Brenda Harlen - The Sheriff's Nine-Month Surprise

“I’d never say no to a home-cooked meal.”

“I’m not promising anything fancy,” she warned. “But you’ll be able to eat and we’ll be able to talk without a thousand interruptions.”

“That works for me,” he agreed.

She glanced at her watch, then mentally calculated the time she needed to make a quick trip to The Trading Post before she could start cooking. “Seven o’clock?”

“Sure,” he agreed.

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

He caught her arm as she started to turn away. “Only if you give me your address.”

“Do you know where my office is?”

“You live at your office?”

“Above the office. Apartment 2B.”

“I’ll see you at seven.”

* * *

Inviting Reid to have dinner at her place seemed like a good idea at the time—or, if not a good idea, at least a necessary compromise. They needed to talk and she didn’t want to have the conversation where anyone might overhear it. But now that he was here, Kate realized she’d made a tactical error.

She loved her apartment—the ultramodern kitchen and open-concept living area with tall windows looking down on Main Street, two spacious bedrooms and a luxurious bathroom. Certainly, it had never seemed small—until Reid Davidson stepped inside. He wasn’t a man whose presence was in any way, shape or form subtle, and it was as if he filled every square inch of space with his potent masculinity.

Being near him had her hormones clamoring so loudly she could barely hear herself think. And while her mind was desperately trying to focus on certain facts that needed to be discussed, her body was stirring, aching, wanting.

She took the bottle of wine he offered, and as her fingertips brushed against his, she was suddenly reminded of the way those fingers had touched her—the bold confidence of his hands as they stroked over her body, taking her to heights of pleasure she’d never even imagined.

He’d changed out of his sheriff’s uniform and into a navy polo shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. The hem of the shirt was tucked into a pair of softly faded jeans that hugged his lean hips and strong thighs, as her legs had hugged those hips and thighs, their naked limbs tangled and their bodies moving together.

She set the bottle of wine on the counter and turned to dump the pasta in the pot of boiling water on the stove, hoping the steam would explain the sudden flush in her cheeks.

“Did you want wine or beer or something else?”

“I’d love a beer if you’ve got one handy,” he said.

She stirred the pasta, then moved to the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of Icky IPA. “Bottle or glass?” she asked as she pried off the cap.

“Bottle’s fine.”

Instead of taking the bottle she offered, he wrapped his hand around hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked warily.

“Trying to figure out why you invited me to dinner but haven’t made eye contact since I walked through the door.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m just trying to get dinner finished up.”

“Tell me what I can do to help,” he suggested.

Go back to Echo Ridge.

The response immediately sprang to mind, but of course, she couldn’t say the words aloud without then explaining why his sudden and unexpected appearance in Haven complicated her life.

Instead, she only said, “For starters, you could give me back my hand.”

He loosened his grip so that she could pull her hand away without dropping the bottle. “What else?”

She gestured to the living area. “Go sit down.”

“You don’t trust me to help?”

“There’s really nothing you can do,” she told him.

“Do you want me to open the wine?”

She shook her head. “I’m going to stick with water—I’ve got work to do tonight.” Which was true, if not the whole truth.

He took his beer and moved around to the other side of the island. But instead of retreating to the living area and relaxing on the sofa, he chose one of the stools at the counter.

“So what do you think of Haven so far?” she asked, resigned to making small talk for eight minutes while the pasta cooked.

“I like it,” he said. “It’s a little smaller than Echo Ridge, but there’s a strong sense of community here.”

“There is,” she confirmed, lowering the heat on the burner beneath the sauce. “Even when I was away at school, I knew I’d come back here after graduation.”

“Summa cum laude from UCLA Law.”

She frowned. “How’d you know that?”

“I met your grandmother,” he confided.

“How? When?”

“Last weekend. I was walking down Main Street, trying to get a feel for the town, and our paths crossed. We had coffee together.”

“You had coffee with my grandmother?”

He nodded. “She introduced me to Donna Bradley at The Daily Grind.”

“You had coffee with my grandmother,” she said again.

He studied her as he tipped his bottle to his lips, swallowed. “Why does that bother you?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” she denied. “But it’s a little weird.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my grandmother and you’re...”

“The guy you had lots of naked sweaty sex with?”

“Okay, yes,” she allowed.

“I didn’t tell her about the naked sweaty sex,” he promised.

“Thank you for that,” she said drily.

He just grinned.

And that smile did strange things to her pulse...or maybe it was the heat from standing so close to the stove.

“But I haven’t stopped thinking about it—or you,” he continued. “I applied for the job before I met you, but you were definitely a factor in my decision to accept it.”

“We weren’t ever supposed to see one another again,” she reminded him of the agreement they’d made in Boulder City.

“And yet, you went to Echo Ridge last weekend.” The surprise must have shown on her face because he explained, “You left a message with Deputy Ryker.”

She nodded. “A friend of mine from law school lives in Texas. Since I was there, I thought I’d stop by to say hi.”

“Texas is a pretty big state.”

“Chloe lives just outside of Dallas, so a side-trip to Echo Ridge wasn’t really out of my way.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I was kind of hoping you’d made the trip to see me.”

The timer on the stove buzzed, granting her a temporary reprieve from the increasingly awkward conversation.

“Dinner’s ready.”

* * *

There was something on her mind.

Something more than concern about the client who’d brought her into his office a few hours earlier. When Luke Ryker told him that she’d shown up at the Sheriff’s Office, he’d hoped it was memories of the nights they’d spent together that inspired Katelyn to track him down. But she certainly wasn’t giving the impression of a woman motivated by carnal desires.

And though she kept up her end of the conversation while they ate, her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

“Is it convenient or tiresome to live above your office?” he asked, attempting to engage her attention.

Katelyn twirled her fork in her pasta. “It’s convenient,” she said. “Certainly a lot more convenient than driving twenty miles into town from the Circle G Ranch every day.”

He’d heard of the Circle G—reputedly the biggest and most prosperous cattle ranch in all of Haven County. It was also, if he remembered the story correctly, half of the property that was the original source of friction between the Gilmore and Blake families when they settled in the area more than one hundred and fifty years before.

According to local folklore, back in the spring of 1855, a developer sold a 100,000-acre parcel of land in Nevada to Everett Gilmore, a struggling farmer from Plattsmouth, Nebraska. The same developer also sold 100,000 acres to Samuel Blake, a down-on-his-luck businessman from Omaha. Both men subsequently packed up their families and their worldly possessions and headed west for a fresh start.