The Sheriff's Bride_Country Brides & Cowboy Boots

by Kimberly Krey

  Kiss him? Why had that come to her mind? She didn’t even like the guy.

  She checked the bidding sheets once more, this time paying slightly more attention as she went. The silent auction would end in just ten minutes; then Griff, the best auctioneer in the business, would step up to the mic. The man had a real gift for hiking those bids up to new, impressive heights. Besides running a ranch, he enjoyed wrapping up Jessie’s fundraising events with a flourish.

  A hand cupped her shoulder, and before she could turn to see who it was, the voice gave it away. “How are we doing on the catering certificate?” It was Anthony.

  She glanced back at him. “So far it’s up to $250.”

  Anthony threw a fist in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  She laughed, sighed, and wondered why—if she was actually going to have random fantasies about kissing a guy—it couldn’t be about Anthony. He was so sweet and generous and safe.

  Safe. That was the biggest word of them all, wasn’t it? Which probably explained her odd obsession for the new sheriff in town. He was a protector, for heaven’s sake. Like the men that came running when Mom finally broke down and called the police.

  “Hey, have you seen Griff anywhere?” Anthony asked, stretching his neck to see over the guests.

  Jessie thought on that for a second. “I think I might have seen him talking with Sheila earlier. Out back.”

  “Thanks.” He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Jessie with her thoughts once more. She circled in place, taking a moment to appreciate what a success the night had turned out to be. Grandma would be proud. Thank you, Lord, for sending these people. Thank you for opening their hearts. Thank you for sparing Sheila’s life.

  She wandered through the foyer once more, smiling at guests who met her eye, adding to her list of gratitude. And before she knew it, Char was ringing the bell, announcing that it was time for the live auction. Another half an hour, and the night would be through. Jessie would wait for morning to sweep the floors and put the furniture back in place. Her pillow was top priority tonight.

  She followed the guests to the veranda, searching the crowd as Charlotte and Griff stepped onto the makeshift stage—a spread of pallets stacked a few feet high.

  “On behalf of the Dodge family,” Charlotte said, a hush falling over the group, “I’d like to offer a world of thanks for your generosity.” A round of cheers sounded from the sea of people standing between Jessie and the small stage. She liked it that way, often used this time to sift through the guests and guess at who might bid on the items still up for grabs.

  This time she was searching for something different. Dark hair with a hint of a wave, deep blue eyes, and a jaw that was modeled after Adonis. If Jessie gave honesty free range, she’d say that he looked more like a GQ model than a small-town sheriff. Especially in the dark suit and tie. She’d have guessed him to be a successful businessman if she’d spotted him in town dressed like that. Multi-million-dollar-successful.

  Griff’s voice rose in pitch and speed, alerting her to the fact that one item was already up for bid. She still hadn’t caught sight of the sheriff. Perhaps he’d gone home. She glanced up to see Charlotte holding the sweetheart set. His and hers quilts. Fishing gear, black bears, and pine trees adorned one, while the other featured plaid and striped fabrics in tones of pale pink, melon, and cream.

  From her periphery, Jessie noticed a man who was facing her instead of the stage. Before she could even think it might be the sheriff, she saw that it was Anthony instead. She gave him a brief nod and the slightest smile she could manage before breaking his gaze.

  Another item went up for bid, and though Jessie hadn’t been paying attention like she normally did, she was vaguely aware that this was the third item. Where in the world had that sheriff gone? His eighty-dollar bid on the rose quilt had been outbid long ago. And from what she’d seen, he hadn’t penned a bid on any other items. She may not have placed a lot of confidence in him from the get-go, but Jessie figured he’d stick around and make an impressive donation. A peace offering of sorts.

  She managed to tune back into the auction as the fourth item went up for auction. After cursing herself for being so distracted, Jessie was pleased to see the fourth item bring in over five hundred dollars. The crowd applauded the winner of the refinished hutch donated by Frankie, and the last quilt went up for bid.

