She smiled at the idea. It was a perfectly reasonable thing for a tourist in a strange town to do. Even if said tourist could tell full well the town was too small to offer public transportation. What would be the harm? She’d get a nice close look and see for herself if the reviewers were right about him being all that. Not that she cared about small-town sheriffs, even if they did know how to fill out a uniform.
She picked up her pace, bumping along on the uneven sidewalk, watching more trucks coming down Main Street as if in a parade. They seemed to be headed to the same place, and though she wouldn’t admit it, it was fun seeing all those cowboys pile out as each vehicle parked at the curb. Some of the men wore hats, some didn’t. All were dressed in jeans and Western-cut shirts, and sported cowboy boots.
A few of them spotted her and gave her quick smiles, but they were more interested in the blondes artfully lounging near the sedan. Alana didn’t take offense or give it a second thought. The women had dressed the part of tourists on the prowl, and she hadn’t. Nor would she. She never flirted, acted coy or did any of those things. Even if she wanted to play the helpless, eye-batting, oh-aren’t-you-a-big-strong-man game just for fun, she’d be really bad at it.
She crossed the street and saw the sign for the Watering Hole. Every time the door opened, country music blasted onto the sidewalk. Not only that, but the acrid smell of smoke was enough to choke a horse, and she was still half a block away. Guess she’d skip that place.
Too late, she realized she shouldn’t have crossed yet. Groups of cowboys gathered outside the bar, smoking, talking or just plain gawking at the three women. Next door was a bank, with people coming and going, and in general, crowding the sidewalk.
The sheriff’s office was only three doors down, so Alana stayed her course, weaving her way through the bottleneck.
“You staying at the Sundance?”
The gravelly voice sounded as if it came from behind her. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, finding only an alley that seemed to lead to a dirt parking lot. The cowboys in front of the bar were talking among themselves; a couple of them were flirting with the women. No one paid her any attention.
“Over here.”
She turned the other way and saw a tall, trim, older man with graying hair leaning against a post. His cowboy hat was pulled too low for her to see his eyes, and though the corners of his thin lips slowly lifted, it wasn’t a particularly friendly smile.
“Yes,” she said, noting that his boots were newer, expensive looking, and he was better dressed than the others. “Are you affiliated with the Sundance?”
His smirk turned a shade nasty. “Hell, no.”
“Ah, then never mind.”
“Sorry, miss…” He put out a weathered hand. “Didn’t mean anything by that.”
She stared at his fingers, brown and wrinkled from the sun, unsure what he expected from her.
After a long, awkward moment, he shoved both hands in his pockets. “You need help with anything? Directions, maybe?” He was showing lots of teeth now, suddenly a picture of charm, his voice silky smooth. “How about a drink?”
Her lips parted but her voice failed her. Dear God, this man could not be hitting on her. He was old enough to be her father. Helplessly, she cast a gaze at the cute young cowboys several yards away. They were focused on the blondes.
“No, thank you,” she said finally, and flexed her fingers. They’d started to ache from pulling all her stuff. “I was just headed for the sheriff’s office.”
“Is there a problem?”
Her patience slipped, and she glanced pointedly at her watch. “I have to go. Thanks for the offer.” She felt for the baggage handle, finding nothing but a brisk breeze that made her pull the lapels of her blazer together.
He lightly touched her arm. “You have a ride to the Sundance?”
She wouldn’t go with him, that was for sure. “Excuse me, please.”
A loud noise came from inside the bar—of glass shattering, someone yelling. It sounded as if an entire tray of drinks had crashed to the floor. Everyone’s attention jerked toward the open door, and one of the cowboys hollered out something to Sheila, presumably a waitress, who responded with a salty curse.
Alana smiled and again reached behind her for her luggage handle. Again all she found was air. She jerked around.
And blinked.
What the hell? She made a complete circle. Her suitcase, her purse, her laptop…they were all gone. That couldn’t be. Her hand had been resting on the handle just a moment ago. This was crazy.
