-out-of-jail-free card?"

  Gage jerked back. "What are you talking about?"

  "I heard them! Last Saturday, after the meeting, I heard them talking about your phone call and your promises…" Her voice faltered and she swallowed hard before continuing. "I even followed them outside and what did I find? Three good ol' boys sharing handshakes and smiles."

  Realization hit him as cold as that champagne shower. "I can explain."

  She squared her shoulders and crossed her arms under her breasts. "Oh, I just bet you can."

  He forced himself not to look at the deep cleavage her move created as the top button on her pajama top popped open. Flashes of her half dressed, buttons undone on another pajama top, filled his head. He willed the image away. "Yes, I spoke with Travis and Dan about your hearing. I was worried. I know how much the bar means to you—"

  "So you didn't trust me to get the job done and tried to sway the voting with bribes instead."

  His temper flared at the accusation, but he forced himself to remain calm. "I didn't bribe anyone. What Donna had done was unfair, but I couldn't stop the hearing, so I thought I'd call as many of the selectmen as I could—"

  "As many as you could? Who else did you talk to?"

  "Roberts and Gilman. And I didn't offer anything or make any promises. All I did was remind them how important The Blue Creek is to this town as a thriving business and how successful it's become since you've taken over. Of course, I didn't have the financial or historical data to back me up—"

  "You spoke to four selectmen?"

  "And not very successfully. Roberts and Gilman voted against you anyway and Daniel sounded doubtful when we talked, but I guess you changed his mind."

  "That doesn't change the fact that what you did was—"

  "Wrong. One hundred percent wrong. I know that now, but you did it, you're the one who changed his mind." He gripped Racy's shoulders. "You got the votes you needed from people I couldn't reach. You convinced them keeping The Blue Creek as is, running in your capable hands, was the right thing to do."

  Her fists dropped to her sides, her shoulders sagged and the fight left her. "I can't believe you did that."

  "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I wanted to fix things."

  "Gage, you aren't responsible for this town and everyone in it. You can't fix everything." Racy sighed and shrugged from his touch. "This wasn't your problem to fix anyway."

  He hated to do it, but he stepped back. "You're right. It was yours, and you did it beautifully. I should've had faith you'd reach the selectmen and the members of the betterment committee, even if they all didn't vote in your favor."

  She closed her eyes and turned away. Silence stretched between them. "Okay, I was wrong about what you tried to do for me and you were wrong to think I needed your help. Let's leave it at that." She turned back and tapped the paperwork. "There is one thing we both can fix."

  There was no way he was picking up that pen. "You know what? I think you ran away to Laramie because you got scared."

  She spun back to him. "What?"

  "You are so used to being alone that the idea of a date—with me or anyone else—is something you can't handle."

  "You're out of your mind."

  "Husband number one died because his love for the bottle was stronger than his love for you. Husband number two up and walked awa
y and you've been alone ever since." The words poured out of his mouth and he was powerless to stop them. "You flirt with every guy out there, whether he's eighteen or eighty, but you haven't been involved with anyone since Tommy left."

  "And what about you? Mr. Save-The-Town-And-Everyone-In-It. I can count the number of girlfriends you've had since you came home from Virginia on one hand and still have plenty of fingers left over. Being Destiny's lone superhero is tough work, but what the hell are you waiting for?"

  You.

  The word exploded in his head and he clamped his jaw shut to keep it from escaping. But it was the truth. All these years and he'd been waiting for—what? The right moment? The perfect moment? Is that what Vegas had been?