Mara Fox - I Shocked The Sheriff

“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 didn’t acknowledge the direct hit to his ego. He always tried to be fair, but after years in law enforcement, the criminals wore you down. You trusted your instincts less and your experience more, and because he didn’t want her to be a criminal, he’d broken all of his own rules.

“Nothin’ you want to say?” she asked, rubbing her hand over her face.

That childlike gesture made him wonder. He shored up his cynicism and shook his head.

“I should call my father. He’ll be worried.”

“Miss Adams, I’ll help you get in touch with your father once we’re inside.” Let the doc have her. He’ll tell me if she’s got a medical problem or a habit.

She nodded. “Probably a good idea to deal with my blood sugar first so I’m coherent when I call him, otherwise he’ll be on his plane in a heartbeat.”

He wondered what it would be like to have a private plane at your disposal. Was being rich what made her so sassy?

“Then I guess we’re going in. Is it going to be a needle?” She rubbed her arm as if already feeling the sting.

“A test.”

“A drug test?” Her eyebrow arched above her eye.

Her eyebrow matched the shade of her hair. He would have expected her to be a fake. But it seemed that her vibrant hair color was natural. “A blood sugar test.”

She rewarded him with a perfect smile that hit him in the gut like a fist. “Fancy that, a blood sugar test. I figured ya’ll still used horse piss and leeches.”

He turned away, busying himself with opening his door, determined she wasn’t going to get a rise out of him. He looked over when he heard the opposite door open.

She stepped out on her side but once on the sidewalk she swayed like tall grass in a storm. He stepped around the front of his vehicle and when he reached her side he grasped her shoulders with his hands. “I’ve got ya.”

Roxanne Adams tried to step away from him. “The hell you do. I can walk into the clinic. I’ll just tell my body I’ll reward it with orange juice if it walks just those few steps. You do have orange juice?”

Luke squashed his appreciation of her grit and the lust those long, lean curves inspired. She needed him. “I insist on helping you. I don’t want you to sue Doc Peterson if you land on the sidewalk on your head.”

“Really, Officer, I’m fine,” she protested, literally trying to stand her ground.

He just propelled her along, one of the benefits of being taller and stronger than even the tallest of the fair sex. “I’ll help you. We wouldn’t want you to fall down and get bruises. You might claim police brutality was involved.”

“Brutality? Like your grip on me? Are you afraid I’ll go running off and get lost in the crowds?” She gestured toward the almost empty street where Mrs. Henderson walked her ancient dog and three kids rode bikes.

He grinned and loosened his grip just a little.

She smiled back easily enough. So why did he get the impression those smiles were a rare occurrence?

“I’d never claim you’d been anything other than downright decent…for a cop.”

Luke’s experience said she wasn’t someone he should stick his neck out for, yet his instincts said otherwise. And his body clamored. But Roxanne Adams was trouble any way you looked at her. And he had to consider Carla, his longtime girlfriend.

Suddenly Roxy went limp in his arms. An unusual sense of alarm thrummed through him. He’d been tested in many different kinds of situations, but this felt different. He gently scooped her up and carried her into the clinic, wishing he knew what kind of trouble they were headed for.

“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?” Her voice couldn’t sustain the intended irascibility. But her eyes burned at him.

He wondered how her parents slept at night worrying about her. He hadn’t been able to squash his unease while waiting to discover what was wrong with her and it had made him testy. “I think I’m lookin’ at roadkill.”

“Such a nice sentiment. Are all country boys so poetic?”

She thinks I’m a hick. That should ease the ache in my loins.

Yet he wondered. Why was he in this hick town? Suddenly he could see it through her eyes and he wondered if it was small-town inertia holding him in Red Wing. The reassurance of familiar places and people. I really need to see Carla. He’d been going out with his lady for several years, and today he couldn’t remember the fragrance of her perfume.

And yet, all day he’d been remembering the smell of the vanilla air freshener in the Porsche. “Well, Miss Dallas, us hicks managed to patch you up without the leeches and horse piss.”

“Patch me up? Is that what you call it?”

“I take it you’re not feeling much better.”