She spun around again, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. A red truck was parked at the curb a couple feet away. She glanced in the bed, then checked the pickup parked close behind it. Panicked, she turned and looked up the alley, but there was nothing there.
“Dammit!”
This cannot be happening.
Frantic, she scanned the crowd, spotting the older man who’d talked to her walking in the direction she’d come from. “Sir, wait.”
He ignored her and kept going, but then her voice barely carried above the music coming from the bar.
In fact, no one seemed to have heard her except a cowboy in a tan shirt, who swung her an inquiring look.
“That man,” she said, pointing and hurrying toward the older gentleman, pushing her way through the crowd.
“Mr. Gunderson?” The cowboy frowned, but just when she thought he would ignore her, too, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Gunderson.”
The older man stopped, his posture erect and imposing, and he slowly turned around, his mouth a hard, thin line. He obviously wasn’t someone who appreciated being summoned, and judging by the sudden tension radiating from the crowd, it didn’t happen very often.
She felt a dozen pairs of curious eyes boring into her as she approached him. “My bags,” she said. “They were right next to me while I was talking to you.”
With his forefinger, he pushed back the brim of his hat. He had icy, piercing blue eyes, almost lifeless. He might’ve been an attractive man at one time, but he had a hard, cynical look that left her cold. “What about them?”
“They’re gone. Did you see anything? Someone had to have come up behind me while we were talking….”
“Can’t say that I did.” He gave her a cool smile, then started to walk away.
She caught his arm. “You must have.”
He peered purposefully at her restraining hand, shook it off and said, “I believe I just told you I didn’t.”
Was he being a bastard because she’d turned him down for a drink? She tensed her shoulders, tempted to hurl an accusation at him. If he hadn’t seen anything, then maybe he was involved. “Really?”
His eyebrows rose slightly in challenge. “Really.”
Damn him. “All right.” She adjusted her lapels, keeping her gaze level with his, furious that her hands shook a little. But only because she was angry and helpless, and she really would’ve loved to knock this guy down a few pegs. “The name’s Gunderson, right? I’ll need it for the police report.”
His mouth twitched into an oily smile. “Wallace Gunderson. Everyone in Blackfoot Falls knows me.”
“I bet they do,” she said sweetly, her eyes telling him a different story. “I imagine we’ll be speaking again soon.”
“Looking forward to it.” He touched the brim of his hat and strolled across the street toward a big luxury SUV.
She muttered a strong, unflattering oath, and spun toward the sheriff’s office.
* * *
“FOR GOD’S SAKE, ROY, THE guy’s got over forty years on you. How the hell could you let him get away?” Noah yanked off his hat and pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “Go make sure his truck is still there. Block it off if you have to.”
“Cripes, boss, you know that old son of a gun is as wily as a fox staking out a henhouse. The darn varsity kids were out making a nuisance and, well, it could’ve happened to any of us.”
<
br /> “Just go. Avery shouldn’t be driving.”
His face flushed, the deputy swung open the door just as a woman was about to enter the office. She was tall, taller than Roy, who muttered an apology for nearly running her over.
She seemed unfazed as she slipped past him and met Noah’s eyes. “Are you the sheriff?”
Damn it all to hell. Not another one. Those women from the Sundance didn’t quit. This made three in two days, barging in, pretending she needed help with one thing or another. He’d begged Rachel to pull the silly reviews and pictures of him off her website, but she claimed they were good for business. He was gonna have to start working on his computer skills so he could hack in and do it himself.
“I’m Sheriff Calder.” He settled his Stetson back on his head and discreetly got a look at her high heels. She had to reach six feet in those damn things. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to report a theft. It just happened. If you hurry you can probably still—”
He held up a hand. “Slow down.”
Her brown eyes flared with temper, then narrowed. She pointed at the door, and not in a flirty way. Maybe she wasn’t faking. “While you’re taking your sweet time, someone is getting away with my things.”
