him.
Not that she wanted to be thinking of him in the same sentence as the word need.
Because he was the kind of man who made a woman aware of things—needs—she was sure she had laid to rest.
He was the kind of man whose masculinity was so potent it could make a woman ache for things she had once had, and had no longer. Fevered kisses. Strong arms. Laughter in the night.
He was the kind of man who could almost make a woman entirely forget the terrible price, the pain that you could invite by looking for those things.
Sarah McDougall didn’t need anyone looking out for her, thank you very much! It was one of the things she prided herself on.
Fierce independence.
Not needing anyone. Not anymore. Not ever again.
Inheriting this house, and her grandmother’s business, Jelly Jeans and Jammies, had allowed her that.
She could not back down from him! So, with more confidence than she felt, in defiance of his hostility, she whipped the gardening glove off her hand, wiped it on her shorts just in case, and extended it to him.
Then she held her breath waiting to see if he would take it.
CHAPTER TWO
OFFICER Oliver Sullivan looked at Sarah’s extended hand, clearly annoyed at her effort to make some kind of contact with him.
She knew he debated just walking away now that he had delivered his unfriendly message.
But he didn’t. With palpable reluctance, he accepted her hand, and his shake was brief and hard. She kept her face impassive at the jolt that surged, instantaneously, from her fingertips to her elbow. It would be easy to think of rough whiskers scraping a soft cheek, the smell of skin out of the shower.
Easy, too, to feel the tiniest little thrill that her life had had this unexpected moment thrust into it.
Sarah reminded herself, sternly, that her life was full and rich and complete.
She had inherited her grandmother’s house in this postcard-pretty town. With it had come a business that provided her a livelihood and that had pulled her back from the brink of despair when her engagement had ended.
Kettle Bend had given her something she had not thought she would ever have again, and that she now could appreciate as that rarest of commodities: contentment.
Okay, in her more honest moments, Sarah knew it was not complete contentment. Sometimes, she felt a little stir of restlessness, a longing for her old life. Not her romance with Michael Talbot. No, sir, she was so over her fiancé’s betrayal of her trust, so over him.
No, it was elements of her old life as a writer on the popular New York–based Today’s Baby magazine that created that nebulous longing, that called to her. She had regularly met and interviewed new celebrity moms and dads, been invited to glamorous events, been a sought-after guest at store openings and other events. She had loved being creative.
A man like the one who stood in front of her posed a danger. He could turn a small longing for something—excitement, fulfillment—into a complete catastrophe.
Sarah reminded herself, sternly and firmly, that she had already found a solution for her nebulous longings; she was going to chase away her restlessness with a new challenge, a huge one that would occupy her completely. Her new commitment was going to be to the little community that was fading around her.
Her newfound efforts at contentment relied on getting this town back to the way she remembered it being during her childhood summers spent here: vital, the streets overflowing with seasonal visitors, a feeling of endless summer, a hopeful vibrancy in the air.
So, handshake completed, Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, a thin defense against some dark promise—or maybe threat—that swirled like electricity in the air around him.
She wanted him to think she was not rattled.
“I have a great plan for Kettle Bend,” she told him. She had interviewed some of the most sought-after people in the world. She would not be intimidated by him. “And you can help make it happen.”
He regarded her long and hard, and then the tiniest of smiles tickled the corner of that sinfully sensuous mouth.
She thought she had him. Then …
“No,” he said. Simple. Firm. Unshakable, the smile gone from the corner of that mouth as if it had never been.
“But you haven’t even heard what I have to say!” Sarah sputtered indignantly.
He actually seemed to consider that for a moment, though his deeply weary sigh was not exactly encouraging.
“Okay,” he said after a moment, those dark eyes shielded, unreadable. “Spit it out.”
Spit it out? As an invitation to communication, it was somewhat lacking. On the other hand, at least he wasn’t walking away. Yet. But his body language indicated the thread that held him here, in her yard, was thin.
“The rescue of the dog was incredible. So courageous.”
He failed to look flattered, seemed to be leaning a little more toward the exit, so she rushed on. “I’ve seen it on the internet.”
His expression darkened even more—if that was possible—so she didn’t add that she had watched it more than a dozen times, feeling foolishly compelled to watch it again and again for reasons she didn’t quite understand.
But she did understand that she was not the only one. The video had captured hearts around the world. As she saw it, the fact he was standing in her yard meant that she had an opportunity to capitalize on that magic ingredient that was drawing people by the thousands to that video.
“I know you haven’t been in Kettle Bend very long,” Sarah continued. “Didn’t you know how cold that water was going to be?”
“If I had known how cold that water was going to be, I would have never jumped in.”
That was the kind of answer that wouldn’t work at all in the event she could talk him into being a participant in her plan to use his newfound notoriety to publicize the town.
Though that possibility seemed more unlikely by the second.
At least he was talking, and not walking.
“You must love dogs,” she said, trying, with growing desperation, to find a chink in all that armor.
He didn’t answer her, though his chest filled as he drew in a long breath. He ran an impatient hand through the thick, crisp silk of his dark hair.
“What do you want from me?”
Her eyes followed the movement of his hand through his hair, and for a moment the sensation of what she really wanted from him nearly swamped her.
Sarah shook it off, an unwanted weakness.
“Your
