by Meg Benjamin
Morgan frowned slightly, her deep brown Bambi eyes narrowed in thought. “I never liked Brody. Even before I knew he was a crook. He always looked sort of like an actor who’d been hired to play the part of a small-town chief of police. More style than substance, if you know what I mean.”
He shook his head. “He had a lot of substance, just the illegal kind. This town was in trouble after Brody, and it definitely needed somebody to come in and take care of things. But Olema wasn’t the best person to be in charge of the cleanup. He was a good ol’ boy, but he sucked when it came to running a department. And I’m probably as bad as he was at administration.”
“You’ve got Helen.” She grinned. “Helen is the Attila the Hun of administration.”
He had a sudden picture of Helen in a wolf-skin and a horned helmet. Yep. Another good role for her. “The personnel are solid here. Well, most of them anyway.”
Her grin turned wry. “Ham will come around. Eventually.”
“Here’s hoping I can keep from throttling him before he does.”
He tried not to stare into her deep chocolate eyes. A gorgeous woman, sitting at a table with him. Not exactly a run-of-the-mill event. “Want some coffee?”
She nodded. “After two glasses of wine, I feel a little wobbly. I’m sort of losing my head. Must be the hours.”
He could think of a lot of comments to make about that. Unfortunately, none of them were the kind of thing he wanted to share on a first date.
After they’d finished the espresso Lee insisted on giving them for free to make up for the wine problems, Morgan let Erik walk her down the darkened street toward her SUV. She could hear music from the beer garden next to the Faro, guitars and a distant drumbeat.
“Konigsburg nights.” She smiled, shaking her head. “Lordy, it makes you want to sit and put your feet up on a front-porch rail someplace.”
“You have a front porch?” He sounded faintly amused.
She couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but she knew they’d be riveted on her. They had been all during dinner. Every time she’d looked at him, she’d found that smoldering gaze following her. It made her feel itchy and hot and altogether unsettled. Chief Toleffson was way too much man for a disheveled novice winemaker like her. He should probably be pursuing somebody slightly larger than life, like Calamity Jane. Somebody who matched him in size and reputation.
“We’ve got the patio outside the tasting room. That’s as close to a porch as I get.” Morgan stopped beside her SUV and tried not to fumble as she looked for her keys. Now came the tricky part—getting away without getting too close to him. She had a feeling getting too close would lead to complications. And she really didn’t want complications.
Did she?
“Let me.” He took the keys from her suddenly limp fingers and pressed the button to unlock the front door. Then he handed them back, not moving from his position between her and the SUV.
Morgan took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I mean I’m not…” She groped through her vocabulary trying to find a word that worked.
What exactly aren’t you, Morgan?
He was smiling at her, that same small lopsided grin he’d had in the Dew Drop. She wondered if he ever grinned completely.
“You’re not…” He arched an eyebrow.
“I’m not…loose.”
Oh lordy, she was a moron. Loose. What are you, the Church Lady?
At least she’d answered her own question—Erik Toleffson was definitely grinning on both sides of his mouth now. “Loose?” His eyebrow arched again.
“I mean…” She waved a hand, helplessly. Why had she suddenly lost all ability to speak in coherent, adult sentences? If this was the kind of effect the chief had on her, she needed to run for cover while she still could.
“You mean you don’t usually allow somebody you know only slightly to kiss you for an extended period of time without punching him in the jaw.” His grin slid back to lopsided.
“I’ve never punched anyone in my life.” But then she’d also never had a kiss like the one with him at the winery last night. Of course, punching him probably wouldn’t have been her reaction of choice.
“I could show you how to punch somebody, if you want.” He folded his arms and leaned back against her SUV. “It’s all in how you make a fist. Don’t ever tuck in your thumb—you may break it if you do.”
“I don’t really need to know that. I’m a nonviolent person.” She stood still, wondering how she could ask him to move aside so she could get into her SUV and go home.