“Which would be?” he drawled, aware of his condescending tone, but she’d pissed him off. Taking his sweet time. Shit. And if this really was another theft…great. Just what he needed. The whole county was going to hell. “You’ll have to describe what was stolen.”
“Everything.” She took a quick breath. “My luggage, laptop, purse…oh, God, my iPhone and wallet. Everything.” She briefly closed her eyes, her long dark lashes sweeping the tops of her pale cheeks.
Noah took in her tailored, navy blue slacks, the expensive-looking blazer over a cream-colored blouse buttoned clear up to her throat. “You staying at the Sundance?”
“The what?” She gave her head a small shake. “The Sundance…yes, but I haven’t checked in yet. I only just arrived in town.”
She wasn’t the typical Sundance guest. In fact, she didn’t seem the type interested in staying at a dude ranch. More the high-powered, corner-office type used to getting what she wanted. The kind of domineering woman he’d quickly tired of in Chicago.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her pale pink lips, and she looked helplessly toward the door. By the time she turned to him again, she was back in control and glaring. “Why are you just standing there?”
“Look, I know you’re upset, but I need more information. Why don’t you have a seat?” He pulled out the worn black vinyl chair, and she eyed it as though it might bite her in the ass. “Have a cup of coffee while I take down some—”
“Listen, Sheriff, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but—”
“Glad we understand each other.” He sat in his own chair, behind his desk, and wasn’t surprised when he met her eyes and found they were shooting daggers. “Where did the theft occur?”
She had a wide, generous mouth, which pulled thin with annoyance. “Near the bar,” she said tightly.
“Were you inside?”
“No, I haven’t been drinking,” she said, her hoity-toity tone indicating she wouldn’t step foot in a place like Sadie’s.
“Ma’am, that wasn’t the question. You could be hiding a flask under that jacket for all I care.”
Her lips parted and she blinked. Then she startled him by grabbing her lapels and pulling open her blazer. “No flask, no nothing. That’s my point. Everything. Is. Gone.”
He wouldn’t say “nothing.” She had a nice rack. Noah cleared his throat, forced his gaze away from her breasts and back to the blank incident report he’d pulled out of his desk drawer. “Please describe for me what happened.”
She heaved an annoyed sigh, and he couldn’t help but glance surreptitiously at her chest again. Her blouse was made out of some kind of light silk and he saw that her bra was lacy…. “I was on my way here, rolling my luggage behind me, and just after I passed the bar—”
“Let’s back up. You were on your way here, to my office?”
“Yes, I, um…” She flushed slightly, started to avert her gaze, then lifted her chin and looked at him dead-on. “I was coming to find out how I could get to the Sundance.”
He frowned. She could’ve asked anyone for directions. “Why take your luggage out of the car?”
“I don’t have a car. My ride left me at the edge of town.”
That made no sense. “Why didn’t you go straight to the Sundance?”
“What does that have to do with anything? I was robbed on your main street. You think I stole my own property?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t. Just trying to get a clear picture.” He offered her a conciliatory smile. It appeared she really was a victim, and he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion the moment she’d walked in. He’d gotten too used to the flimsy excuses the Sundance ladies had been throwing his way, trying to get his attention. “I haven’t asked your name.”
“Alana.”
He waited for her last name.
“Look, Sheriff, I don’t understand how this could’ve happened in broad daylight. I only looked away for a moment. In New York I wouldn’t dare, but I figured in a small town like this…” She shrugged her slim shoulders, then slumped back with a sigh. “I understand it was my error. I should’ve been more careful.”
“You’re from New York, then?”
She hesitated, a flicker of alarm in her eyes that also made no sense. “Yes.”
“I didn’t catch your last name.”
There it was again—that same wariness that had her shoulders tensing and straightening. After a long pause she said, “Richardson.”
He slowly printed her name on the report, his cop’s sixth sense on full alert. “How did you hear about the Sundance?”
