Kitabı oku: «A Lawman in Her Stocking»

He’d Always Been A Sucker When It Came To Redheads And Ladies In Distress. And Brenna Montgomery Was Both—All Wrapped Up Into One Neat Little Package.

He didn’t doubt for a minute that the incident with Pete had scared her. Her pale complexion and the tremor in her voice had been quite genuine.

But he’d dealt with Brenna Montgomery’s brand of trouble before and wanted no part of it. Her kind moved in and started trying to change everything in sight. Her complaint was proof enough of that. She hadn’t even been a resident of Tranquillity two full weeks, and she was already trying to stop his uncle Pete’s friendly tradition of welcoming newcomers to town by kissing them on the cheek.

Dylan shook his head. No doubt about it. That little lady was going to be trouble with a great, big capital T. Unfortunately, Brenna Montgomery had to be the best-looking trouble he’d ever laid eyes on….

Dear Reader,

Wondering what to put on your holiday wish list? How about six passionate, powerful and provocative new love stories from Silhouette Desire!

This month, bestselling author Barbara Boswell returns to Desire with our MAN OF THE MONTH, SD #1471, All in the Game, featuring a TV reality-show contestant who rekindles an off-screen romance with the chief cameraman while her identical twin wonders what’s going on.

In SD #1472, Expecting…and In Danger by Eileen Wilks, a Connelly hero tries to protect and win the trust of a secretive, pregnant lover. It’s the latest episode in the DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS series—the saga of a wealthy Chicago-based clan.

A desert prince loses his heart to a feisty intern in SD #1473, Delaney’s Desert Sheikh by award-winning author Brenda Jackson. This title marks Jackson’s debut as a Desire author. In SD #1474, Taming the Prince by Elizabeth Bevarly, a blue-collar bachelor trades his hard hat for a crown…and a wedding ring? This is the second Desire installment in the exciting CROWN AND GLORY series.

Matchmaking relatives unite an unlikely couple in SD #1475, A Lawman in Her Stocking by Kathie DeNosky. And SD #1476, Do You Take This Enemy? by reader favorite Sara Orwig, is a marriage-of-convenience story featuring a pregnant heroine whose groom is from a feuding family. This title is the first in Orwig’s compelling STALLION PASS miniseries.

Make sure you get all six of Silhouette Desire’s hot November romances.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

A Lawman in Her Stocking
Kathie DeNosky

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHIE DENOSKY

lives in her native southern Illinois with her husband, three children and two very spoiled dogs. She writes highly sensual stories with a generous amount of humor. Kathie’s books have appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list. She enjoys going to rodeos, traveling to research settings for her books and listening to country music. She often starts her day at 2:00 a.m., so she can write without interruption, before the rest of the family is up and about. You may write to Kathie at P.O. Box 2064, Herrin, IL 62948-5264 or e-mail her at kathie@kathiedenosky.com.

To Rox, Belinda and Ginny.

Thanks for sharing the laughter and fun. Love you guys.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

One

“Sheriff? Are you in here?”

At the sound of the female voice echoing through the cavernous firehouse side of Tranquillity’s Sheriff’s Office and Fire Department, Dylan Chandler’s stomach twisted into a tight knot and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. He hated when a woman used that tone—fear tinged with indignation. In all his years as an officer of the law, he’d never seen it fail to be the prelude to big trouble.

He gripped the rafter with his gloved hand to steady himself, glanced down over his bare shoulder and stifled a groan. He’d been right in his assessment. Tranquillity’s newest resident, Brenna Montgomery, looked like she’d seen a ghost, and it appeared that she’d been thoroughly pissed off by the encounter, too.

Dylan had only seen her once before, and that had been from a distance. He’d arrived late the night she’d shown up at the town council meeting to apply for a permit to open her craft shop, so they hadn’t been formally introduced. And if her expression held any clue to the nature of her visit now, he didn’t think he’d be able to work up much enthusiasm for getting acquainted.

Maybe if he remained silent, she wouldn’t notice him dangling from a rope high above her head and wander back into the adjoining sheriff’s office. At least long enough for him to climb down and put on his shirt.

But sure as shootin’, she spotted the end of the rope dangling close to the wall, her gaze following it to his less than dignified position among the rafters of the firehouse. He groaned. Nothing left to do now but introduce himself.

