“You had to know your business would raise eyebrows. It’s unusual.”
“Are llama treks a suspicious activity, Sheriff?” Samantha shot him a command-the-room smile.
Garrett found himself unaccountably taken aback by her direct gaze. “You…need to understand I’m talking to you as a father. I’d check out any situation I let my son into.”
“So you want to know what kind of employer I am?” Her tone was pseudo-light with a defensiveness that swam just below the surface. Her body language said he wasn’t intimidating her.
He got the feeling this woman could hold her own. Anywhere.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Having worked at various times as a teacher, a media specialist, a professional storyteller and a freelance artist, Amy Frazier now writes full time. She lives in Georgia with her husband, two philosophical cats and one very rascally terrier-mix dog.
Dear Reader,
Sometimes our identity is defined by external circumstances even as our heart tells us we are someone else altogether. Then what? What does it cost us to pick up and move on? My heroine, Samantha, must find the courage to begin a journey of change and self-discovery – oh, so much more easily said than done. Even as she thinks simplicity and solitude are the answer, she is wise enough along the way to accept the help of others at the same time that she reaches out to help. Subsequently, she finds the road less bumpy when travelled with valued companions.
And my hero, Garrett? He thinks he knows who he is and where his path should lead. But in reality, he’s taken a safe and smooth route so that his world isn’t rocked any more than it has been. Of course, Samantha – and love – are going to cause a much-needed detour!
Journeys. Sometimes it’s better to ditch the road map and wing it, always open to the possibilities!
Enjoy!
Amy Frazier
Single-Dad Sheriff
AMY FRAZIER
MILLS & BOON
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CHAPTER ONE
GARRETT MCQUIRE leaned on the fresh timber and wire fence—erected properly within the surveyors’ stakes, he noted—and looked out over the newly created pasture that had Tanner Harris in such a lather. As elected sheriff of Colum County, Garrett felt an obligation to listen to the concerns of all the citizens, but Tanner had been a sneak and a whiner all his life, someone who thought the world owed him, and he wore on Garrett’s last nerve.
“When I saw you stop at the head of her road,” Tanner said, “I thought you were gonna talk to her. Why didn’t ya?”
Garrett took his time answering. Officially he was responding to Tanner’s complaint against his neighbor’s new fence. As sheriff, he didn’t need to get into the fact his son was applying for a job at Whistling Meadows. To Tanner, that alone might look as if Garrett were taking sides. He wasn’t. He hadn’t even met the other side. Samantha Weston. Although he’d seen her bicycling around town. Unless she broke the law—or messed with his son in any way—she was no concern of his. Maybe that’s how he should approach the issue with Tanner.
“I didn’t talk to her,” he replied at last, “because she’s done nothing wrong. Nothing I can see.”
“Not technically, maybe.” Tanner glowered at the offending railing. “But she’s gone against time-honored tradition. Sashaying into town from who-knows-where. Buyin’ up my family land. Cuttin’ off access…”
Garrett tuned the guy out. He and the rest of Applegate’s residents had heard this rant for weeks. In the barbershop. In the diner. At town meetings, even. And although the beef wasn’t new, it had nothing to do with time-honored tradition—as much as boundary disputes came close to ritual in Colum County. Tanner’s gripes all boiled down to the fact that his aging uncle Red had had the audacity to sell his sixty acres to an outsider rather than will it to his nephew. Three-quarters of Tanner’s collateral had always been his presumed inheritance.
As to the comment that Ms. Weston had sashayed into town, she hadn’t. She’d arrived and set up her business so quietly that, if it weren’t for the new fence enclosing the pasture part of her property and the signs around the county, advertising llama day treks, you wouldn’t think much had changed.
“…and the old man’s makin’ a fool of himself.” Tanner had wound himself even tighter, if that were possible. “Living with her. A woman half his age.”
“I don’t think you can call it ‘living with her.’ You’re ignoring the fact he sold her the land with the stipulation he can live out his days in the bunkhouse. Separate from the big house. On land he loves. Farmers don’t usually get such a secure retirement. In cutting himself a creative deal, your uncle was thinking of his future.”
“Well, he sure wasn’t thinking of the future of his only kin. Me. With three boys to raise.”
“No,” Garrett replied, struck anew by Tanner’s unrelenting self-centered attitude. “I dare say he wasn’t.”
Tanner grunted and seemed to be thinking along a different tack. “Between the national park and this fence, I’m blocked in. So where are me and my boys gonna ride our ATVs?”
“Rig yourself a trailer and haul your ATVs to the authorized county trails like most of the other folks around here. Your free-range days are over. Times are changing.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Tanner glowered at the top of the Whistling Meadows barn just visible above the far rise. “So, you’re not gonna talk to her?”
“As things stand, I have no reason to.” Garrett headed for his cruiser. “But I suggest you do. Neighbor to neighbor. Friendly-like.”
“When hell freezes over.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, Tanner headed across his littered yard toward his rundown house, which had been built too close to the boundary line as if in anticipation of the merging of the two properties.
