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

“You know me, darlin’, I’m a harmless, law-abiding citizen who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He graced her with a trademark grin. “Is Tate in his office? I’d like to chat with him for a few minutes.”

“Sure is. Go on back. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”

“Thanks, good lookin’. Seeing anyone at the moment?”

Maggie shrugged and propped her chin on her hand. “Not seriously. You?”

“Nope. Maybe we can do a little two-stepping at Hoot’s Tavern Friday night.”

She beamed with delight. “Love to.”

Vance ambled down the hall, remembering that he’d always had fun with Maggie in the old days. In addition, it never hurt to have a friend in the right place. Plus, he could quiz Maggie about the new officer and find out what caused that chip on her shoulder.

“Come in,” Tate Jackson called out when Vance rapped lightly on the door.

Vance strode inside to pump Tate’s hand then he plopped into the creaky wooden chair across from the chief’s desk that was piled high with files and red-tape forms.

“What can I do for you, Vance?” Tate asked.

“I came to file a complaint,” Vance replied. “I had a run-in with the lady cop on your force this morning.”

Tate rocked back in his chair and his graying brows flattened over his eyes. “Did you? What kind of run-in?”

Vance tried to keep his voice neutral, but it wasn’t easy when the image of that high-and-mighty bombshell cop popped to mind. “She slapped me with a ticket when I tried to bring my old farm truck into town for repairs. I told her I was on my way to the service station, but it didn’t faze her. I don’t know where she hails from, but she seems to think that we should follow the same regulations here in the outback that apply to the traffic-congested metropolis.”

Tate steepled his fingers under his chin and nodded pensively. “I see. Didn’t cut you any slack, did she?”

“None whatsoever,” Vance confirmed. “That old truck might look like a bucket of rust, but it’s necessary equipment on the ranch. My cousins borrow it all the time. We haul barbwire, tools, cattle feed, you name it. There’s times when I have to take it to town for repairs, but that rookie ordered me to turn it around and drive home.”

“Hmm,” was all Tate had to say in response.

“She wasn’t the least bit understanding,” Vance went on. “She fined me a hundred bucks to let me bring the truck to Pinky’s station for tires and a muffler. You’d think there was a toll road between my ranch and town and she’s in charge of collecting payment.”

“A hundred dollars, you say?” Tate murmured. “That does sound a little steep. Let me see the ticket.”

Yesss! Good ole Tate was on Vance’s side. That was all the encouragement Vance needed. “And I’m sorry to report that your lady cop has a holier-than-thou attitude that’s going to alienate townsfolk,” he tattled.

Tate studied the ticket for a moment. “I suppose you gave her the good-ole-boy routine, but she didn’t bite.”

“She sure didn’t. I climbed down from the truck and she yelled ‘Freeze!’ Heck, you’d have thought I was about to take potshots at her or something. Then she pulled her gun on me and flashed it around to intimidate me. We’re talking loose cannon here, Chief. I’d hate to think what would happen if someone committed a serious offense,” he added. “Then she started spouting code numbers at me. I have no idea what she was ranting about.”

Another rap rattled the door and Tate glanced sideways. “Come in.”

Vance inwardly cringed when the object of his frustration materialized in the doorway. The cop with those dazzling green eyes and a body to die for stopped in her tracks. Her narrowed gaze bounced from Tate to Vance. He tossed her a smug grin. Bring it on, Ms. Smarty-Pants. We’ll see who walks out of here with the reprimand.

“I WONDER IF I MIGHT HAVE a word with you, sir. After you finish your conference, of course,” the lady cop said politely.

Vance sincerely hoped Tate called this cop on the carpet. The prospect provoked him to smile in devilish delight.

Tate arched a questioning brow. “Does this have anything to do with the incident Vance is discussing with me?”

The lady cop nodded and that shiny braid of dark hair curled over her shoulder to brush the swell of her breast. Vance tried not to notice, he really did. But damn she was built like nobody’s business. Too bad that she had the disposition of a snapping turtle.

“Yes, sir, it does,” she told her superior.

“Then take a seat, Miranda, and let’s get this situation squared away.”

Miranda. Didn’t that just figure, Vance mused. The knockout female had decided to enter a profession in which she could Miranda everyone. Well, he’d like to read her a few rights and tell her what she could do with herself and her hoity-toity, by-the-book attitude.

“Vance was just telling me about your confrontation on the highway this morning. He objected to the hefty fine.”

Didn’t that just figure, Miranda mused, keeping her expression carefully controlled. No doubt this practical joker had decided to take the incident a step farther by tattling to her boss. The rat.

“I’m sure he objected,” she commented, “but I maintain that he got exactly what he deserved for turning that unsafe vehicle over to his cousin to drive to town after I sent Mr. Ryder back the way he’d come.”

When Tate leveled a pointed stare on Vance, Miranda noted that he sank a little deeper in his rickety chair. Obviously the stool pigeon purposely omitted several important details.

“You didn’t mention that, Vance,” Tate said stonily.

“I was just getting to that part when we were interrupted,” Vance mumbled, shooting Miranda a fulminating glance.

“Of course you were,” she said, then sniffed.

Vance braced his hands on the armrest and jerked upright. “Hey, I was here first to give my report. You were out of line.”

He glowered at her from beneath bunched brows. Refusing to be intimidated, she glared right back at him.

“So I suppose you didn’t mention that you took devilish delight in trying to make me look like a fool in front of your cousin,” she countered. “Well, the joke’s on you, Mr. Ryder. The next time I pull you over you better show some respect!”

“I will not be bullied by a gun-toting female who’s itching to blow my head off over a stupid vehicle violation!” he snapped.

“I was not itching to blow your head off…then,” she retaliated, green eyes flashing. “Now, I’m thinking about it.”

“I don’t have to take this abuse from you, lady,” Vance flared.

“Of course you do. You invite abuse and it would be rude of you not to accept it,” she sniped at him.

When Vance bounded from his chair and Miranda stamped forward to confront him—nose to nose and toe to toe—Tate pounded his fist on the desk, demanding attention.

“Park it, both of you,” he boomed. “Let’s not allow a minor infraction to escalate into World War Three, shall we?”

“She fined me for stupidity!” Vance roared as he plunked into his chair. “How professional is that?”

Miranda swallowed uneasily when the chief’s gaze zeroed in on her. Okay, so that wasn’t very professional of her, she’d admit it. But this handsome hunk of cowboy had ticked her off royally. She couldn’t say exactly what there was about him that got her hackles up. It was just a knee-jerk reaction. She was intensely aware of him and this ridiculous attraction made her megadefensive.

“You fined him for stupidity?” Tate repeated incredulously.

“He deliberately provoked me. Plus, I should have arrested him for sexual harassment,” she blurted out. “He tried to flirt with me to get out of the warning and ticket.”