One
“I got five bucks and a bottle of Bud that says she won’t stick around two days.”
Jeet Hammond lounged a fat elbow on the counter of Harper’s Doughnut Shop and pointed his coffee cup at the long-legged brunette sashaying past the picture window. Disinterested, Sheriff Tate McIntyre watched the woman flick in and out of view between the signs plastering the plate glass. He hadn’t a clue who his deputy was talking about and he didn’t care. Tate had neither the time nor the heart to worry about females.
With a good-natured grin he reminded his deputy of what everyone in the county already knew. “No betting on beer, Jeet. You know I don’t drink.” Few people understood the reasons why.
“I know, I know, and you don’t gamble, either.” Jeet’s fleshy face wrinkled in mischief. “But I still do.”
Tate laughed and pushed back the remains of Clare Harper’s almost-famous pecan pie. Then the serendipitous Oklahoma wind teased the woman’s shapely legs, lifting the edges of a blue-flowered skirt ever so slightly, and he realized who she was. Suddenly, the pecan pie felt as heavy on his stomach as a watermelon. He hadn’t known she was back in town.
Jeet, his head tilted in a comical leer, stared at the billowing skirt and chanted prayerfully, “Higher, higher. Dang, but she has the prettiest legs I ever seen. No wonder them fancy folks out West pay money to take pictures of ’em.”
“If your wife heard you talking about beer and some woman’s legs at the same time you’d be sleeping in my spare room again.”
Jeet had the grace to look guilty, though he continued to follow the brunette’s progress until she was out of sight.
“You got that right.” He sighed blissfully. “But Tate, old buddy, even a tough case like you has to be affected when Julianna Reynolds shows up in Blackwood after all this time.”
Tate shifted uncomfortably and concentrated on his warm, sweet coffee. He was affected all right, but not in the way Jeet had in mind. Ten years ago when Julee had walked away from him on those gorgeous gams she’d taken something he’d never gotten back—his last twenty dollars and a sizable chunk of his heart. He didn’t intend that anyone would ever hurt him that way again.
“If she was so successful, how come we never seen no pictures of her?” Jeet craned his head toward the window.
“She’s a leg model, Jeet. It’s hard to recognize a person by her legs.”
He didn’t add that he’d recognized Julee every time he’d seen those long perfect legs in a commercial or a magazine. If he thought about it, he could still feel the smooth silk of her skin against his. But he darn sure wasn’t going to think about it. Not now. Not ever.
“Some folks said it was her in that movie last year about the ballet dancer.”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“Man, that billboard out by the interstate almost made me run off the road the first time I seen it. I bet that was her.”
It was Julee, all right. Tate had driven out to that billboard and set up a driver’s license check right next to it. Sat up there half the night staring at those legs, writing tickets, and reliving the one memory that haunted him.
A scalding sip of coffee washed down the bitterness that rose every time Tate remembered the woman he’d loved enough to die for. He hadn’t been good enough for her. He’d known it then and he knew it now. She deserved a better life, and they’d both known an illegitimate mixed-blood troublemaker from the wrong side of the tracks couldn’t give it to her. With an annoyed grunt, he clanged the white mug onto the saucer.
Tossing several bills on the table, Tate rose. “Come on, Jeet. Lunch is over and we’ve got plenty of work to do.”
His portly deputy scraped back from the table, hitched up droopy pants, and followed. “Wonder what she’s doing here after all this time.”
That’s what Tate was wondering, too.
Julianna Reynolds was on a mission.
With a purposeful swing of her famous legs, she strode down the sunny main street toward the Blackwood Municipal Building. With every step nearer the man who held her whole world in his hands, Julianna fretted. He was married, happy, successful. She’d planned never to interfere in the life he’d chosen, but desperate times meant desperate measures. Somehow she’d get his cooperation without ever revealing the real reason for her sudden reappearance in Blackwood. She owed him that much.
The huge clock on the grounds of Evans Funeral Home read a little past noon. She blanched at the grim reminder of death, the terrible vulture hovering over her day and night. Death was her enemy, creeping forward with each passing moment. Only the grace of God and modern technology held the monster at bay for now.
The warm spring breeze stirred the scent of tulips in the brick planters on each side of the tall courthouse steps. Without pausing to admire their beauty, Julianna opened the heavy double doors and entered the cool, dim interior.
Megan, her only child, the light of her life, her reason for living, was dying. Only a bone-marrow transplant could save her, and after several weeks of searching and testing, no donor match had been found. So, Julianna had done what she’d sworn never to do. She’d packed a bag and come back to Blackwood to find Megan’s father. She’d come home to find Tate McIntyre.
No one sat at the reception desk outside the wooden door marked Seminole County Sheriff. Julianna paused, gathering courage to open the door. Throat dry as cotton, her confidence waned. What if he refused? What if this plan to save Megan failed? Drawing a deep breath to calm her trembling insides, she turned the knob to Tate’s office.
The door was locked. Shoulders sagging in disappointment, she leaned her forehead on the cool brass plate bearing Tate’s name. If she hadn’t already cried enough tears to fill a football stadium, she’d have broken down.
“Looking for someone?”
At the deep, gravelly voice, Julianna jerked her shoulders back to flawless posture and whipped around. Tate McIntyre, older, bigger, and far more handsome than she remembered stood a mere three feet away.
Her heart did a foolish jitterbug that she chalked up to nerves. She was scared silly, not attracted, though any female alive would notice this tall, dark lawman.
Wearing a shuttered expression above a crisply pressed uniform shirt, creased blue jeans and brown boots, he was still Tate, but with tantalizing changes. Lean and tough looking, he brought to mind a marine. The tall, anvilshaped body that had made him a top football recruit filled out the sheriff’s shirt to perfection, the olive color emphasizing his mocha skin and green eyes. His brown-black hair was shorter, the almost military cut highlighting the high cheekbones of his Native heritage. Julianna’s stomach dipped. The handsome boy had become a stunning man. A man who had chosen another woman over her.
From somewhere in the building came the static of a police radio. Tate cocked his head to listen, not taking his eyes off her for a minute.
She’d wondered about him many times over the years, but nothing had prepared her for this moment. Her ears rang and blood pulsed at her temples. Some deeply buried emotion threatened to rear its head as she took in the man she’d once loved with all the teenage passion possible. She fought it back. Tate was the