“I’m Sheriff Chandler. What can I do for you, ma’am?”

He braced his feet against the wall, rappelled down to where she stood, and grabbed his shirt. Shrugging into it, he jammed the tail into his jeans as he waited for her to say something.

When she remained silent and continued to stare at him, he decided she probably thought he was some kind of a nut. Either that, or his fly was open. He made a show of glancing at his boots. His zipper was closed, but he still wore the climbing harness around his waist and upper thighs. Snug as it was, the webbed straps pulled his jeans tight and brought the male parts of his anatomy into stark relief.

“What did you need, Ms. Montgomery?” he prompted as he hastily removed the nylon straps and tossed them on the chair where his shirt had been.

The dazed look in her pretty blue eyes suddenly cleared and her cheeks colored a rosy pink. Averting her astonished gaze to the rafters, she asked, “Why on earth were you hanging from the ceiling?”

Hot damn! She’d been checking him out.

In an effort to hide the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, he used the cuff of his sleeve to buff a spot of imaginary dust from the silver star pinned to his chambray shirt. “I had to test some new climbing equipment for the Search and Rescue Team.”

She nodded, but kept silent as she glanced around the firehouse. He almost laughed out loud. It seemed the lady was having trouble looking him in the eye.

After several moments of awkward silence, Dylan placed his hand at her lower back and guided her through the door into the adjoining sheriff’s office. Walking behind the desk, he flexed his hand in an effort to stop the tingling that ran the length of his arm and spread throughout his torso. He’d probably been gripping the rope too tight, he decided. It was just plain ridiculous to think it had anything to do with feeling the warmth of her skin through the crisp fabric of her blouse.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, Ms. Montgomery?” he suggested, removing his wide-brimmed Resistol from a hook on the wall. He jammed it onto his head before turning to face her.

While he waited for her to collect her thoughts, his gaze traveled to her copper-colored hair. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she’d piled it on top of her head in that god-awful knot. It looked like a baseball plopped down in the middle of a bird’s nest.

“I want to report an elderly gentleman—” She stopped abruptly. “Sheriff, are you listening to me?”

She’d planted her fists on her shapely hips, drawing his attention to her feminine form. She expected him to listen with a distraction like that?

“Now what was that about an old man?” he managed to ask.

“I said there’s an elderly gentleman accosting women on Main Street.”

“Here? In Tranquillity? Are you sure?”

Dylan watched her cheeks flush with indignation at his dubious questions. The color highlighted the few golden freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Her big blue eyes and perfectly shaped lips made him think of long winter nights snuggled beneath the covers of his king-size bed.

He shook his head to dislodge the wayward thought. She’d said something else, but he’d missed it again. Damn! He’d better get his mind off the woman’s looks and back to the business at hand.

“What was that?”

“I told you the old guy just grabbed me and kissed me,” she stated, her patience clearly wearing thinner by the minute.

Dylan heaved a sigh as he looked over the top of her head to stare out the plate-glass window of his orderly office. What had happened to the pleasant lady who charmed the socks off the all-male town council? All the mayor and town council members had been able to talk about for the past week was what a sweet little gal that Montgomery woman was.

He shook his head. It never ceased to amaze him how a female could be so amiable when things went her way and how quarrelsome she could get when they didn’t.

Turning his attention back to the woman standing on the other side of the desk, he silently cursed. He could deal with her insistence and tone of voice easy enough. It was the way she looked that made sweat pop out on his forehead and upper lip. Why did Brenna Montgomery have to be so darned…cute?

But what was up with her clothes? he wondered when her long skirt rustled. Her white, ruffled collar went clear up to her chin and her black skirt just barely cleared the floor. Dressed as she was, she reminded him of the schoolmarms in the old, western movies he’d watched as a kid.

“That’s all there was to it?” he finally asked. “Just a simple kiss?”

“Wasn’t that enough?” When he remained silent, she looked incredulous. “Surely you don’t think I’d make up something like this?”

“No.”

His stomach did a back flip. It didn’t matter how her hair was styled, what kind of clothes she wore, or how kissable her lips looked; he’d always been a sucker when it came to redheads and ladies in distress. And Brenna Montgomery was both—all wrapped up into one neat little package.

