The Sheriff's Little Matchmaker

by Carrie Nichols

  No. No. No! She had to get through this, act professional. Her job was at stake. She refused to go back home with her tail between her legs. Just imagine all the sympathetic clucking if she did. And she wasn’t sure she had another cross-country, fresh-start move in her.

  “Yes, well, moving on. I want to thank you for coming in today, Sheriff. I wanted to talk to you about Evie.” That’s it, stick to the script. Be professional.

  “Why won’t you call me—” He stopped and raised his eyebrows. “You mean you honestly asked me here to talk about Evie?”

  She blinked. “Of course. Why else?”

  “I thought maybe you’d tracked me down.” He tilted his head and studied her, his dark-eyed gaze roaming over her.

  “Absolutely not. Why would you think that?” Great. Squeaking was not the way to sound indifferent to his looks or charm. Nor did it say she was the one in charge. And she was, dammit. This was her meeting.

  “You have to ask?” His gaze landed on her mouth.

  Hands at your side. Do not touch your mouth. “That kiss was…was…”

  “Electric?”

  “I was going to say an aberration.” There. That would put him in his place, and they could get back to the matter at hand.

  “Aberration? Oh, I’m hoping that means what I think it does.” He winked.

  Is he for real? “Of course not. It means—”

  His wicked laugh interrupted her and confirmed he was teasing. And relishing every minute of her discomfort. She fisted her hands. When had she lost control of her meeting? Honestly, Sasha, how about the moment he walked into the room? “Look, we really shouldn’t be talking about that kiss. We need to forget it.”

  He gave her a side-eye look. “And how’s that working for you, cher?”

  It’s not. “It’s working great. I’d had too much to drink and my behavior was…was…”

  He cocked his head. “An aberration?”

  The man was impossible. Too handsome for his own good. And if he thought calling her cher in that low sexy tone was— Oh, who the heck am I kidding? Her panties combusted a little each time he said it.

  Determined to regain control of the situation, she stepped back, turned on her heel, grabbed the folder off her desk, and marched to the other side of the table she’d set up for this meeting. Taking her seat, she pointed to the child-sized chair on the other side of the table.

  He looked from her to the chair and back to her, quirking an eyebrow. She gave him the look she used on unruly students, the look she’d perfected her first year in the classroom.

  With a sigh, he settled his large frame—he had to be at least two or three inches over six feet—into the pint-size chair. Look at that, it worked. She straightened the folder so it was parallel to the edge of the table, then made sure the pencils and ruler resting next to it were straight. Now she could conduct her meeting…as long as she didn’t look at his mouth. Or think about that kiss. Or how he tasted like—

  “Feel better now?”

  His quietly spoken words scattered her thoughts. “Wha-what?”

  His dark-eyed gaze studied her. She knew that look, because Jimmy had told her detectives used it when they knew something their suspect didn’t. One of the few things Jimmy had ever shared with her, but she pushed that thought aside. This was no time to get sidetracked by the past. Did the sexy sheriff know how he affected her? Did he know how she’d lain awake this past week thinking about those lips, those callused fingers against her skin, the pressure of the star on that belt buckle?

  She picked up the ruler and clutched it in her fist to try to stop the urge to touch her mouth each time she looked at him. The edge of the ruler bit into her flesh.

  So much for staying in control…

  Chapter Two

  Remy clamped his mouth securely over the groan that threatened to escape. Wrong time. Wrong place. Bon Dieu, he was thirty-six years old and never once had any hot-for-teacher fantasies…until she’d picked up that damn ruler, and suddenly he was the Francis Ford Coppola of porn.

  He squirmed in the god-awful chair, and the plastic groaned in protest. Should’ve refused to sit and simply waited her out, but her nervous movements had weakened his resolve. Not that he could concentrate or make complex decisions because all the blood had left his brain and headed for parts south.