Wondering if she really wanted him to move aside.
He reached toward her, running his index finger along the ridge of her cheekbone. A thin streak of heat followed his fingertip. Morgan worked on not whimpering.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t go around kissing almost strangers either.” His voice was soft, like a caress in the darkness. “But it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
She swallowed. Was that disappointment she heard in his voice? “It was a good idea,” she blurted. “Just a sort of unusual one.”
She took a deep breath. Morons. Morons on my team.
He grinned again. “I thought so, too. Still do.”
She exhaled slowly. Her body felt tight, as if she’d been holding herself taut for far too long, like a stretched string. “What do we do now, then?”
He pushed himself up straight, sliding his fingertip along the edge of her ear, then sinking his hands into her hair. His fingers wrapped around the back of her head, pulling her toward him.
And then she was resting against his chest, caught in the warmth and closeness of his body.
“We pick up where we left off,” he murmured.
She smelled the faint tang of mingled sweat and aftershave as he lowered his mouth to hers. Then she opened her lips and breathed in his warmth.
She slid her tongue against his, feeling the edge of teeth, while a jolt of excitement seemed to spread from her breasts downward to her belly and thighs. He tasted spicy, with a lingering savor of coffee. She angled her head slightly to take the kiss deeper and felt his hands slide from her shoulders to her hips, pulling her tighter against him.
She could feel the hard ridge of arousal jutting into the joining of her thighs, making her want to move. His fingers dug into her buttocks, kneading, pushing her to ride the heat kindling between them.
She pressed her body tighter against his, rubbing slightly. Tension built in her belly, the heat spreading. She was inching closer and closer toward the edge. A small moan built up in her throat. She wanted him. However she could get him. Right now, right here.
In front of the Millsburger Building in downtown Konigsburg where anybody could walk by at any moment.
She lurched back, gasping for breath, wondering just where she’d left sensible, no-nonsense, exhausted Morgan Barrett, who sure as hell would have been smarter than this.
Erik gave himself a quick mental kick. He’d pushed her too far, too fast. He should have known better after that whole “loose” thing. She wasn’t ready for this.
Hell, he wasn’t ready for this!
One minute it had been a sweet, hot goodnight kiss, and the next he’d been ready to, well, climb on top of Morgan Barrett in the middle of downtown Konigsburg. Clearly, he’d been without a woman way too long.
Equally clearly, he couldn’t go around kissing Morgan in public anymore. Next time it had to be in a place where they could keep going, provided they were both ready to take it to the next level. And the next. And the next. Because the one thing he’d learned after two kisses was that neither of them was crazy about stopping.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, brushing the hair back from her forehead.
She still stared up at him, her eyes a little dazed, as if she were trying to figure out exactly how she’d ended up in the middle of downtown Konigsburg with bruised lips. Then she sucked in a breath. “Yeah. Okay. I think.”
; “Should I apologize?”
She suddenly broke into a grin. “Was it that bad?”
“Only if you’re going to conk me with something if I don’t say I’m sorry.”
“I keep telling you I’m not the violent type.” Her grin widened. “I promise I’m not going to punch you or conk you with anything.”
“Not even if I kiss you again?” He felt another ripple of heat in his groin.
Her smile faded slightly. “Probably not. But I really don’t think you should. At least not on a downtown street where half of Konigsburg might walk by at any time.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Okay. I’m open to suggestions for where I could kiss you again.”
The corners of her mouth edged up. “I’ll give it some serious thought.”
“Good.” He leaned back against her SUV, more to keep her from getting in and driving off than anything else. “When can we get together and discuss it?”
Her gaze was suddenly wary. “I could make you dinner sometime. If you’re free, that is.”
He fought to keep from grinning. He had a feeling she might move him away from her SUV bodily if he did. “I’m free. Believe me.”
Or anyway, I’m easy.
“Tomorrow night?” She smiled again, faintly.
