River's Bend

by JoAnn Ross

  “Well, well.” A woman with white hair looked at Scott over the top of her glasses. “What do we have here, Sheriff?” She tilted her head. “A new deputy recruit?”

  “This is Scott Hathaway,” Cooper introduced him. “He’s come to help me clean out my files.”

  “The good Lord knows you need help.” Dangling orange pumpkin earrings jiggled as she nodded. “You’d be Rachel Hathaway’s son. Your mom’s going to give us our restaurant back.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Scott said, remembering the manners his mom had drilled into him as Hummer wiggled in delight while the big pink tongue lolled. “But the food’ll be a lot better.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that,” she agreed with a smile. “You look like a healthy young man, so she obviously feeds you well.”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s the best cook ever.”

  “Aren’t you the sweetest thing?” She glanced up at Cooper. “The boy’s polite, too. Would you like a cookie?” she asked Scott.

  “Yes, ma’am.” With one last pat to the dog, Scott stood up.

  “Oh, don’t fuss with all that ma’am stuff. It makes me feel old,” she complained, but not in a grumpy way. “My name’s LuluBelle, which I’m well aware sounds like a saloon girl from back in town’s wild west days and caused me ever so much grief back when I was your age.”

  She shook her fluffy white head, which reminded Scott of the cotton balls his mother had taken her makeup off with. Back when she’d worn makeup.

  “I had a friend, Jimmy, back in Connecticut, whose mom changed her name,” Scott offered helpfully. “She went to this psychic who told her she’d been Cleopatra in a previous life. Since she said she’d never felt like a Brooke, she went to a judge and had her name changed to Cleo.”

  At the time, Scott had overheard his dad telling his mom that Mrs. Walker was crazy. His mom had said that if it made her happy, then it really didn’t hurt anyone.

  But that was the way his mom always was. Or had been, before his dad had died and their lives had changed. She was always smiling and laughing and had told him lots of times that one of the reasons she liked cooking for people was it made them happy.

  “Well, isn’t that interesting,” LuluBelle said. “And as it happened, I did consider changing my name to Debbie the summer before I went to high school, but when I brought the idea up to Mama, she cried and wailed like I’d just told her the world was coming to an end since she had, after all, she felt moved to remind me, named me after her own dearly departed mother.

  “Mama,” she confided, without seeming to take a breath, “was a very sensitive woman and tended to get the vapors at the least little bit of unpleasantness, so I never brought the topic up again.

  “She passed a couple years ago, so after all this time, I guess I’ll just stick with the name she gave me. Especially since people around here don’t take well to change, so I’d just be stuck with them all still calling me LuluBelle. Oatmeal raisin or chocolate chip?”

  It took Scott a minute to make the switch back to the lady’s original question, and when he took a bit of time trying to make up his mind, she decided for him.

  “Why don’t we just give you one of both?” She stood up and bustled over to a counter on the far side of the room that had a coffee maker, some cups, and a white box of cookies.

  “They’re not exactly homemade,” the woman said as she plucked two cookies from the box, put them on a paper plate, and handed him a wet wipe to clean his hands. “But they’re not store-bought, either. I picked them up this morning at Chapter One. That’s a bookstore here in town that serves fresh baked goods. Do you like to read?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good for you. I’ve always said that you’re never alone if you’ve got a book for company. I have books at home that belonged to my children. I’ve been saving them for my grandchildren, but none of my brood seems inclined to make me a grandmother anytime soon, so I’ll bring them down here for the next time you visit.”

  She handed him the cookies, then took a pint of low fat milk from a little refrigerator next to her desk, stuck a straw in it and held it out to him.

  “You can sit over there,” she said, nodding to an empty desk. “We’ve been short one deputy since Frank Thurman up and retired. Which is why I thought maybe you were the new recruit Cooper’s been looking to hire.”

  “I’m only nine.”

  “Is that so?” A white brow rose above her red-framed glasses. “Well, I would’ve thought you were older than that. You’re very mature for your age.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

  “It’s LuluBelle, honey,” she reminded him. “We don’t go much for formality around these parts. I guess you’d have some homework in that book bag of yours?”

  Since he’d just taken a big swallow of milk, Scott could only nod.

  “Well, you’d best get to it right after you finish your snack,” she said.

  “In case you couldn’t tell, LuluBelle is the one who really runs the sheriff’s department,” Cooper said.

  “Well, I’m not out keeping the streets safe,” she said as she sat back down, hit a computer key that got rid of the River’s Bend photo screensaver and brought up a page of numbers. “But I do keep the trains running as the old saying goes.”

  “Cooper took me and my mom on the outlaw train,” Scott said. He hadn’t seen LuluBelle working at the train station when they’d been there.

  The pumpkin earrings danced again as she nodded. “So I heard.” She winked up at Cooper, who shook his head, then sent his hat sailing across the office. It landed smack on an antler hat rack, just like Jason Kidd shooting a three-pointer.

  When he took his gun out of his holster and locked it away in a drawer, Scott remembered how Cooper hadn’t taken his pistol on the outlaw train because it was Sunday. Maybe the sheriff didn’t have to wear his gun all the time because, like everyone kept saying, River’s Bend was a peaceful town.