  She shifted in her seat, and he stifled the urge to jump across the table and give her another one of those soul-searing kisses. Yesterday at the convenience mart he’d been in line behind a blond woman, and his heart skipped a beat. But just like the others he’d come across, she wasn’t his kissing bandit. No, his blonde had been right here the entire time, practically under his nose—or rather, Evie’s. Even in those frumpy clothes, everything about Miss Honeycutt challenged, lured. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of attraction.

  Between his job and his daughter, most of his time was spoken for, and he wanted to do the right thing by Evie, so he was cautious about who he brought into his life.

  “Should we get started, Sheriff?” she asked in that smoky voice that had haunted his dreams.

  “Yes, let’s.” The plastic chair creaked as Remy settled in, wondering why he’d been called to the school. Thank goodness Evie had always been an outstanding student. He did his best to be both mother and father, but what made seven-year-old girls tick was a mystery. Heck, females in general were an enigma. But he was starting to realize Evie needed one in her life.

  She tapped her ruler. “Sheriff, I—”

  “Why won’t you call me Remy?” He wanted to hear his name in that slightly husky voice, watch her lips move when she said it. And that was just the start of what he wanted… No. He needed to focus. This was about Evie.

  “That might not be appropriate.”

  “How can calling me by name be inappropriate? After all, Miss Honeycutt, we’ve exchanged body fluids.” Great. So much for his focusing.

  “What?” She scowled and shook her head. “We never—”

  “I beg your pardon but we most certainly did. I think if you look it up in that dictionary you have on your desk, you’ll see saliva is a body fluid.” He wanted to sink the tip of his tongue into the cute little groove her scowl carved between her eyebrows. The chair squeaked. Since when did he find a scowl sexy?

  She set the ruler down and folded her hands on the table. “This is all very amusing, but we’re here to talk about your daughter and her schoolwork.”

  Bon Dieu avoir pitié. Good God have mercy. What was wrong with him? She may as well have cracked him across the knuckles with that ruler. Not once had he let his sex life interfere with his duties as a father. Evie was his entire world.

  “How about we start over?” He reached his hand across the table. “I’m Remy Fontenot, Evie’s dad.”

  She stared at his hand as if he had—and he blamed Evie for the word—cooties. Lifting her gaze, she studied him. He schooled his face into what he hoped was an expression of contrition.

  Finally, she took his hand and rewarded him with her sharp intake of breath. Interesting. He put that information away for later. The truce with Miss Honeycutt was temporary. Figuring her out was now as important as getting her to kiss him again. He wasn’t about to let all those sleepless nights go unpunished.

  She opened her folder and pushed some papers across the table toward him. “I’m concerned about Evie’s work of late. According to her last teacher, her effort was exemplary. I haven’t been here long, but I know Evie is an extremely bright child. However, as you can see, she’s been having difficulty. For instance, on her last two spelling tests she got every word wrong, and frankly, that takes skill. I don’t think not knowing how to spell the words is the problem.”

  His heart slammed against his chest, all thoughts of teasing Miss Honeycutt vanishing. “What is the problem?”

  “I think she may be distracted.” She adjusted the folder, lining it up with the edge of the table. “Could there be anything wrong at home? Anythi
ng new? Or any big changes that may have upset her?”

  Remy rubbed his chin. Evie had missed Charlotte after she moved out, but she’d perked up considerably once the new teacher had arrived. As a matter of fact, the most popular topic of discussion over the dinner table lately was Miss Honeycutt and cats. His imagination had conjured up an older woman with gray hair, sensible shoes, and cats. Lots of cats. Now he wished he could recall all the things Evie had told him about her teacher. But one prominent fact stuck out: Evie going on about how her new teacher wasn’t married.

  That, coupled with the teacher’s words, “She got every word wrong, and frankly, that takes skill,” had him suspicious of his precocious daughter. He’d deal with Evie when he got home, but for now he had another female who—

  “Remy?”

  His name in her husky voice brought his head up with a snap. She was peering at him from across the table. Disapproval gleamed in her sky-blue eyes as if she’d read his lascivious thoughts.

