A Lawman in Her Stocking (8 page)

The feeling was so poignant that it startled her with its intensity and allowed a degree of sanity to intrude. “Dylan, what are we—”

Pulling his hands from beneath her sweater, Dylan’s chest rose and fell against hers as he took several deep breaths. “Don’t worry, darlin’.” He placed her on the couch beside him, then handed her the bowl of popcorn. “I meant it when I told you we’d take this one step at a time.”

“I think we just skipped step one and moved right on to step two,” she said, feeling as if she’d run a marathon.

His deep, sexy chuckle sent a fresh wave of goose bumps skipping over her skin. Without a word, she handed him the bowl of popcorn, then reached into the candy dish on the coffee table for a handful of chocolate drops. Having chocolate was much safer than having Dylan, she told herself as she hastily unwrapped the silver foil and popped a piece of candy into her mouth.

W
hen the mayor and councilmen arrived Monday morning for the meeting he had requested, Dylan ushered them into his office and slammed the door. “Which one of you gave the B.S. Club permission to paint the fire hydrants?” he asked, motioning for the three men to seat themselves in the chairs in front of his desk.

“It sure wasn’t me,” Luke Washburn said emphatically, plopping down in one of the chairs.

Ed Taylor shook his head as he and Myron took their seats. “It wasn’t me either.”

When they all turned to stare at Myron, he remained strangely silent, and Dylan thought the man just might hang himself if he didn’t stop fingering his bolo tie.

“Myron, do you have any idea who gave the B.S.
Club permission to do this?” Dylan asked, already knowing the answer as he sank into the chair behind his desk.

The rotund little man’s face turned beet-red. “Cornelia said it would be done in good taste and—”

“Good taste?”
Dylan and the other men shouted in unison.

Myron’s shoulders sagged “—she threatened to stop cookin’.”

“Well, hell, Myron, you didn’t have to let them vandalize the fire hydrants,” Luke said, sounding as disgusted as he looked. “I run a restaurant. I could of fed you.”

Myron’s expression conveyed his misery. “She said I’d have to sleep on the couch till I came to my senses, too.”

“I guess it would get mighty lonely sleepin’ by yourself,” Ed said, understanding written all over his face.

Myron snorted. “Aw, hell, Ed. I ain’t worried about sleepin’ by myself, or doin’ without for a while. It’s that damned couch that bothers me. There’s a loose spring right in the middle of the blasted thing that pokes me in the butt every time I lay down.” He rubbed his rump as if the thought of it caused pain. “I think she keeps it around just to threaten me when she wants her way.”

Dylan watched the exchange, then sighed heavily. “Giving them permission to paint the hydrants isn’t the problem. What I’d like to know is whose bright idea it was to plaster my face on the one outside?”

“They painted every one of the danged things to resemble somebody,” Luke Washburn complained.
“My wife, Helen, painted the one in front of our place and made me look like a damned Santa troll.”

“Yeah, one that’s been on a real bender,” Ed chortled.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t act too cocky, Taylor.” Luke laughed. “Your wife painted yours with its eyes crossed.”

“Isn’t that the most pitiful-lookin’ thing you ever saw?” Ed shook his head. “I told Emily she’d better buy herself a pair of specs or quit that damned paintin’. I know I ain’t the best-lookin’ man around, but I ain’t
that
homely.”

“Dylan, I don’t know why you’ve got your shorts in a bunch,” Luke said, turning back to face him. “Yours looks better than most.”

“That’s right,” Ed chimed in. “At least that Montgomery gal can paint.”

When Ed mentioned Brenna’s involvement, Dylan’s left eyebrow started twitching and his stomach felt as if little men in spiked shoes were doing an Irish jig in his belly. He didn’t need the added complications of the B.S. Club project, on top of trying to deal with his feelings for Brenna.

“Dylan, you’ve been seein’ that little gal pretty regular,” Ed said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, and the women didn’t get all fired-up about changin’ the way things have always been until she came to town and started them danged classes,” Luke groused.