  Griff cleared his throat and gave the mic a tap to regain everyone’s attention. “This last quilt is going to come with a little something extra,” he said with a wink. “I’ll have you know that this one was a special request, and our host has graciously accepted.”

  Host? A spark of alarm flared within her. She propped herself onto her toes. Just what was going on?

  “If you remember a while back, when Jessica—err, Ms. Westbrook ran the place, she auctioned out the entire fire department once. Selling them off for yard work, house chores, or even a night out on the town. Well, tonight we’ll be putting the woman’s own granddaughter up for bid. The lovely Miss Jessie Jean Phillips.”

  Jessie gasped. A pool of hot lava spread up her chest, neck, and cheeks as she took in the faces of the crowd. It felt like someone had put her heart in a blood pressure cuff, cinching it tight around the vessel.

  “Come on up here, Jess.”

  Charlotte’s face looked brighter than all the bulbs she’d hung combined. And Griff—the man’s grin reminded her of someone who’d just escaped a death sentence. She’d never seen two people look more pleased with themselves.

  “C’mon, now,” Griff urged when Jessie stayed put. “Don’t be shy. Help her out back there, will you, folks?”

  JD, Charlotte’s husband, must’ve been in on the whole thing, because he was first to take hold of Jessie’s hand. “C’mon, darling. Sounds like you’re up.”

  Benny came in on the other side. “This sure is brave, Jessie. I wouldn’t have thought you’d agree to a thing like this in a million years.”

  “I didn’t agree to it.” Talk about a death sentence—it was like walking the green mile.

  Sheila and her son, Nate, cheered as Jessie and her wardens passed. If Griff’s smile was ranked a ten on the overly pleased meter, Sheila’s was at an eleven.

  Was everyone that desperate to see her get a date? She was twenty-five, for crying out loud; it wasn’t as if she was a spinster. With so many eager faces around, it was hard to know who put Griff up to it … or had the old man come up with the idea on his own? Charlotte knew better than to force her into such a thing. And Sheila wouldn’t take such liberties, especially when Jessie had put forth all the effort of hosting the event. Of course, if she thought she was doing her a favor …

  The entire audience became suspects as Jessie stepped onto the wood planks. Guilty faces in an endless lineup. Meddling Harriett, who often rambled about her available sons each time she ran into her. Or Connie from the salon, who was busy talking to a very good-looking … the sheriff! That’s where he’d gone. He’d slipped right into the clutches of the most flirtatious, vivacious woman in town. Of course he had. The woman suited him perfectly. He probably wanted a gal who would tell him everything he wanted to hear, and no one did that better than Connie Jenkins. She changed men as often as she changed the color of her hair tips.

  Even still, as Jessie lifted her chin proudly, hoping to appear unaffected by the idea, a hint of jealousy snuck beneath her skin. A feeling that fled the moment Anthony caught her gaze. Maybe it had been his idea.

  On her way to the stage, she tried to come to terms with the thought of going on a date with the diner owner once and for all. At least she could say she’d done it. And maybe she could kindly convince him of what good friends they were meant to be, dispelling any hopes of a second date.

  Griff wrapped a large hand around her shoulder once she joined him. “Okay, folks, get your pocketbooks ready for the hottest item of the night.”

  Jessie couldn’t resist an eye-roll. Talk about embarrassing. And what if no
one bid on her? She’d seen animal shows where ostriches shove their heads in the sand. The idea had always seemed absurd, but now Jessie could see the appeal.

  “We’ll keep the auction for the quilt at $420, so anything above that is for Jessie. Should we start with four seventy?”

  Jessie’s eyes widened. She didn’t want him to have to go backward.

  “Four seventy,” Anthony hollered.

  Griff broke into auctioneer mode again. “Four seventy, I’ve got four seventy, who will give me five?”

  “Five hundred,” Betty Larson called out. “I want her to teach me how to quilt.” Jessie was tempted to tell Betty she’d be happy to do that for free, but since this money was going to Sheila, she remained quiet. Besides, that sounded a whole lot better than going on some awkward date.