  “I asked if something at home had changed recently.” That delectable little groove reappeared between her eyebrows.

  He tapped his fingers on his thigh. “Other than Charlotte moving out, I can’t think of anything.”

  She picked up the ruler but set it down again. “That could be it. Evie might be missing her…?”

  He had some questions for Evie, but he’d worry about that when he got home. Until then the delectable Miss Honeycutt was his priority. “What’s your first name?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “We’ll trade. You tell me your first name and I’ll tell you who Charlotte is and I’ll throw in why Evie might be missing her.” He rubbed his palm over his thigh.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but that was her only response.

  “You know you want to know.” He waggled his eyebrows. A weight was lifted off him at the realization that Evie was scheming rather than flunking. He could deal with his daughter later.

  She sniffed. “I could simply ask someone.”

  “So could I.” He grinned. You’d think she was the one who’d been forced to sit in the uncomfortable chair. “But that would be admitting to someone else we were interested.”

  The clock on the wall ticked. In the parking lot, a car door slammed.

  “Sasha,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard.” He took a moment to savor victory.

  She rolled her eyes. He had a feeling she’d be the type to keep him on his toes. Why did he suddenly find that so appealing? He went for uncomplicated; and Miss Sasha Honeycutt had complicated stamped all over her lovely face.

  “Sasha,” he said, testing it. He liked her name, it suited her, and he didn’t miss the way her pupils dilated when he said it. “Charlotte is my sister. She’s lived with us since Evie was a baby, so they’re exceptionally close.”

  “And Evie’s mother?” she asked, then blushed, giving him the impression she hadn’t meant to be so bold.

  “Isn’t in her life.” He made sure to shut down that part of the conversation. He was happy to flirt, but the last thing he wanted to talk about was his divorce. “I’ve done my best, but I’m not a woman.”

  “No, you’re not,” she answered dryly.

  Instead of calling him something snarky, like Captain Obvious, she smiled, as if genuinely amused by his observation.

  His breath caught in his throat, rendering him speechless. If she had smiled at him like that the night they met, he would have personally knocked down hotel room doors until he’d located her or until his buddies in the NOPD kicked his ass out of town. As it was, he and his friends had used the power of their badges to make inquiries in nearby French Quarter hotels until the whiskey had worn off.

  “I have an idea that might help. If she finishes her work and applies herself, I can let her help me. If she is looking for extra attention, I’ll be happy to give it to her.”

  What about me? I could use some extra attention.

  “What will you have her do? Clap erasers?” He surveyed her ultra-tidy classroom and had the urge to make a mess so he could help her clean it up.

  She laughed. “We don’t do that anymore. But I can find things for her to do—on the condition she improves her grades. Hopefully a little extra attention will help her get back on track.” She stood up. “I want to thank you for coming in.”

  He scrambled out of the tiny chair and arched his aching back. His gaze landed on a framed picture on her desk, and he reached over to pick it up. He turned it around and barely managed to disguise his laugh with a cough. “Is this yours?”

  Her cheeks flushed with color, she lifted her chin. “Henry is my cat. I keep his picture here because it helps break the ice with some children.”

  Remy nodded and set the photo on her desk at an angle. “How long have you lived in Rose Creek?”

  “Forty-five days.” She marched around the table and straightened the frame.

  His fingers twitched from the need to move the objects on her desk, if only to watch her reaction. If she was going to keep him on his toes, he could return the favor. “Your accent tells me you’re not from the South.”

  “You’d be correct. I grew up in Connecticut but moved to Dannemora, New York, after college.”

  “Dannemora? Surely you weren’t incarcerated.”

  “Nothing that drastic. There’s a town there, too.” Her brows drew together, and her gaze became unfocused. “My husband was in law enforcement in the nearby town.”

  “Was? He’s no longer in law enforcement or no longer your husband?” Could Evie have been mistaken about her marital status? Please no. He held his breath, waiting for Sasha’s answer.

