Victoria Chancellor - The Bachelor Project

She pulled her knees up high and hugged them to her chest. The police chief would be here soon. Not just a patrol officer, but The Chief. Someone experienced, mature, competent. She didn’t care if he looked like Andy Griffith or the guy Carroll O’Connor had played in that Southern television drama. In just a few minutes, he’d be here and scare the intruders away.

POLICE CHIEF ETHAN PARKER cut the lights on his patrol car; he’d already shut off the siren a ways back. Parking beneath the spreading pecan trees that lined the two-lane blacktop and driveway to the Franklin house, he took just a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness so he could look around the property. He seriously doubted that out here in the country there was an intruder lurking in the darkness. More than likely, an animal was scrounging for food or just curious about activity inside the recently vacant home.

Still, he unsnapped the holster restraint and gripped his pistol. Even if a human predator wasn’t about this night, he’d seen a couple of pretty large cougars not too far west of here. No sense in tempting fate.

The car’s clock reminded him that his shift ended in just ten minutes. If one of his patrol officers wasn’t in Austin for a training class, Ethan would be home, getting ready for bed right now. The chief didn’t usually work the night shift, but in a small town, every person had to do double duty at times.

He gave his position to Ben, his regular nighttime dispatcher, clipped his call unit on his shoulder, then gripped a flashlight. Ethan eased out of the patrol car into the warm, humid night, shutting the door as silently as possible. Every lamp in the house seemed to be blazing, giving him plenty of light to see around the exterior. Floodlights on two sides illuminated the side and back entrances, and brass fixtures on either side of the ornate front door revealed the wide, deep porch.

Ethan circled the house, listening for any whispers that might indicate some local teens looking for a deserted house to use for a party. Or to sit around outside and drink some beers they’d taken from a parent’s refrigerator. Even Ranger Springs wasn’t immune to the problems of the city, so he wouldn’t put it past a few teens to smoke a little marijuana out here in the country. But the only sounds he heard were the usual summer night noises of crickets and other insects.

A far cry from the career at the FBI he’d given up almost three years ago. Crime in Ranger Springs didn’t compare with that in Dallas. In the past three years, he’d never before received a 9-1-1 call from a hysterical woman who feared for her life. He had to wonder who this caller might be—a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, or someone who’d heard about the vacancy through Gina Mae Summers, the local real estate agent? Ethan had already been making extra patrols to the property just to make sure teens looking for a good hangout hadn’t decided an uninhabited, upscale, three-bedroom house would make a great Party Central.

His boots made barely a sound as they sank lightly into the damp earth. No footprints other than his marked the property, giving him further reassurance that two-legged predators weren’t lurking. Kids weren’t nearly as sneaky as they thought they were, and he doubted any one of the teens in Ranger Springs would think to conceal evidence that they’d walked around outside an empty house.

He reached the side entrance, where a couple of moving boxes and some plastic bags tumbled haphazardly across the concrete path to the detached garage. Nudging the closer box with his boot, he wasn’t too surprised when two dark shapes scrambled out of the mess. One paused briefly to stand on hind legs and stare at him in curiosity from darkly masked eyes. Then the raccoons both ran to the nearest tree and scurried up the rough bark.

Ethan smiled as he eased his 40-caliber semiautomatic into the holster. Reassured that no danger lurked in the moonlit shadows, he approached the front door and knocked.

“Police Chief Ethan Parker,” he announced loudly.

He heard the whisper of footsteps, then saw a feminine shape cross the leaded panels. Finally, a woman flung open the heavy oak door.

She stood inside the threshold, dressed in a skimpy peach-colored robe she clutched around her middle. Something—perhaps a T-shirt—peeked out below the hem, brushing against her thighs. Long, tanned thighs. He took only a second to take in her average height and build, delicate features and heart-shaped face and determined she posed no threat to him.

In the next instant, the description “doe in the headlights” popped into his head. He’d seen the same look of fear in large brown eyes just before he’d slammed on the brakes and steered to avoid one of the beautiful and plentiful deer that populated the Hill Country.

“Miss Cummings?” Thankfully, he remembered her name from the dispatcher’s conversation. Every other rational, professional thought seemed to have deserted his brain for the moment.

“You’re the police chief?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, automatically reaching for his wallet badge. “Ethan Parker. Are you all right?”

“Yes, but thank goodness you’re here,” she said, her voice soft and throaty. Kind of sexy…except he shouldn’t be thinking about that when she was obviously upset.

“Did you see who was outside?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, trying not to let his gaze roam over her thinly dressed figure, shapely legs and bare feet any more than absolutely necessary for police business. “They were raccoons—two, to be precise—and I can assure you they were as frightened of me as you were of them.”

She sagged against the door frame, her breath fast and shallow. “I feel so foolish. I thought maybe some kids were hanging around, or maybe vagrants. I really don’t know anyone in this area, so I assumed whoever was making the noise wasn’t friendly.”

“It’s all right. I understand.”

She released her robe long enough to rake her fingers through dark blond, shoulder-length strands. Her other hand maintained a white-knuckled grip on the door frame. “Are raccoons dangerous?”

“Not unless they’re rabid.”

“Rabid!”

She looked absolutely shocked. She must be from the city if she was unfamiliar with one of the most common animals in Texas. And surely she’d heard of rabies. Or maybe that was the problem. Some people had an unreasonable fear of wild animals and the diseases they might carry.

“You shouldn’t have to worry—” The static signaling a call from the dispatcher was immediately followed by a request for his status.

The woman in the doorway jumped as though she’d taken a .45 to the chest.

Ethan cursed beneath his breath as he touched the communication unit attached to his uniform near his shoulder. “Parker to dispatch,” he answered more curtly than usual. “Everything’s fine out here, Ben. Just a few curious raccoons.”

His attention didn’t waver from the woman as the dispatcher signed off. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, warm her hands between his larger ones, erase the look of panic from her wide brown eyes. Her palpable fear ate at his soul like acid.

“Would you like me to show you what made so much racket?” he asked gently.

“They’re still here?” She peered into the darkness as if she could see around the house. Her hands now clutched the thin peach-colored robe as desperately as they’d gripped the door frame.

“No, although they might be up that tree over there—” he pointed “—watching us talk about them. There’s a stack of trash they found mighty interesting. They were probably checking out the moving boxes to see if you’d left anything for them to eat.” He smiled, but she didn’t seem the least bit at ease with his good-ol’-boy routine. He decided another tactic was in order.