Brenna felt a shiver slither up her spine and her tendency to crave chocolate whenever she became nervous rushed forward as the sheriff’s brilliant, green gaze narrowed on her upturned face. She’d been so shocked to find the man shirtless and dangling from the firehouse ceiling, she hadn’t noticed anything about him beyond his various muscle groups.

And what impressive, well-defined muscle groups they were, too. Bulging biceps, a ridged stomach and all that masculine bare skin had taken her by surprise. But the sight of the webbed harness pulling the denim tight across his impressive attributes had struck her absolutely speechless.

Sheriff Dylan Chandler certainly wasn’t the average, run-of-the-mill, civil servant. In fact, she couldn’t find one darned thing average or ordinary about the man.

His badge certified he was supposed to be one of the good guys. But didn’t they wear white hats? His cowboy hat was outlaw-black, and combined with the lock of ebony hair hanging low on his forehead and the five o’clock shadow covering his lean cheeks, he appeared a little wild, relatively dangerous and totally fascinating.

Irritated with herself for giving the man’s rugged good looks and bulging muscle mass a second thought, she took a deep breath, shored up her courage and asked, “What do you intend to do about this?”

Dylan pushed back the brim of his Resistol with his thumb, then folded his arms across his chest. He’d stopped several barroom bawls before they ever got started with that narrow-eyed stare he’d just given her. And for a second or two, he’d thought she might back down. But it was clear she wasn’t intimidated by him. Nope. Not even a little bit.

He almost smiled. For the first time in six years, his bluff had been called. And by a cute little redhead with freckles, no less. Amazing!

“Do you want to file a formal complaint, Ms. Montgomery?”

When she carefully avoided his gaze, he decided that he might not be losing his touch after all.

“No, I’m not going to file a complaint,” she said, brushing imaginary lint from her skirt. “The old guy didn’t exactly threaten me.” She squared her shoulders and finally met his gaze head-on. “But I don’t want it to happen again. I found it very frightening to have a total stranger grab me in a bear hug and kiss me. Even if it was on the cheek.”

“I understand, Ms. Montgomery. Did the old gent hand you a rose just before he kissed you?” When she nodded, Dylan grinned. “I have a good idea who you’re talking about, and believe me, you were in no danger. I’ll ask him about it, but it’s my bet you’ve just been officially welcomed to town by Pete Winstead.”

“I don’t care who he is,” she said. “The man scared the bejeebers out of me.”

Dylan frowned. “It was only a little peck on the cheek.”

“Yes, but you have no idea how frightening something like that can be for a woman.” She seemed to be gathering a full head of steam as she stared at him, and the heightening color on her pale cheeks fascinated the hell out of him. “Where I come from, his actions might even be considered an…” She paused as if searching for the right word, then glaring at him, finished, “…an assault.”

Dylan couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud. “Did the old geezer say anything during this alleged assault?”

The glare she sent his way was so heated it could have fried bacon. “Yes, but I was so frightened, I didn’t understand what he said.” She wrinkled her cute little nose. “Besides, he smelled like beer.”

Dylan’s grin instantly disappeared. “You have something against a man drinking a beer after a hard day’s work?”

“Well…no—”

“Then let me clue you in on the way things are around these parts, Ms. Montgomery. Nearly every man in town stops by Luke’s Bar and Grill after work for a beer and the latest gossip. It’s a tradition—drink a beer, swap a story or two and go home.” Dylan shrugged. “Pete’s no different than the rest of us. He goes to Luke’s regularly. But I’ve never known him to drink more than two beers at one sitting.”

“I realize this is a tight-knit, little community and, believe me, I want to be a part of it just like everyone else.” Her ankle-length skirt rustled like a bed of dry leaves when she tapped her toe. “But Pete Winstead’s drinking habits aren’t the issue here. When a stranger grabs a woman and kisses her, it can be very frightening. It’s your job to prevent things like that from happening.”

Dylan’s arms dropped to his sides, his hands flexing in frustration. He was good at his job and he didn’t need a high-strung, big-city female telling him how to do it. He’d had that happen once, he wasn’t going to allow it to happen a second time.

He leaned forward and braced his hands on the polished surface of the desk. “I said I’d talk to him. Now, is there anything else you feel the need to complain about, Ms. Montgomery?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good if I did, now would it, Sheriff?” She’d managed to make his title sound like a dirty word.