“Sure…” Erik started. Then he remembered. “Hell, the bikers.”
Morgan groaned. “Oh, god! They’ll start coming into town tomorrow afternoon and they won’t leave until Sunday. Neither of us is going to have a spare minute tomorrow.”
“And I’ll be on duty all the time they’re here.” He sighed, stepping aside from the SUV. “Rain check?”
“Definitely.” She opened the door and climbed in. “Believe me, after the bikers, we’ll both need something.”
He already needed something, preferably within the next five minutes. But he knew a lost cause when he saw it. “See you in the Dew Drop?”
She gave him a dry smile. “Yep.” She pulled the door closed.
Erik stood watching the taillights of her SUV disappear down the road to Cedar Creek. He considered how much he’d prefer having dinner with Morgan Barrett to riding herd on a bunch of yuppie bikers. Three hundred of them. With no one enthusiastic about the prospect except their sleazeball of a mayor.
Eventually, he was going to have to do something about Hilton Pittman, even if it did get him in trouble with the city council. It might almost be worth it.
Chapter Eight
It took Erik significantly longer to fall asleep that night than it did normally. Morgan Barrett had definitely gotten under his skin—or between his sheets in this case. She didn’t exactly dance on the ceiling, but he kept seeing her deep brown eyes whenever he began to drift off, along with the spray of freckles across her nose and the way her lips seemed to turn up naturally at the ends. He finally drifted off to dream about Disneyfied deer tripping through grape-laden vineyards.
BRRRRRWAAAAAPPPPPP!!!!
The sound brought him half off the bed before he’d even opened his eyes. Erik stumbled toward the living room window that faced Main, belatedly grabbing some underwear before pulling back the curtain. The sound from the street intensified—he could almost feel the vibration through the floor. He peered down at the four-lane expanse of Main Street, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
A quartet of motorcycles roared down the street, their throttles wide open. Chrome gleamed on the front forks, the engines, the exhaust system. The bikes seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. Or maybe it was just the vibration that made everything seem to shake.
Erik sighed and stumbled back to grab his uniform. He had a feeling he had a long weekend ahead of him.
Ham Linklatter was the only one at the station when he walked in. Maybe that was why Ham was sitting at Helen’s desk at the front counter instead of his own in the main room. If Helen had been there, Ham would have been a dead man.
Linklatter gave him his usual baleful glance, doubly baleful today since it looked like Ham had come straight from the shower. His lank hair was plastered across his skull like pond scum.
“About time somebody else got here,” he grumbled.
Erik stared at him for a count of three, watching Ham’s face turn the usual unpleasant shade of pink, then he glanced at the clock. “I’m on duty in twenty minutes. Figured I’d get here early.”
He heard the door open and close behind him, then watched Ham’s face change from unpleasant pink to pale green.
“Linklatter,” Helen’s voice rumbled from the doorway, “what the hell are you doing sitting at my desk?”
Ham gathered a stack of papers from the desktop and started to slink toward his desk at the back of the room. Helen placed herself squarely in his path, resting fists the size of softballs on her broad hips. She pointed at the papers. “What are those?”
“They’re mine,” he whined. “I’m just taking them back to my desk.”
She extended her hand in front of Ham’s nose. After a moment, he placed the stack of papers on her flattened palm.
“Don’t be messing with my stuff, Ham.” Her voice sounded like an underground volcano getting ready to erupt.
Ham moved swiftly to his own desk.
Nando walked in, yawning. “You hear the arrival of The Mild Ones?”
“Oh yeah. Unfortunately, the noise ordinance doesn’t kick in until sundown.”
“By then they’ll all be drinking at the Silver Spur or the Faro. So what’s the plan?”
Erik hung his hat on the rack at the door. “I talked to DPS. They’ll be keeping an eye on FM 1822 from here to Oltdorf.” Oltdorf was a wide spot in the road about eighteen miles from Konigsburg. The highway that went there was a series of curves through picturesque Hill Country scenery, some posted at twenty-five.