  As he dug his spelling test words out of his backpack, Scott thought maybe that was because Sheriff Cooper Murphy kept everyone safe.

  15

  Four days after the outlaw train ride, with the men gone to pick up more supplies at Young’s Hardware, Rachel was alone, sanding peeling paint from the walls, when Cooper walked into the kitchen. Engrossed in her task, she wasn’t immediately aware of his presence.

  “The view around this place has definitely improved.”

  At the sound of his deep voice, Rachel froze. A million scattered thoughts flashed through her mind. The first was that she shouldn’t be so pleased that he’d finally decided to make an appearance. The second, third, fourth, and millionth were that she looked a mess. Taking a breath in a futile attempt to relax, she glanced back over her shoulder.

  “If you’ve dropped in for lunch, I’m afraid you’re a bit premature. We’re not quite open.”

  “So I see.” He glanced around the kitchen, which looked as if it had recently been the battleground for World War III. “Looks like you and the guys have been busy.”

  Rachel laughed. “Goodness, Sheriff, are you always so tactful? Working nearly around the clock, except for that day I took off for the outlaw ride, we’ve managed to turn an unholy mess into a world-class disaster.”

  She grinned with undisguised pride as she took in the scene. “Believe it or not, there is an order to this chaos.”

  “I figured any woman as organized as you would have a plan.”

  “Oh?” She climbed down from the ladder and met him halfway in the center of the room. “And where did you get that insight?”

  “Your son.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about him stopping by your office after school,” she said.

  Rachel had worked out a detailed schedule that had Scott walking the few short blocks to the New Chance after school, where he’d do his homework while she worked. Since the sheriff’s office just happened to be on the way, he’d begun stopping by to visit with the man who’d obviously
become his hero.

  Because it was already dark at six o’clock this time of year, Cooper would drop him off at the New Chance after which she and Scott would return to the house for dinner and a conversation about his day.

  At seven Mrs. Macgregor, who lived across the street, would arrive to stay with Scott while Rachel went back to the café until around midnight, after which she’d return home with bones aching and muscles protesting.

  After a too-brief bath to soak out the aches, she’d spend at least another hour poring over her accounts, searching for ways to turn red ink to black. Despite having given up believing in fairy tales, during those lonely dark hours, Rachel found herself wishing for a fairy godmother to sweep in, wave her magic wand and chant some gibberish which would whisk her away to an enchanted tropical island where tanned and buffed-up cabana boys would cater to her every whim.

  Or at least tell her a way to cut ten percent off plumbing costs.

  When her fairy godmother failed to make an appearance, she’d crash into bed, where it seemed as if she’d no sooner get to sleep when the alarm would go off and it would be time to begin the process all over again.

  “Scott assured me that you don’t mind him being at your office, but—”

  Cooper waved off her concern. “Don’t worry about it. I like having him visit. And LuluBelle, my dispatcher, is tickled to pieces.”

  “Your dispatcher’s name is LuluBelle?” An unbidden image of a woman in a red satin dance hall dress and fishnet stockings popped into her head.

  “Yep. And I’d advise against mentioning it when you meet her or you’ll get treated to the entire story with complete orchestration and five-part harmony. LuluBelle’s a warm, friendly sixty-something woman who’s still waiting for one of her grown kids to give her a grandchild, so having a little boy around the place brightens her day. And you needn’t worry about Scott not being taken good care of if I have to leave on some sheriff business.”

  “Still, surely you all have more important things to do than babysit my son.”

  “It’s no problem. Scott’s a great kid, Rachel. Bright, inquisitive, polite. You should be proud.”

  He couldn’t have said anything that would have pleased her more. “I am.”

  “Good. Then you won’t be upset when I tell you that he filled me in on all your secrets.”

  Rachel certainly hoped that wasn’t true since her biggest secret was that she’d been all too aware of Cooper Murphy’s absence. “Secrets?”

  “Secrets,” he confirmed. “Such as your vast organizational skills. I’m in the process of trying to clean out the office files and it’s driving me insane. Your son assured me that you could straighten both me and my files out in no time.” His green eyes narrowed. “He says you make lists.”

  “I do.”

  “And you color code the categories.”

  “Of course.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  He’d made it sound like a character flaw. “Creating a well-ordered plan prevents disruption and chaos.” Two things she definitely knew a great deal about.

  “It also disallows for serendipity.”

  She folded her arms. “Serendipity?”

  “Yeah. The act of experiencing happy or pleasant surprises by accident. Which can more easily be discovered by occasionally going with the flow.”

  “I know what the word means. But going with the flow doesn’t always lead to happy events.” Another thing she was more than a little familiar with.

  “Yet one could argue that your finding Mitzi’s ad for the New Chance was a serendipitous event.”

  “One could also argue that the jury’s still out on whether or not that turned out to be a happy accident.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to make it one, won’t we?”

  Cooper’s answering grin warmed Rachel to the core. She decided that if they could only find some way to harness the power of that smile, she’d save herself a bundle on her electric bill every month.