Before he had a chance to respond, she turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her so hard that the plate-glass window rattled ominously.

Shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, Dylan silently watched her march across the street, gather the yards of her ridiculous skirt into a bunch around her knees and stuff it all into an aging Toyota.

He didn’t doubt for a minute that the incident with Pete had scared the hell out of her. Her pale complexion and the tremor in her voice when she walked into the firehouse had been quite genuine.

But he’d dealt with Brenna Montgomery’s brand of trouble before and wanted no part of it. Her kind moved in and started trying to change everything in sight. Her complaint was proof enough of that. She hadn’t even been a resident of Tranquillity two full weeks and she was already trying to stop his uncle Pete’s friendly tradition.

Dylan shook his head. No doubt about it. That little lady was going to be trouble with a great big, capital T. Unfortunately, even in those weird clothes Brenna Montgomery had to be the best-looking trouble he’d ever laid eyes on.

And he had a feeling if she stayed in town, Tranquillity would never be the same.

“Get a grip, Brenna. The sheriff’s probably right about old Deke,” Abigail Montgomery said.

“Pete,” Brenna corrected her grandmother. “The old man’s name is Pete.”

Abigail waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. I’m not interested in the old goat. I want to know more about the hunk wearing the badge.”

Brenna sighed. She and her grandmother had been down this road before. “What’s to tell? He listened to my complaint, then gave me his biased opinion.”

Abigail’s bright orange curls danced as she shook her head. “You know what I mean. What color are his eyes and hair? How tall is he? Is he a super stud or a major dud?”

Exasperated, Brenna stared at the woman. Since her retirement a little over a year ago as a high school guidance counselor, Abigail had made it her sole purpose in life to find Brenna a husband. She’d even gone so far as to sell the house she and Brenna had shared since the death of Brenna’s parents ten years ago to move to Tranquillity, Texas, with Brenna in order to keep up the pressure.

“Granny, every time I meet a man, we go through this same inquisition. Aren’t you getting a little tired of it?”

“Brenna Elaine Montgomery, you’re almost twenty-six years old and the only thing you’ve had that even resembles a serious relationship was a college fling with that jerk, Tim Miller.”

“Tom Mitchell,” Brenna said, making a face. “And he taught me a valuable lesson—men use women, then cast them aside when they’re done.”

“If you’ll remember, I told you from the beginning he reminded me of a weasel. And when he talked you into helping him get through law school, I knew I was right.” Abigail shook her head. “But don’t judge all men by that loser.”

Brenna felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Well, I haven’t seen a man yet who could tempt me into finding out if my first assessment was wrong.”

Abigail gave her a knowing look. “Maybe old Devin—”

“Dylan.”

“Whatever. Maybe he’ll prove you wrong.” Her grandmother’s gray eyes twinkled merrily. “You know, that’s probably why you’re so uptight all the time. You need a man like Darwin in your life and a little hanky-panky to help you unwind.”

“Granny!”

“I just call it the way I see it.” Abigail pushed the sleeves of her hot-pink, nylon warm-up jacket to her elbows and leaned forward in the ladder-back chair. “Now, tell me about Sheriff Chancellor. You know I never get tired of talking about good-looking men.”

“His name is Chandler.”

“Whatever.”

Brenna frowned. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.” Abigail winked. “I’ll bet my new Reeboks this guy is a real stud. Probably better-looking than Mel Gibson and muscled up like Ronald Schwasenhoofer.”

“Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

“Whatever.”

Brenna rose from the table to place her plate in the dishwasher. She was only delaying the inevitable. Abigail Montgomery could have been a top-notch interrogator for the CIA.

“Just how did you arrive at your conclusion that the sheriff had to be something special?”

“I didn’t deal with teenagers for over forty years and not learn to recognize a hedge job when I see one,” Abigail shot back. “You think he’s a hunk.”

“I do not.”

“Do too. Now spill it.”

Brenna threw up her hands, as much in exasperation as in surrender. “He’s tall—”

“How tall?” Abigail pressed.

“I’d say he’s a little over six feet tall and has black hair and green eyes.” When her grandmother frowned at the lack of information, Brenna tried to sound indifferent. “He looks to be somewhere in his early thirties. Now, that’s all I know about the man. And all I care to know.”

