behind the wheel and start across the street anyway.
3
IT WAS TOO QUIET.
Shelly came to that conclusion the minute she sat down at her desk and realized that Bobby was nowhere in sight. Not hunched over his computer or playing video games on his phone or standing in front of the coffeemaker. Her gaze shifted to the men’s room.
No doubt the double cheeseburger he’d had at noon had finally caught up to him.
That’s what she told herself, but she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that something wasn’t right. Something besides the local diner’s lunch special or the fact that Monty Darlington had left a message on her voicemail asking her if she wanted to get busy back at his place tonight.
Take that, Minerva.
“Bobby?” She tapped on the door. “You okay?”
The only sound that prickled her ears was the steady hum of the air conditioner. She knocked harder. Once. Twice. Her hand tightened on the knob. A loud creak and she found herself inside the one-stall bathroom.
Empty.
Panic sizzled through her for a split-second before she tamped it back down. He was probably out back, talking the hat off the Texas Ranger on duty with Holbrook. Probably shooting the shit and drinking coffee.
She turned toward the containment area, ready to prove her theory when Bobby’s voice crackled over the dispatch speakers.
“Mama Bear, this is Baby Bear. You copy?”
A few swift strides, and she punched the button on the microphone. “Would you stop with the nicknames?”
“It’s not a nickname. It’s code. You never know who might be listening.”
“I know exactly who’s listening. Martin down at the feed store is the only one with a police band radio and he only tunes in on bridge night to make sure his ex-wife doesn’t drink too many mimosas and start streaking again. Where are you?”
“Picking up Honey Gentry. We got a call that she was soliciting outside the Sac-n-Pac,” he continued. “They needed a squad car out here asap, so here I am.”
“But I told you to stay put.”
“And I told him otherwise.” The grizzled voice came from behind her and she turned to see her resident Texas Ranger standing in the doorway that led to the cell area.
Rumor had it Beauford Truitt was the oldest Texas Ranger still on active duty and, some said, the toughest. He had snow-white hair, a weathered face and a pickled expression that said he wasn’t too happy to be stuck in a one-horse town with Texas’s Most Wanted prisoner in tow.
He held a cup of steaming black coffee in one hand and a half-eaten bear claw in the other. “Ain’t no sense in him neglecting his duties. Just go on about your business and leave Holbrook to the professionals.”
“We are professionals.”
Yeah right. His expression read loud and clear and Shelly had the fleeting thought that she was in over her head. It was a feeling she’d had many times before when the job had gotten a little too dangerous or her coworkers a little too condescending.
It was a feeling she’d grown all too familiar with growing up with a mother who didn’t love her half as much as she loved her social life. All those nights alone had forced Shelly to step up and take care of her little sister when she’d been just a child herself. And while she’d done her best, she’d never managed to shake the uncertainty.
Not that this guy knew that.
She gathered her courage and met his glare head on. “I give the orders here.”
“Sure you do, darlin’.” He winked. “The prisoner’s my responsibility.”
“And you’re both my responsibility, at least while you’re in this Sheriff’s office.” She narrowed her gaze, making it clear she wasn’t backing down no matter how many times he called her darlin’ or sugar or sweetcheeks or whatever else his good ole boy mentality managed to cook up.
Seconds ticked by before he shrugged and she gave herself a mental high five.
“Get some fresh pastries in here before I choke to death,” he grumbled, waving the half-eaten goody at her. “This one’s as tough as shoe leather.” He walked over to the white bakery box sitting next to the coffeemaker and rummaged inside.
Shelly shifted her attention back to the radio. “Finish up and get back here,” she told Bobby.
“Yes, ma’am. Baby bear out.” The connection ended and Shelly turned toward her desk, her heart still beating double time.
She blew out a deep, easy breath, careful not to let Truitt know that he’d gotten under her skin. She’d come up against his type too many times to count and she knew the worst thing to do was get visibly rattled. It was all about staying calm. In control. Fearless—
The thought faded into the whooooooosh of the front door and the heavy thud of boots.
“I’m looking for Shelly Lancaster,” came a deep, masculine voice.
Here we go again.
With Truitt eyeballing her from the coffeemaker, the last thing she needed was a potential suitor carrying another bottle of edible body paint. She had to set the record straight right here and now and put an end to all the nonsense.
“It was a misprint” died a quick death on her tongue when she turned to face off with the man standing in the doorway.
Her heart hitched and all she could do was stare for a long, breathless moment.
He had cowboy written all over him with his straw Stetson and button-down denim shirt. The cuffs had been rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, the tails tucked in at his trim waist. Soft, faded jeans clung to his long legs. A rip in the material gave her a glimpse of one strong, hair-dusted thigh and her throat went dry.
She eyed the scuffed toes of his brown boots before dragging her gaze back up, over his long legs, the hard, lean lines of his torso, the tanned column of his throat, to his face.
Brown hair streaked with the faintest hint of gold brushed his broad shoulders and drew attention to his rugged features. A day’s growth of stubble darkened his jaw and outlined his sensuous lips. Blue eyes so pale and translucent they were almost gray collided with hers.
No, it wasn’t the way he looked so much as the way he looked at her that sucked the air from her lungs.
“Yes, um, that would be me. At your service,” she finally managed to say, her voice breathless and excited and downright giddy.
She stiffened at the realization. No way, no how, would tough-as-nails Deputy Shelly Lancaster let a man—even one as good looking as this man—turn her into a pile of quivering Jell-O. She frowned and summoned her most no-nonsense voice. “Is there something