  “I’m not a control freak,” she insisted a bit defensively. It wasn’t entirely a lie. She’d only become one after her well-ordered life had spun totally out of control.

  “Just a perfectionist,” he guessed.

  Despite the conversation bringing up memories she’d been trying to move beyond, Rachel almost laughed at that. “I’m far from perfect.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Since perfect people tend to be intimidating,” he said.

  “I can’t imagine you being intimidated by anyone. Or anything.”

  “It’s the badge. It gives people the wrong image. Actually, if you want to know the truth, beautiful, sexy women have always intimidated me.”

  “Then you should feel completely comfortable around me.”

  Damn. From the way that came out sounding, he’d be bound to think she’d been fishing for compliments. Which she wasn’t, Rachel assured herself. Not really.

  “Funny, you should mention that,” he murmured. “As it happens, I’ve been giving the matter a great deal of thought the past few days.”

  He rubbed his jaw as he studied her, his leisurely inventory missing nothing, from the top of her head down to her worn running shoes. Rachel had a sudden urge to smooth the wrinkles from her New York Giants sweatshirt. An urge she managed to resist.

  “Well?” she asked when she couldn’t stand his silent scrutiny another minute.

  He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he approached within inches of her suddenly too-tense body. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about you, Rachel Hathaway.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really.” His thumb skimmed the curve of her jaw, leaving a scattering of sparks on her skin. “A whole lot. Have you thought about me?”

  “No.” Her voice was calm. She was not.

  Cooper laughed softly.

  Rachel’s heartbeat quickened.

  “It’s a good thing you’re not under oath. I’d have to run you in for perjury.”

  “Do you always arrest women who resist your advances, Sheriff?”

  “I never have before, but now that you bring it up, I’ll keep it in mind,” he said amiably. “Would you accuse me of police harassment if I kissed you, Rachel?”

  She was going to kiss him because she wanted to. Not because the warmth of his gaze was making her knees weak.

  “I suppose that would depend on what type of kiss it was.”

  He smiled, accepting the dare. “Why don’t we try it and find out?”

  As he lowered his head, Rachel felt a flutter of nerves. And excitement.

  His lips, as they moved on hers, were clever, experienced, but that wasn’t a surprise. A man as handsome as Cooper Murphy would have had plenty of opportunity to perfect his kissing technique.

  What was a surprise was that such an impossibly light touch could kindle such scintillating warmth.

  The kiss began soft and slow, a lazy exploration of tastes that only had her wanting more. As it turned deeper, hotter, needs too long untapped rose to the surface.

  It was, Rachel thought as her lips parted on a throaty moan, as if she’d spent the past eighteen months crawling across a desert, only to finally come to a sparkling clear, sweet oasis. Linking her fingers together at the back of his head, she molded her mouth to his, pouring herself into the kiss that was bringing all her body parts back to life.

  It grew hot. Wild. Reckless. Somehow she’d become trapped between her new stainless steel counter and his rock-hard body and as his hands dove beneath her sweatshirt, his roughened fingers skimming over her torso to cup her breasts, Rachel’s skin turned feverish.

  Encouraged by her ragged whimper and the way her hands had begun racing up and down his back, he thrust a strong thigh between her legs just as Toby Keith’s “Honkytonk U” blasting from Fred’s truck signaled that her work crew was back.

  “Damn.” Cooper blew out a deep, frustrated breath and slowly lifted his head, breaking the heated contact, leaving Rachel’s mind clear as glass.


  Shaken, struggling to find some connection between her spinning brain and her hand, she bent down to retrieve his Stetson that had fallen to the floor. When she thought that she could meet his eyes with some semblance of calm, she straightened.

  “Well . . .” She dragged an unsteady hand through her hair. “That was . . .”

  “Along with being a pleasant surprise, definitely something else to think about,” he said. He ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. After that shared burst of sexual combustion, the caress felt extraordinarily tender.

  “Believe it or not, I’m here on official business.” After putting the hat she’d handed him back on, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. “The town council met last night. I was asked to drop this by.”

  Rachel scanned the lines of text. “It’s a contract?”

  “With the town, to provide meals for the jail. Johnny’s always had a verbal agreement, but we’ve got a new mayor, George Masterson, owner of Masterson’s Mercantile, who’s gung ho enough to want everything in writing.

  “The price is the same as Johnny’s been getting for the past three years, but if it’s not enough, feel free to negotiate. As you can probably tell from the way he fell behind on his insurance payments, Johnny was a miserable businessman.”

  “How many prisoners are we talking about?”

  “Not that many,” he assured her. “Probably two or three a month, and most of them are ranch hands who’ve had a bit too much to drink on Saturday night. They’re usually gone by Sunday lunchtime, so we’re not talking about anything that’s going to take much time away from your work here at the café. Or make you much money,” he said apologetically.

  “Well, the price is fair, so I guess this makes it official.” She signed the paper and handed it back to him. “I’m a bona fide resident of River’s Bend.”

  He took the paper, folded it, and put it back into his pocket without looking at it. “You’ve no idea how happy that makes me.”

  Reaching out, Cooper gathered her dark hair in his hand, drawing her to him with a gentle tug.