She leaned forward. “Could it be someone playing a prank? I saw kids on the street earlier. Crime can’t be much of a problem around here.”
“You said you passed the Watering Hole?”
“That’s right.”
“Today is payday for most of the ranch hands. They were swarming outside the place, last I saw.”
“Yes, there were quite a few cowboys hanging around.”
Noah stopped writing and stared at her. “And that’s where your things disappeared?”
She nodded. “An older gentleman stopped me, and it happened while I was talking to him. That’s why I looked away.”
“Did you get his name?”
“Gunderson.”
Noah threw down his pen and leaned back. “What did Gunderson want with you?”
“He asked if I was staying at the Sundance. And then…” She made a face, appeared to reconsider what she’d been about to say. “I think he was just being nosy.”
Noah reckoned she was probably right about that. Gunderson had always had it in for the McAllisters, but since they’d opened the dude ranch and were raking in money, he’d been especially ill-tempered. Their success meant they were unlikely to sell him that strip of land he wanted so badly.
“All those men out there…they would’ve noticed you,” Noah said. “Someone had to have seen something.”
“They were too busy to notice me,” she said quietly.
“I doubt that.”
Her startled expression and piercing stare made him reexamine his words. No, he hadn’t said anything wrong, but maybe his tone could’ve been more professional. Hell, he hadn’t consciously been thinking about what he’d glimpsed hiding behind that jacket…. But the notion that he might’ve blurred the line between the office and his personal feelings didn’t sit well.
“Trust me,” she said finally, her lips lifting in a faint smile. “There were three women who had the men’s full attention.”
Noah knew who she meant, but that didn’t preclude the boys from checking her out. Yeah, the young cowhands in the area tended to go for that sort of flash, at least since the Sundance had been drawing in the l
adies.
The woman facing him was different, one of those understated beauties. The longer you studied the high cheekbones, the nice skin, her generous mouth, the prettier she got. He knew most of those boys hanging out at Sadie’s this afternoon, and they’d looked, all right. Noah could guarantee her that.
He picked up the pen again, his gaze catching on the fax sitting on the corner of his desk. Late twenties, tall, attractive, brown hair, brown eyes.
His gaze shot back to Alana Richardson.
Well, hell.
3
BETWEEN THE POINTLESS questions and phone calls he’d answered since they started, the report was taking forever. And with each passing moment, life as she knew it was slipping away. The only compensation for this monumental hassle was that Alana liked the way the sheriff held his pen. Or more accurately, she liked his hands. Big-boned and tanned, with a light sprinkling of fine hair across the backs of his fingers. His uniform shirtsleeves were rolled back a couple times, displaying broad wrists and muscular forearms.
He stopped writing, and she lifted her gaze to find his mesmerizing blue-green eyes studying her face. Her breathing faltered for a second. The sheriff really was an extraordinarily good-looking man. Even better in person than in the photos.
She ordered herself to inhale slowly and focus on the problem. Oh, God, that’s why she was so preoccupied with the sheriff. Every time she let herself consider the ramifications of losing her belongings, she thought she’d pass out. “Yes?”
“Other than Gunderson, did you talk to anyone?”
“No. I don’t believe so.”
He returned his gaze to the report and frowned slightly, pushing a hand through his longish, sun-streaked brown hair. It was thick, just like his lashes, which did nothing to distract from the rugged, outdoor look he had going on. Part of her job was to notice that sort of detail. Like how his biceps bunched and strained the material of his tan shirt as his hand slowly slid through his hair and then paused at the back of his neck.
No wonder those women had mentioned him in their reviews of the Sundance. Alana would sign him up for a print ad in a hot second. Or any kind of ad, for that matter. She couldn’t imagine what she looked like at this point. Her poor limp hair needed work in the best of situations, and after that long plane ride, then Harvey’s rust-mobile… Most of her makeup must have melted off by now. Hoping for a peek in her compact mirror, she glanced down for her purse.
Own the Night Page 3