Carol Finch - Fit To Be Frisked - Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire

“Excuse me?”

The dark-haired bombshell was playing her role to the hilt. “C’mon, I know my cousins sent you. You’re my birthday gag gift, right?”

She stared at him as if he was off his rocker. “I need to see your license and insurance verification.”

Still grinning good-naturedly, Vance reached into his hip pocket to extract his license from his wallet. He glanced over the top of her head to stare at the patrol car. “Turk’s in there, isn’t he? Should’ve known he’d be in on this. Yo, Turk! You can sit up now. You’re busted.”

But Turk Barnett didn’t raise his head and show himself. Vance’s gaze swung back to the cop who was checking his ID. “This isn’t a practical joke?”

“No, sir,” she said as she stuffed her weapon into its holster. “This is a 705, 734, 736, 743 and an 804 traffic violation.”

Vance frowned. “What the heck does all that mean?”

She looked him squarely in the eye. “Basically it means that this vehicle is an unfit pile of junk that doesn’t meet safety regulations and the mud on your windshield and rear window obstructs your vision. You’re dangerous to other motorists,” she admonished. “I want you to remove this truck from the state highway immediately, sir.”

Vance surveyed the pile of metal and bolts that he and his cousins used to plow through creeks to repair downed fences and to haul mineral and cattle cubes to their livestock. “Okay, so one headlight is missing and it’s a little muddy—”

“A little?” The cop smirked distastefully as she appraised the jalopy that had more dents than a bumper car. “If this state still required vehicle safety inspections this junk heap would be in a salvage yard. Now, Mr. Ryder,” she said as she returned his license, “I want you to turn this thing around and head back down the graveled road.”

Vance flashed another charming smile—it was as well received as the first one. “I’m on my way to the service station to mount new tires and replace the muffler,” he explained as nicely as he knew how.

“Not today you aren’t,” she informed him. She flipped open her ticket pad and grabbed a pen.

“Aw, c’mon, Officer,” he cajoled. “Don’t give me a ticket. I’ve driven this truck into town plenty of times. This is rural America and traffic jams aren’t a problem out here in the boondocks.” To prove his point he hitched his thumb toward the highway. “No one has even driven past since you pulled me over. There’s no one here for me to endanger.”

Her green eyes narrowed on him. “Are you questioning my authority, Mr. Ryder?”

“Vance,” he corrected then grinned charmingly. “No, I’m just saying that I’ve never had a problem with the other officers in Owl County. You must be new here.”

“I am, but regulations are still regulations,” she maintained aloofly. She directed his attention to the graveled road to the west. “Now then, turn this thing around and take it back the same way you came or I will write you a ticket instead of letting you off. And don’t use the highway until this vehicle has been washed and those dangling headlights have been plugged back in their sockets.”

She slapped the warning in his hand then spun on her heels. Distracted, Vance watched the hypnotic sway of shapely hips encased in trim fitting blue slacks. His attention momentarily shifted to the long braid of glossy brown hair that glided between her shoulder blades, but ultimately, his gaze dropped to the exceptionally fine shape of her fanny.

Mmm, Officer Good Body looked as terrific when she was walking away as she did when she was coming toward him. Too bad she was rigid and unfriendly. Probably didn’t have a personality worth mentioning, either, he predicted. Definitely not Ms. Congeniality of the Police Pageant.

Vance slid onto the seat and switched the key. The engine sputtered, coughed a couple of times then growled to life. Exhaust fumes fogged around the old truck. Vance shoved the gearshift into Reverse then backed into the bar ditch to turn around.

He was more than a little surprised that Ms. By The Book didn’t stop him for an improper U-turn. But she just sat there in her black-and-white, staring him down through her sunglasses as he veered around her to hang a right onto the gravel road.

A devilish grin pursed Vance’s lips when he saw Cousin Wade barreling toward him. The original plan was for Wade to pick up Vance in town so they could gather farm supplies while the rattletrap truck was being repaired. Then they’d grab a quick lunch at Stephanie’s Palace—the restaurant owned and operated by Cousin Quint’s new wife, Steph. Vance recalled that Wade had been champing at the bit all morning, anxious to complete their chores so he could meet his new wife, Laura, for lunch.

Every time Vance saw Cousin Wade—the former woman-hater of the family—drooling all over himself because he was so crazy over his new wife Vance chuckled in amusement. It was downright pathetic the way Wade and Quint mooned over their wives. In fact, there were times when his formerly macho cousins acted so sappy that it creeped him out.

When Wade thrust his arm out the window to flag him down, Vance pressed hard on the brake, reminded that adding a quart of brake fluid might not be a bad idea, too.

Wade glared at Vance. “What are you doing? Forget how to get to town?” He glanced anxiously at his watch. “I told Laura I’d meet her at noon. If you make me late you’re gonna hear about it.”

Vance swallowed a grin when inspiration struck. He hopped from the old truck. “Switch vehicles with me, cuz. I forgot something back at the ranch. You take the clunker truck to town and I’ll be right behind you.”

“You better be right behind me,” Wade threatened as he hopped from his black extended cab truck and brushed past Vance. “Today is our sixth month anniversary, ya know.”

“Gee, it’s not like you haven’t mentioned it about a dozen times this morning,” Vance said flippantly.

Impatient, Wade slammed the clunker truck in gear, whipped around and headed for the highway. Vance chuckled in amusement as his cousin roared off in a cloud of smoke. He was anxious to see how Wade fared when he met up with the latest addition to HRPD.

Ah, nothing like a good prank to start the day off right, he mused.

OFFICER MIRANDA JACKSON glanced in her rear-view mirror then muttered under her breath when she saw the same clunker truck barreling down the highway, defying her order. Apparently that handsome cowboy she’d encountered didn’t think he had to take her seriously.

Well, so much for giving that rascal a warning, she mused as she hit the switch. Lights flashed and sirens wailed. This time she’d give him a ticket and impound his truck and just let him try to talk her out of it!

When the truck eased onto the shoulder behind her, Miranda stormed back to confront Vance Ryder. She blinked in disbelief when the driver rolled down the mud-splattered side window to stare curiously at her. Another raven-haired hunk of cowboy, who bore a strong family resemblance to Vance, flashed her a winsome smile.

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

Miranda jerked herself to attention to address the driver. “The problem is that I just sent Mr. Vance Ryder back in the direction he came, in this truck, because the vehicle is in violation of several traffic codes…” Her voice trailed off when a shiny black 4X4 truck pulled up beside her. The tinted window slid downward and she silently fumed when Vance grinned playfully at her.

“Everything okay here?” he asked with mock innocence.

Miranda was tempted to grab her nightstick and whack the mischievous cowboy over his handsome head. His devilish dark eyes twinkled with amusement and she knew he was silently taunting her. He thought he’d pulled a fast one on her, did he? Well, they’d just see about that.