“You gotta do somethin’ about all this, Dylan,” Ed said in earnest.

Dylan sat forward. “Now, hold it right there. It’s
your
wives who came up with this hare-brained
scheme. Besides, I can’t, and won’t, try to tell Brenna what to do, or not do. I’m not getting involved.”

“Oh, yes, you are,” Myron said, jumping to his feet. He paced back and forth in front of Dylan’s desk. “You’re gonna have to start snoopin’ around more if we intend to stop this before they completely ruin the town.”

“That’s right, Dylan,” Ed added. “Knowin’ that bunch, if we don’t stop ’em now, come this spring you’ll be drivin’ around in the sheriff’s truck with pink and yellow daisies painted on the sides.”

“Since you ain’t married, it won’t cause you near the grief it could cause us,” Luke said earnestly.

Dylan tasted defeat and it sat heavily on an already knotted stomach. “What can
I
do? Brenna has a mind of her own. I can’t tell her what to do, any more than you men can tell your wives.”

Myron looked thoughtful. “We don’t want you to tell her nothin’, boy. Try askin’ her what they have up their sleeves next. Then when you find out, let us know so we can head ’em off ’fore they do something else to make a mockery of Tranquillity.”

Ed Taylor stood up. “Now that we’ve got that settled, I’m goin’ by the drugstore to pick up a box of chocolates for Emily.”

“Why you doin’ that?” Luke asked.

“To make amends,” Ed answered as he started for the door. “Myron may not care about sleepin’ all by his lonesome, but I do.”

“Me, too.” Looking thoughtful, Luke followed him. “I’m pretty sure Helen got offended when I told her the best thing she could do would be to throw
them paints and brushes away and buy a dog to play with.”

“If you two are buyin’ candy for your wives, I’d better buy some for Cornelia,” Myron said, joining them. At their questioning look, he shrugged. “I need some kind of insurance against that damned couch.”

Dylan watched the three men file out of his office. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t win.

On one hand, he wholeheartedly agreed with the men. The women did have some cockamamie ideas. God only knew what they planned to do next.

But on the other hand, he couldn’t forget the excitement in Brenna’s eyes when she talked about her role in the B.S. Club’s plans. She was genuinely thrilled to have been asked to join the women and become involved in the community so quickly. And he’d be damned before he did anything to take that happiness from her.

His gaze landed on the clock and he noticed it was already after lunch. He couldn’t believe he’d wasted most of the morning listening to the council members’ impotent complaints, then the rest of it trying to figure out what his own role was in the whole mess.

Shaking his head, Dylan made the decision to put it out of his mind. He had a feeling he could spend the rest of the day speculating on what he could do to resolve the matter and never come up with a solution. Besides, thinking about it just made his eyebrow twitch and his stomach churn.

Brenna shivered uncontrollably as she hurried down the sidewalk. Why had she opted to walk from
her shop instead of driving the distance to the grade school? In the hour she’d been inside working with the fourth graders, the temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees and the cold rain pelting down on her felt like icy needles.

If only the storm had waited just a few more minutes, she’d have reached her shop before the downpour started. But it hadn’t and instead of being dry and warm, she was completely soaked and chilled to the bone.

For the third time in as many minutes, she wondered what had possessed her to choose a Polynesian Christmas tale and a hula girl costume for today’s story hour. The rain had quickly soaked the grass skirt, and besides clinging to her legs like pieces of limp spaghetti, it felt as if it weighed twenty pounds. She’d worn her hair down and the long, wet strands slapped her in the face with every gust of wind.

But if there was any part of her that felt more miserable than another, it had to be her feet. The flip-flop shoes she’d worn offered no protection from the weather at all. Her feet were drenched, extremely cold, and with every step the shoes slopped cold water up from the sidewalk onto the backs of her legs. Fortunately, she’d thought to throw a jacket in her tote bag and her hot-pink sports bra was blessedly dry. At least, for the moment.