“Uh-oh! He must have a spare tire around his waist.” Abigail shook her head. “Don’t worry. The way you cook, the extra weight will drop off the poor man like leaves from a tree.”

Brenna ignored the remark about her lack of cooking skills as she remembered the sheriff’s assortment of lean muscles. Her mouth went dry. “His stomach is actually quite flat.”

“No teeth?”

A picture of his devastating smile flitted through Brenna’s mind. “He has beautiful teeth.”

“Got a real honker, huh?”

“Granny, will you stop?” Brenna placed her hands on her hips as she fought back a smile. “He doesn’t have a big nose. And even if he did, I doubt that it would detract from his good looks.”

“Ah-ha!” Abigail cried triumphantly. “Now we’re getting down to the nitty gritty. He’s that good-looking, huh?” She gave Brenna a wink and a wicked grin. “I’ll bet he’s a hell of a kisser, too.”

“Granny—”

“Are you going to need the car tonight?” Abigail asked, suddenly.

Dazed at how fast her grandmother had changed subjects, Brenna shook her head. “No, I can walk to class. Why?”

“I wanted to drive down to Alpine with one of my new friends.”

“That will be nice,” Brenna said, glad her grandmother had made friends so soon after their move to Tranquillity. “What do you have planned?”

Abigail’s grin turned wicked. “We’re going cruising for a stud muffin for you. Any preferences?”

“Granny, please don’t start in again with the you-need-a-husband routine.”

“Oh, lighten up,” Abigail said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just going to a movie. Want me to drop you off at the town hall?”

Brenna breathed a sigh of relief. She was never quite sure when the woman was serious and when she wasn’t. “No, thanks. It’s not far, and I need the exercise.”

Her grandmother shook her head. “I can’t figure out why you’re so concerned about staying in shape if you aren’t interested in attracting a man.”

“Granny—”

“Okay. I’ll shut up for now,” Abigail said, glancing at her Mickey Mouse watch. “Time to pick up my friend.” She propelled herself from the chair and started into the living room. Turning back she shook her finger at Brenna. “Just remember I’d like to have a great-grandchild before I’m too senile to appreciate it. And that Sheriff Antler—”

“Chandler.”

“Whatever,” Abigail said, waving her hand. “He sounds like a great prospect for the father.”

With that parting shot, Abigail breezed from the room in a flurry of hot-pink nylon and orange curls, leaving Brenna to wonder what sort of ridiculous fantasies her grandmother would start weaving about the town’s insufferable sheriff.

Enjoying the mild, southwest Texas weather as she walked the short distance to the center of town, Brenna admired the rugged Davis Mountains a few miles away. Draped in the purpled shadows of early evening, the view was breathtaking and she forgot all about Abigail’s matchmaking attempts as she focused on the nervous anticipation filling every cell in her body.

She took a deep breath to help settle the butterflies in her stomach and tamped down the need for something chocolate. She was going to do this. She was going to dig down deep inside and find the courage to share her love of handmade crafts with the women of Tranquillity. It was a big part of her plan to reinvent herself and she wasn’t going to wimp out now. Besides, Tom had told her several times in the course of their four-year relationship that her dream of starting her own business and teaching Folk Art was silly and unprofitable. Brenna clenched her teeth. She had come a long way in the year since Tom decided that he had more in common with a woman in his law class than he had with her. But she still had a few things left to accomplish. She had every intention of proving him wrong about her teaching Folk Art, as well as his prediction that she’d never break her habit of reaching for something chocolate whenever she became nervous or upset.

By the time she reached the community room in the town hall, more than two dozen women milled around the display she’d set up earlier in the day, while others had already found a place for themselves at the work tables. Thrilled by the number of people in attendance, Brenna smiled as she walked into the room. Her only regret was that Tom wasn’t around so she could tell him how wrong he’d been.

“My dear, this is the best thing that’s happened to Tranquillity in decades,” Mrs. Worthington said, stepping forward. “I just know you’ll help add culture to our little community. It’s something I’ve sorely missed since I married Myron and moved from the East.”

Brenna smiled. Cornelia Worthington was the mayor’s wife, chairwoman of the Beautification Society and self-appointed matriarch of Tranquillity. Her approval could make or break Brenna’s classes.

“Thank you, Mrs. Worthington,” she said slowly, searching for the most tactful way to explain that Folk Art painting wasn’t in the same category with Rembrandt or van Gogh. “But I’m afraid this class will fall short of the benefits you have in mind. It’s considered more of a craft than fine art.”