  “Five hundred, we’ve got five hundred. Do I hear five twenty-five?”

  Anthony raised his hand. “Right here.”

  Jessie’s heart worked to catch up with Griff’s rapid, tongue-twisting pace. He was going for five fifty now, not that anyone would pay it.

  “Five fifty,” an unfamiliar voice spoke out.

  Heads turned, eyes widened, and Jessie was sure she heard a gasp that was quite likely her own. The bid was from Sheila’s brother-in-law, Shawn. Jessie didn’t really know much about the guy, only that he was a single father who’d lost his wife to cancer. And didn’t he live out of state? The fair-haired man—a good ten years older than her—tightened his lips and gave her a bashful grin.

  Well, that was an interesting twist.

  “Five fifty for the quilt and the girl. Who will give me six?”

  Six? This was getting steep. Sure, Jessie wanted to raise money, but more than that, she wanted this to end. She’d rather pull a thousand dollars out of the bank just to get out of the whole thing.

  “Six,” someone hollered from Anthony’s direction. Only it wasn’t Anthony.

  A well-dressed man with gorgeous blue eyes and an indiscernible smile met her gaze. It was him—the sheriff. The crowd cleared around him as people spun to see the newest bidder. His hands were tucked casually in his pockets like he’d just ordered a cup of coffee.

  “Six twenty-five,” Anthony yelled before Griff said a word.

  “Now we’re talking,” the man said through a laugh. “Six twenty-five, do I hear—”

  The sheriff pulled one hand out of his pocket and raised it in the air. “Eight hundred.”

  A hush fell over the crowd while Anthony glared at the sheriff.

  “We’ve got a new high tonight, folks. Eight hundred dollars for this fine quilt and a night with the lady—not necessarily together—keep that in mind, gentlemen. Do I hear more?” Griff repeated the line, looking first at Anthony and then at Shawn. “Eight hundred going once. Eight hundred going twice. Sold, to … uh, what’s your name, sir?”

  “Trent Lockheart.”

  The sound of his name in that deep voice—combined with the fact that he’d just paid for an evening out with her—sent a thrill through Jessie’s body and had her remembering the daydream she’d had of his kiss. He met her gaze, and fire erupted somewhere low in her gut as he flashed her a grin.

  Griff patted Jessie on the back. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a date.”

  Chapter 8

  Jessie walked the length of the foyer, dust mop in hand, mind in a fuzzy haze. She had not expected what happened last night. At all. First Griff announces she’s going up for bid with the quilt, and then the sheriff bids on her?

  Trent. Trent Lockheart. She hadn’t wanted to remember the name, but there it was, trapped in her memory like a catchy tune. Was Trent trying to make amends? He couldn’t really be interested in her. Yet even as Jessie thought it, she didn’t fully believe it. She knew chemistry when she felt it, and there’d been enough between them to outdo her relationships with Jax and Craig combined.

  She smiled ruefully. What a mistake those men had been. They hadn’t really been men at all—boys was more like it. Of course, she’d been young, too, and determined to gain her mother’s attention with behavior almost as foolish as her mother’s. But all it had done was teach Jessie just how little her mother cared. It also taught her that she was in charge of her own destiny, and the last thing she wanted to do was repeat her mother’s mistakes.

  Grandma, on the other hand, had been happy. Fulfilled. Complete. And kind enough to fill the void left by Jessie’s mother and father.

  Similar thoughts filled her mind as she finished putting the inn back in order. Nate showed up early to help, and before she knew it, the furniture was back in place, the floors were clean, and the complimentary breakfast well on its way. French toast topped the menu today, and Jessie sprinkled a dash of nutmeg onto each piece while inhaling the lovely scent mingled with the bacon in the oven. A spread of mixed berries waited in a dish beside freshly whipped cream and her favorite homemade buttermilk syrup.

  “Guess I better get started on the yard,” Nate said as he rinsed his plate in the sink. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome. Hey, how’s your mom doing this morning? Is she worn out after last night?”

