need your keys so I can lock the car.” He looked at her expectantly. It took a minute, but she soon realized he meant for her to get up. She knew she’d never make it to her feet so she held out one hand. “If you don’t want to haul my butt out of the grass you’d better help me up. I’m dizzy as all get out.”
He took her hand as if it were the last thing he wanted to do. He sure was tall. Once she stood up she had to tilt her head back to look up into his face.
“Thank you.” She said it rather reluctantly since it felt like he’d rather be hauling a carcass off of the road.
He didn’t seem to notice her attitude for which she was famous. Roxy handed him the keys with a grimace. Be smart, girl. Don’t challenge him. He’s not worth getting fired over.
He nodded, putting the keys in his pocket and one hand on her arm. She tried to pull away, but it only made her more dizzy so she accepted his touch while doing her best to ignore the zing that had all her nerves humming. He walked her to his car as if she were an old woman, towering over her despite her height and the two-inch heels on her sandals.
His impersonal attitude didn’t upset her, she told herself. She didn’t care if the gorgeous cop from Hicksville saw her as a stray and not as a woman. He probably had a wife and six children back at the ranch.
The only thing that mattered was that she’d done it. Stayed sober despite extreme provocation. It proved…well, it didn’t prove anything. Twenty-six years old and she’d still run, still hadn’t been strong enough. Over two years sober and she was still afraid.
Terrified.
So I’ll just keep fighting it the way I have been—one day at a time. And today’s a good day, another day clean. She hummed a little ditty on the way to the police car.
SHERIFF LUKE HERMANN started his car and then pulled out from behind the eye-popping-yellow Porsche. That was a custom paint job if he’d ever seen one. The car was a beaut and so was the woman.
He didn’t say anything else to the redheaded woman he’d dubbed Miss Dallas. And not because he was usually tongue-tied around beautiful women. No, this woman didn’t count because he was working, and a woman who’d slept in her car should be decidedly unattractive, not long, lean, and lethal.
Luke shook his head.
He couldn’t be sure to what extent she’d broken the law, besides not having her driver’s license with her. He would soon find out.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Her voice sounded like she’d been chewing gravel or chain smoking for forty years and she didn’t look a day over thirty.
He glanced at her. She gave him an affected smile that told him she didn’t like cops any more than he liked her. Luke knew she had an attitude a mile wide under her carefully chosen words.
“My name’s Sheriff Hermann.”
She just nodded and sat silently. Then she leaned back and appeared to go to sleep. His own disappointment startled him. He’d wondered what she might say next. She looked to be full of surprises.
Usually he didn’t like surprises. That’s why he’d come back to the town he’d grown up in. He knew everyone, their family histories, and their propensity for breaking or bending the law. Usually trouble was a long time brewing and he could anticipate it, prevent it.
Sometimes.
He wasn’t a hero, but he protected his own.
So how come the tall gal didn’t rouse his protective instincts? Her sassy mouth and all that red hair hit him in a more visceral spot. Easy, boy. You don’t usually do your thinking with your balls.
She stirred, apparently not asleep after all. “I’ll need your name.” He shouldn’t bother asking—without proper identification she probably wouldn’t give him her real name. But it was worth a shot.
“I’m Roxy, Roxanne Adams.”
He nodded. Under any other circumstances he might be saying “pleased to meet you,” and meaning it.
“You’re a woman of few words, Miss Adams.”
“Uh-huh.”
He shook his head. He hadn’t a clue what to do with her. “You feeling okay?”
She rolled her head toward him on the seat. For the first time he noticed her eyes were blue. As deep and blue as the creek on his fishing property down in Comstock. The whites were clear. It didn’t look as if she was recovering from a binge or coming off of a drug high. And she hadn’t stolen the car.
This woman fit that car perfectly.
“I’m okay.” She turned away from him, slouching deep into the seat, and wedged one knee on the glove compartment.
Luke sneaked a look at her legs. Lord, they went on for a good ways. He didn’t even give her heck about putting her knee on his dash. His mouth went dry and he longed to reach for a Dr. Pepper from his stash behind the seat. Tapping on the steering wheel, he wondered how such a tall gal fit those legs into that little car.
While Luke subtly watched her, she dropped into sleep. Roxanne Adams fell asleep as easily as a child, like she had an off switch. She had a fine body to go along with those long legs. He was chagrined that he noticed the way her seat belt hugged her high, rounded breasts.
She’s trouble. Because he was thinking about her all wrong. But she isn’t the kind of trouble I have to worry about. I’ll just drop her off at the clinic and she can be someone else’s problem. He pulled his eyes away from her and tried to focus on the road. But every time she gave a little sigh he felt it tug at something deep inside.
He hated misjudging people. And lately Luke had begun to wonder if the job was hardening him. Here he was treating this woman as if she’d done something wrong, because she stirred him. What was he supposed to do with a woman who talked hard but slept like a defenseless child with her hair curling around her face?
He pulled into the small clinic, which served the town in emergencies. Then he gently shook her awake. The pallor of her skin made a sprinkle of golden freckles stand out like bits of brown sugar all across her nose.
He watched the dawning awareness in her eyes with regret. For a moment she’d been sleepy—vulnerable. Then she recognized him and her expression hardened. She had been in trouble before. He’d let those long legs distract him. He should have been angry that he’d given her the benefit of the doubt; instead it made him curious.
Roxanne blinked and sat up. She looked out the car window. “Oh, shi…shoot. A clinic. The only thing worse than a clinic is the police station.”
“Seen your share of holding pens?” he asked.
She swung her head in his direction. A hint of a smile lurking around her mouth. “Not for a long time. What gave me away?”
“I’ve seen your type before.”
She turned away. “That’s the problem with cops’ types. They can’t see past the stereotypes to the person.”
Luke
