Debbi Rawlins - Own the Night

He wouldn’t say “nothing.” She had a nice rack. Noah cleared his throat, forced his gaze away from her breasts and back to the blank incident report he’d pulled out of his desk drawer. “Please describe for me what happened.”

She heaved an annoyed sigh, and he couldn’t help but glance surreptitiously at her chest again. Her blouse was made out of some kind of light silk and he saw that her bra was lacy…. “I was on my way here, rolling my luggage behind me, and just after I passed the bar—”

“Let’s back up. You were on your way here, to my office?”

“Yes, I, um …” She flushed slightly, started to avert her gaze, then lifted her chin and looked at him dead-on. “I was coming to find out how I could get to the Sundance.”

He frowned. She could’ve asked anyone for directions. “Why take your luggage out of the car?”

“I don’t have a car. My ride left me at the edge of town.”

That made no sense. “Why didn’t you go straight to the Sundance?”

“What does that have to do with anything? I was robbed on your main street. You think I stole my own property?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t. Just trying to get a clear picture.” He offered her a conciliatory smile. It appeared she really was a victim, and he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion the moment she’d walked in. He’d gotten too used to the flimsy excuses the Sundance ladies had been throwing his way, trying to get his attention. “I haven’t asked your name.”

“Alana.”

He waited for her last name.

“Look, Sheriff, I don’t understand how this could’ve happened in broad daylight. I only looked away for a moment. In New York I wouldn’t dare, but I figured in a small town like this …” She shrugged her slim shoulders, then slumped back with a sigh. “I understand it was my error. I should’ve been more careful.”

“You’re from New York, then?”

She hesitated, a flicker of alarm in her eyes that also made no sense. “Yes.”

“I didn’t catch your last name.”

There it was again—that same wariness that had her shoulders tensing and straightening. After a long pause she said, “Richardson.”

He slowly printed her name on the report, his cop’s sixth sense on full alert. “How did you hear about the Sundance?”

She leaned forward. “Could it be someone playing a prank? I saw kids on the street earlier. Crime can’t be much of a problem around here.”

“You said you passed the Watering Hole?”

“That’s right.”

“Today is payday for most of the ranch hands. They were swarming outside the place, last I saw.”

“Yes, there were quite a few cowboys hanging around.”

Noah stopped writing and stared at her. “And that’s where your things disappeared?”

She nodded. “An older gentleman stopped me, and it happened while I was talking to him. That’s why I looked away.”

“Did you get his name?”

“Gunderson.”

Noah threw down his pen and leaned back. “What did Gunderson want with you?”

“He asked if I was staying at the Sundance. And then …” She made a face, appeared to reconsider what she’d been about to say. “I think he was just being nosy.”

Noah reckoned she was probably right about that. Gunderson had always had it in for the McAllisters, but since they’d opened the dude ranch and were raking in money, he’d been especially ill-tempered. Their success meant they were unlikely to sell him that strip of land he wanted so badly.

“All those men out there … they would’ve noticed you,” Noah said. “Someone had to have seen something.”

“They were too busy to notice me,” she said quietly.

“I doubt that.”

Her startled expression and piercing stare made him reexamine his words. No, he hadn’t said anything wrong, but maybe his tone could’ve been more professional. Hell, he hadn’t consciously been thinking about what he’d glimpsed hiding behind that jacket…. But the notion that he might’ve blurred the line between the office and his personal feelings didn’t sit well.

“Trust me,” she said finally, her lips lifting in a faint smile. “There were three women who had the men’s full attention.”

Noah knew who she meant, but that didn’t preclude the boys from checking her out. Yeah, the young cowhands in the area tended to go for that sort of flash, at least since the Sundance had been drawing in the ladies.

The woman facing him was different, one of those understated beauties. The longer you studied the high cheekbones, the nice skin, her generous mouth, the prettier she got. He knew most of those boys hanging out at Sadie’s this afternoon, and they’d looked, all right. Noah could guarantee her that.

He picked up the pen again, his gaze catching on the fax sitting on the corner of his desk. Late twenties, tall, attractive, brown hair, brown eyes.

His gaze shot back to Alana Richardson.

Well, hell.

BETWEEN THE POINTLESS questions and phone calls he’d answered since they started, the report was taking forever. And with each passing moment, life as she knew it was slipping away. The only compensation for this monumental hassle was that Alana liked the way the sheriff held his pen. Or more accurately, she liked his hands. Big-boned and tanned, with a light sprinkling of fine hair across the backs of his fingers. His uniform shirtsleeves were rolled back a couple times, displaying broad wrists and muscular forearms.

He stopped writing, and she lifted her gaze to find his mesmerizing blue-green eyes studying her face. Her breathing faltered for a second. The sheriff really was an extraordinarily good-looking man. Even better in person than in the photos.

She ordered herself to inhale slowly and focus on the problem. Oh, God, that’s why she was so preoccupied with the sheriff. Every time she let herself consider the ramifications of losing her belongings, she thought she’d pass out. “Yes?”

“Other than Gunderson, did you talk to anyone?”

“No. I don’t believe so.”

He returned his gaze to the report and frowned slightly, pushing a hand through his longish, sun-streaked brown hair. It was thick, just like his lashes, which did nothing to distract from the rugged, outdoor look he had going on. Part of her job was to notice that sort of detail. Like how his biceps bunched and strained the material of his tan shirt as his hand slowly slid through his hair and then paused at the back of his neck.

No wonder those women had mentioned him in their reviews of the Sundance. Alana would sign him up for a print ad in a hot second. Or any kind of ad, for that matter. She couldn’t imagine what she looked like at this point. Her poor limp hair needed work in the best of situations, and after that long plane ride, then Harvey’s rust-mobile … Most of her makeup must have melted off by now. Hoping for a peek in her compact mirror, she glanced down for her purse.

With a start, she remembered it was gone. Along with her luggage and laptop and phone. That’s why she was sitting here. She could feel the panic start to rise once more in her throat, in her chest. She lived her life on that phone, on that laptop. She barely knew anyone’s phone number because they were all on speed dial or in her contact list. She hadn’t spent twenty-four hours without access to the internet for longer than she cared to remember.

Not to mention her clothes or her makeup—which was worth a fortune. Her night cream alone cost a hundred dollars an ounce. She let out a small, pathetic whimper that surprised both of them.

The sheriff jerked his head up. “You all right?” He pushed away from his desk and got to his feet, his concerned gaze staying on her as he moved to a well-used coffeepot sitting on a metal filing cabinet. “I should’ve offered you something to drink. Water, coffee?”