  “She seemed pretty happy before I left. Less stressed, you know.”

  “That’s great.” Jessie smiled, feeling less stressed, too, after how much they’d raised. “Thanks again for helping me get the place cleaned up.”

  As the kid made his way out the French doors, the morning light greeted him out back. His shoulders were a bit straighter these days. What kind of burden had they held while his mom fought for her life? How weighed down had they been since his father left them? She could hardly believe how ambitious he was, starting his own yard care company at such a young age. She admired him. And though Jessie was only six years older, she felt a motherly love for him that she couldn’t explain. A feeling that poked at a longing nudged in her heart.

  Seven o’clock was fast approaching, and soon the guests would trickle down, yawning and stretching and sweeping unruly strands of hair from their faces. So when she heard a ruckus coming from the other side of the house, Jessie chalked it up to a few early birds coming down to breakfast. It was only when she paid closer attention that she noticed someone was, in fact, at the front door.

  An early arrival? she wondered. An older couple planned to check in around 10:00 that morning, but perhaps they’d arrived sooner than expected.

  Jessie wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried toward the door. “Be right there.” A quick twist of the knob and a forceful tug on the stubborn door and Jessie caught sight of the unexpected visitor. It wasn’t the elderly couple due to arrive later that day. Or Griff showing up to apologize for throwing her to the wolves last night. It was him—the most dangerous wolf of them all. “Trent?

  Trent blinked, wondering for a split second if he’d shown up at the wrong place. No way this woman would still be here. “Um …” And had she actually just called him by his first name? Just why in all things holy did that thrill him so much? Cause a flare of heat to roar low in his belly. Or was it the sight of her that caused it?

  “Can I help you?” The snarky tone of Jessie’s voice—the expectant tilt of her head—told Trent he’d made a mistake by coming to the inn.

  He shifted to one side to look around her. Already the home had been transformed. Last night the place had reminded Trent of the crowded craft store mom used to wander in for hours. Now it had the warm, homey appeal of Grandma’s place.

  He set his eyes back on her, minus the makeup and fancy gown, but still just as stunning. The full shape of her lips, the appealing curve of her cheekbones, and that glorious mystery behind her hazel eyes.

  She forced an obvious cough in her throat. “You here to collect already? It’s a little early, don’t you think?”

  “Collect?” He mindfully scrambled for a translation.

  “The night out. From the auction …”

  He shook his head, stammering to spit out something that resembled no, but Je
ssie kept on, her words quieting his attempt.

  “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t meant to be an all-day event. And if you don’t mind, I’d like a little more notice so that I can tie up any loose ends. You know, in case you decide to lock me up for some measly little crime like jaywalking.”

  He stifled a laugh. “That’s actually a serious offense. Do you know how many pedestrians are injured or killed …” He stopped himself there, gave in to a smile. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “You’re not here to arrest me. And you’re not here to date me. So what gives?”

  “I’m actually just inquiring about a room. The place I bought will be under construction for the next week or two.”

  She remained quiet, her expression like a foreign language as she scanned the length of him. “Hmm. Okay. Let’s step into the office.” She led him to an oak door and twisted the knob. A tall podium stood close to the doorway while a more formal-looking desk stood off to the side. A love seat, file cabinet, and fireplace completed the room. “Do you expect to have any visitors, or will one bed be enough?”

  “One bed is fine.”

  Jessie scratched the tip of her pencil on a slip of paper.

  “Oh, but I’d like it to be a larger bed. Not one of those little single beds.”

  With her head still tipped toward her paper, Jessie lifted her gaze, looking at him through her lashes. “You do understand that the date you purchased doesn’t come with any bedroom activity …”

  His face became a fresh-struck match. Did it look as red as it felt? Trent hoped not. He worked to regain his composure. “That’s disappointing,” he said.

  Jessie lifted her chin to look him squarely in the eye. Was that disdain he saw there? “Why did you make that bid last night?”