Nando nodded. “Okay, sounds good. What else is going on?”
“I called Friesenhahn.” And of course that had been one swell conversation—only the second week Erik had been in office and already he needed help from the sheriff. “He’s sending over a couple of deputies to help with patrol this afternoon. And we can transfer prisoners to the county lockup if we fill up here.”
Ham scowled. “Prisoners? We never had no biker prisoners in the jail when Brody was in charge.”
Erik, Nando and Helen all turned to stare at him. Ham ducked his head and pretended to read the memos on his desk.
Erik nodded at Nando. “Make sure you take a run by the campground when you do your patrol. And keep an eye on the Silver Spur and the Faro. Anyplace else they’re likely to be drinking?”
“Rustler’s Roost,” Helen rumbled, naming a roadhouse a few miles west of town.
“That’s outside the city limits. Friesenhahn’s problem.”
Nando nodded. “Not too many in town yet. More tonight. What about…”
The rest of his question was drowned out by a vibrating roar from the parking lot, followed by a series of explosive pops. Moments later, a man who could only be the bike’s owner stepped in the door.
He was encased in black leather from shoulder to heel. His jacket was covered with shiny zippers. Erik wondered briefly if he’d had them chromed along with his bike. He wore a crisp black bandana knotted around his head and black aviator sunglasses that probably cost more than Erik’s entire uniform, including badge. Either he’d spent his childhood watching motorcycle movies, or he was one of the bigger idiots Erik had yet encountered in Texas, which was saying something.
The biker pulled off his sunglasses with a practiced devil-may-care swipe, smiling with teeth that gleamed almost as brightly as his zippers.
“Morning, gents, how’s it hanging? Great to be back in Konigsburg.”
Beside him, Erik felt Helen stiffen. Apparently, the biker hadn’t realized not everybody in the group was a gent. Always a dangerous mistake. “Morning. What can we do for you?”
“I’m here to see the chief.” The man glanced around the room, his eyes lighting on Ham. “Hey there, Officer, good to see you again. Remember me? Mel
Hefner?”
Ham spread his lips in a thin imitation of a smile, carefully not looking at Erik.
Mel Hefner tucked one bow of his sunglasses into the top zippered pocket on his jacket. “Where’s Chief Brody?”
The deafening silence that followed that question finally seemed to dim Hefner’s smile slightly. He glanced from face to face.
Erik kept his voice bland. “I’m Chief Toleffson. What can I do for you?”
Hefner’s forehead furrowed. “Brody retired?”
The details of Brody’s disappearance from Konigsburg after his unsuccessful attempt to murder Docia and the subsequent search for him by the Rangers had been published in every major newspaper in the state, as well as a national news service. Erik upped his assessment of Hefner’s idiot status. “Something like that. Now, what can I do for you?”
Hefner’s smile blossomed again. Wonder Dentist would probably be green with envy at his incisor caps. “Just wanted to work out the details for the weekend. Most of the TBA are due in tonight.”
Erik sighed. He knew he had to ask. “TBA?”
“Our group—the Texas Bikers Alliance. Of course, I like to think of them as Mel’s Angels, seeing as how I’m the president.” Hefner looked inordinately pleased with himself.
Behind him, Nando succumbed to a coughing fit.
Erik carefully avoided looking at Helen. He had a feeling he’d lose it totally if he did. “So what details do you need to set up with us?”
Hefner glanced around the room again, looking slightly less sunny. “Maybe we could talk about that in private.”
Erik frowned. All his instincts were immediately on high alert. “We can use my office.” He jerked his head at Nando, who fell in step behind him.
In the office, Hefner gave the two of them a doubtful look. He swallowed quickly, then resumed his dazzling smile, settling into the chair across from Erik’s desk. “I assume the arrangement we had with Chief Brody still stands even though the chief has retired.”