  “Both.” She swallowed, the muscles in her delicate throat working. “He’s dead.”

  Oh man, a police widow. Of course, some wives called themselves that while their husbands were still alive. His job didn’t exactly make for happy marriages. It’s why he liked to keep things casual in his love life.

  He wondered why Sasha had moved so far from home and a support network. Escaping bad memories? He frowned. Maybe she was the type who ran when things got rough. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged, but the corners of her pretty mouth turned down. “It was a long time ago, and it taught me something.”

  “And what was that?” Did he truly want to know? Her tone told him probably not, but it suddenly felt imperative he know everything about her.

  She gave a mirthless laugh. “I should have listened to my mother and married a nice doctor.”

  His stomach tensed as Randi’s words just before she walked out echoed in his head. I’ve decided I’ve had enough of being married to a cop. She obviously had had enough of being a mother, too.

  “Well, thank you for coming in.”

  His heart thumped. She was ending their meeting and, despite everything, he wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. He searched for something to say. Too bad he wasn’t the type of man who quoted poetry. Would that impress her or would she laugh? “You’re a long way from home. How did you end up way down here in our little town?”

  She smiled again, but this one didn’t light up those blue eyes, didn’t jolt him the way the other—genuine one—had. “My college roommate was from Rose Creek and recommended me for this job. Well, I—”

  “Join me tonight for dinner.” Even to him that sounded more like an order he’d issue to one of his deputies than an invitation.

  Something flickered across her face but disappeared before he could identify the emotion. She fingered the folder on her desk and lowered her gaze. “Thank you, but I can’t.”

  He frowned, disappointment flooding him. Can’t or won’t? He didn’t think he’d mistaken the desire in her eyes earlier, but he hadn’t missed the wariness, either. “Perhaps some other time?”

  “Thank you for coming in, Sheriff.”

  From Miss Honeycutt’s—Sasha’s—classroom Remy headed outside and blinked at the bright sunshine. He put on his sunglasses and made his
way across the parking lot. Unlocking his department SUV, he slipped into the seat, still thinking about a certain teacher. Sasha Honeycutt was definitely a mystery. One he was determined to solve. He couldn’t remember experiencing sparks like this with a woman. Nor could he recall getting shot down so quickly. Arrogant much, Fontenot?

  Ten minutes later, he parked in the driveway of the white Arcadian-style house that had belonged to his mother and stepfather until their deaths and now belonged to him. Thinking they might want the home to feel closer to their deceased parents, he’d offered the house to his siblings, Ethan and Charlotte. Neither one had wanted to live in their childhood home as adults.

  He cut the engine and stared at the familiar structure. Before she’d left, Charlotte had hung baskets of purple flowers under the eaves of the expansive front porch and had placed large planters full of the same flowers on either side of the entrance. She’d inherited their mother’s love of flowers.

  Evie burst from the black-painted front door and came flying down the steps, her straight dark hair bouncing around her face. He got out of the SUV and braced himself.

  “Papá!” She launched herself at him.

  He caught her and swung her in a circle while her giggles pealed across the yard, then scooped her up, settled her against his hip, and kissed her cheek. The days of her allowing such gestures were numbered, so he cherished these moments.

  “What’s got you so excited, ’tit ange?”

  “Did you go to my school and meet Miz Honeycutt?” She fingered his uniform tie.

  Aha. He carried her up the steps and set her back on her feet on the porch. “Yes, I did.”

  “Did you like her? Did you think she was pretty? Did you?”

  Before he could answer, Theresa, the teenage girl who babysat Evie after school, came out the door. She was busy texting and barely spared him a glance. “Bye, Mr. Fontenot, gotta run. I have a date, and I need to get ready.”

  Theresa jogged down the sidewalk, her thumbs flying over the screen of her phone. At least someone had Friday night plans. Evie looked up at him, shrugged, took his hand, and led him into the house.