“Oh, what a dear,” Mrs. Worthington said, turning to the ladies behind her. “She has such a modest attitude for someone so immensely talented. I’m so glad I discovered her and persuaded her to instruct this class.”

Brenna barely managed to keep her mouth from dropping open. She practically had to beg the woman for the use of the room, since it was overseen by the Beautification Society.

“Ladies, if you’ll please take your seats, we’ll get started,” she said, shaking her head and walking to the front of the room.

“Mildred, what took you so long?” she heard Mrs. Worthington call to a late arrival.

“My car broke down on the way home from work,” the woman said, sounding flustered. “Fortunately, Dylan passed by on his way to the poker game over at Luke’s and offered me a ride.”

“Dylan!” Mrs. Worthington’s voice turned to syrup. “It’s simply marvelous to see a man take an interest in the arts.”

At the mention of the sheriff’s name, Brenna cringed and slowly turned around. Sure enough, there the man stood, leaning against the door frame, a self-assured smile plastered on his masculine lips. His confidence grated on her nerves and reminded her of their earlier confrontation.

But they were on her turf now. Things were going to be vastly different from the first time they’d met.

Dylan swallowed hard when he noticed Brenna moving toward him. He was having the devil of a time accepting the way she looked now, as opposed to earlier. If he’d thought she was cute then, in that hideous, old-fashioned get-up, he’d sadly underestimated her attractiveness.

He no longer had to wonder about the curves hidden by yards of fabric, or the length of her hair. Hell’s bells, he almost wished he did. It would definitely be easier on him than the reality he faced now.

Her light blue shirt loosely caressed high, full breasts, while her faded jeans outlined nicely shaped legs and hips that swayed slightly as she walked. Her copper hair, shot with gold, brushed her waist and looked so soft, his fingers burned to thread themselves in the silken waves.

“Dylan, dear, you look a little feverish.” Mildred patted his arm sympathetically. “Are you feeling all right?”

Hell no! He felt like he’d just been run down by a herd of stampeding longhorns. He had to swallow hard to get words to form in his suddenly dry mouth. “Uh…sure. I’m fine.”

He quickly looked around to see if anyone else detected his discomfort. Noting several curious stares, Dylan cursed his luck.

The room boasted the largest collection of gossips he’d seen since arresting Jed Phelps for getting drunk and crashing Corny’s Tupperware party. And that had been three years ago. If the old hens thought there was even a remote possibility that he found Brenna Montgomery attractive, they’d be like sharks in a feeding frenzy.

He glanced over at the woman standing beside him. Mildred Bruner was the county clerk and responsible for issuing all the marriage licenses in the county. It was common knowledge she was an incurable romantic and carried her book of forms everywhere she went just hoping someone would stop her and ask to apply for a ticket to wedded bliss.

He shifted from one foot to the other. If he didn’t leave, and damned quick, Mildred would start digging around in that suitcase of a purse she carried, trying to find her license book, and by sunrise the rest of the busybodies would have everyone in town taking bets on when the wedding would take place. He silently ran through every curse word he knew. He wasn’t looking for a wife, and even if he was, Brenna Montgomery wasn’t likely to ever be a candidate.

“I’ll be over at Luke’s if you need a ride home, Mildred.”

His cheeks burned as he watched several of the women smile knowingly. If they hadn’t noticed he was having a problem before, they sure as hell would now. His voice hadn’t sounded that uneven since puberty.

“You aren’t staying for class, Sheriff?” Brenna asked when he headed for the door.

Dylan stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn’t believe his ears. Brenna Montgomery wanted him in her painting class about as much as a poor, lost soul wanted to see a heat wave in hell.

He turned to face her, his scowl deepening. “No.”

“That’s a shame. Some of the most talented craftspeople I know are men.”

She took a step in Dylan’s direction. He took a step back. What was the woman up to now?

She thoughtfully tilted her head, her blue eyes dancing. “Of course, some men lack the patience and coordination it takes to learn the techniques.”

Her challenge punched him right square in his ego. When she took another step forward, Dylan stood his ground and reaching out, took her hand in his. “Oh, I’m sure I could master any technique, Ms. Montgomery. And I’m very patient.”