pressed her heels to Aggie’s side and the mare took of, eager for the day to be over, too. Autumn tipped her hat as they raced by. This wasn’t her first experience with a city sheriff come to town.
I don’t know about that guy, she told herself, leaning forward in her saddle as Aggie’s gait changed to a canter. Sheriff Ford Sherman might not be Denny Jones, but he may as well be.
The drum of Aggie’s steel shoes became pleasant music to match the wind whistling in her ears as they raced home.
Chapter Two
A barn? Not only was Ford surprised to learn the tractor guy was his landlord, but his new dwelling was a barn. Imagine that. The pretty cowgirl hadn’t been pulling his leg after all.
“Ought to have everything you need,” Jeremy Miller was saying as he paced across the bars of sunshine from the front window and dropped the keys on the windowsill. “Except furniture. You got a truck coming? If not, I could put in a call to the furniture store over in Sunshine. It’s the closest big town around until you hit Jackson.”
“I’ve got a moving truck coming with my stuff.”
“Good luck with that.” Jeremy tipped his Stetson and lumbered toward the open door where a fly buzzed in. “Took the liberty of getting the phone company out here to set you up. Should be here day after tomorrow. My cousin works for the company and squeezed you in.”
“That was thoughtful of you, Jeremy. Thanks.”
“No problem. Least I can do for the new sheriff. Just do me a favor, will ya?” Miller halted on the porch. “Give me some notice before you bolt.”
“Bolt?” Like leave?
“When you’ve had enough of small town life. It’ll happen, don’t you worry. You’re not the first sheriff I’ve rented to.”
That didn’t bode well. What was wrong with the job he didn’t know about? Learning from Autumn Granger that maybe the emergency calls came in more often than he’d been led to believe had thrown him. Maybe he’d made a mistake burning the bridges of his old life to come here.
I hope this isn’t one of those impulsive decisions I live to regret, Lord.
“Give me a call if you need anything.” Jeremy bobbed his head in a single nod—a gesture of goodbye, country style.
Ford did the same, his movements echoing in the wide open space of the living area. Outside the slam of a truck’s door ricocheted like a bullet through the quiet and a pickup’s motor turned over and rumbled away.
Alone in his new place, he paced across the high-gloss oak floor and stared out the bay window. The horse barn had been totally remodeled with sedate gray siding, white trim, ivory walls and indoor plumbing. He batted at the lone fly, smiling as he thought of Autumn Granger. He did not know what to think about the woman, but he liked her. Hard not to like a gal who carried a holstered .45 at her hip and a lasso on her saddle.
Granddad would have loved seeing all this. Ford frowned, shaking his head. Too bad he hadn’t made this change earlier, when his grandfather had been alive and he’d been more optimistic about his life.
Regrets. He shrugged them off. A pack of cows was grazing out beyond the small patch of lawn behind red posts and three skinny strands of barbed wire. He saw one of them eyeing his Jeep and hoped to high heaven those animals didn’t get out and gnaw something else off the poor vehicle. One of the first things on his list would be to drop by the feed store for treats. Without them, he feared the Jeep wouldn’t last long.
His stomach rumbled. That got him thinking about dinner. Maybe he would mosey down the street and see what he could rustle up.
“WHAT ARE YOU still doing here?”
“Good question.” Autumn leaped over the last two stairs, landed in the kitchen and grabbed her purse off the table by the back door. She tossed a grin at Rori, her friend, the family’s temporary housekeeper and her older brother’s fiancée. “I’m about an hour late. My friends are going to disown me.”
“You? Never.” Rori hefted a big pan of pasta over the sink and upended it. Water and noodles tumbled into a steel colander. “Have fun.”
“I intend to.” For a change. First it had been calving and foaling season, then it had been harvest and hay. “The last time I had a free night in town it was February.”
“The life of a rancher. Why exactly did you want to do this for a living?”
“No idea. Must have been out of my mind.” She found her truck keys in a drawer, wished Rori a good night and flew out the door.
“Whoa there, little lady.” Her dad, Frank Granger, caught her before she charged into him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“It’s my night off, remember?”
“I didn’t know you were allowed one of those.” He chuckled. That was her dad, Mr. Humor.
“Ha, ha. I won’t be out too late, but don’t wait up.” She danced around him, skipping down the porch steps, two at a time.
“You’ve got a four-thirty wake-up call, girl.”
“I know!” As if she could forget. She’d been waking up that early as long as she could remember. Really. Dad must think he was hilarious. She could be a comedian, too. “Hey, guess who I’m giving a riding lesson to on Saturday?”
“Uh, are you still doing that?” Frank swept off his Stetson. Something passed across his rugged face that looked a lot like interest.
Yeah, that’s just what she’d thought. She kept going, running backwards. “Cady Winslow. The nice lady new to town who bought one of my horses? You remember her, right?”
“I suppose.” He cast his gaze down, as if looking at some trouble with one of the porch boards.
Good way to hide his interest, but she wasn’t fooled. She tripped along the concrete path. “You could drop by the arena tomorrow if you want. Hang around. Offer some advice.”
“I’m sure you’ve got it covered.” A faint blush crept high on his face. “Have a good time tonight, darlin’.”
“Sure.” That was the problem with men in this family. They didn’t give much away. They acted as if real feelings were something to be wrestled down and extinguished.
“Autumn, you know we’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Her older brother Justin called out as he slipped between the fence boards. “Don’t be too late.”
“Late is the story of my life.” The dinner bell on the back porch clanged, signaling the time as she hauled open the garage door. Six o’clock. Late, late, late. Her friends were used to it. She’d been leaving them to order for her for years.
She jammed the key into the ignition, turned over the engine and took the driveway as fast as she dared. Gravel crunched beneath the tires and dust rose up in her back trail, blocking all views of the pretty two-story ranch house tucked between the orchard and a copse of aspen.
The