Why hadn’t she opted to wear mukluks and tell the story of
Nanook of the North?
she wondered as she plodded through yet another puddle. At least she’d be warmer than she was now.

Trying not to think about how miserable she was, it took a moment for her to realize that the sheriff’s
SUV had pulled up beside her. When the power window slid down, Dylan was frowning. “Come on. Get in out of the rain.”

Brenna was so glad to see him, she didn’t think twice about accepting his offer, even though he’d told her to get into the truck instead of asking. Opening the door, she quickly slid into the passenger side of the nice, warm vehicle and closed the door.

“N-nice day…f-for ducks…w-wouldn’t you say?” She shivered uncontrollably and her teeth chattered so badly they sounded like castanets.

“Damn, darlin’, you’re frozen,” Dylan said, turning the heat to full blast. The warm air immediately washed over her and felt absolutely heavenly.

“Th-thank you…f-for the…r-ride,” she managed to get out around her clicking teeth.

Shifting the SUV into park, he reached over to rub his hands up and down her arms. “Why didn’t you drive to the school? Didn’t you hear the weather report this morning about a blue norther blowing through?”

“I d-didn’t listen to…t-the radio this morning. Besides, I th-thought I would be…finished before it started raining.” The chattering began to slow down as she felt the heat from Dylan’s hands flow through her. “I was wrong.”

“Obviously.” He reached over to help her out of her wet jacket, then slipped out of his dry, leather one and placed it around her shoulders.

His gaze leisurely traveled the length of her, stopping at her sports bra, then traveling down to her skirt. The wet strands of grass had parted so her thighs were
mostly exposed. Her cheeks heated and, reaching down, she tried to arrange the strips to cover herself.

“I’m afraid this isn’t very appropriate for this type of weather,” she said, uncertain whether the shiver that snaked up her spine was due to the weather, or from his heated gaze.

His deep chuckle sent a fresh wave of goose bumps sweeping across her skin and she knew the tremor had nothing to do with the chilling rain. “I can honestly say this is the first Story Lady costume you’ve worn that I approve of,” he said, his smile sending another shiver coursing though her. His smile turning serious, he asked, “Do you have another change of clothes at the shop?”

“No, but I have some in my tote bag.” She pulled a soggy turtleneck sweater and a pair of equally wet jeans from the canvas tote. “Well, they were dry a few minutes ago.”

“I’ll take you by your place first, then drive you to your shop.”

Shifting the truck back into drive, Dylan remained silent as he drove Brenna to her house. He hated that she’d gotten cold and wet, but appreciated the hell out of the fact that the rain had provided him with more than a fair view of her luscious body.

Her bright pink spandex sports top did little to conceal that her nipples had peaked from the cold, and the droplets of water from her wet hair sliding down into the garment had caused his mouth to go dry. But when he’d noticed the grass skirt had parted, revealing her smooth thighs, his body had hardened so fast that it had momentarily made him dizzy.

“It looks like Pete and your grandmother have
plans for the afternoon,” he said, pointing to his antique Chevy truck pulling from Brenna’s driveway. He watched Pete and Abigail wave as they drove past. “I wonder where they’re headed this time?”

“Granny mentioned something about her and Pete spending the afternoon and most of the evening down in Alpine,” Brenna said, rummaging around in the depths of her tote. “By the way, would you like to come over to watch a movie after dinner?”

“Sure. What time should I come by?”

“I have a meeting right after I close the shop, but I should be finished by seven,” she added, dragging several items out of the canvas bag. She sighed heavily. “Well, that’s just great. I must have left my house keys on the dresser this morning and I have no way of getting into the house to change.”

“You don’t have an extra key under the doormat or hidden in a flowerpot somewhere?” he asked, turning the SUV into the drive.

She shook her head. “Granny says that’s the first place a burglar would look.”

“I agree,” he said, nodding. “But most people do it anyway. I advise having an extra key made and carrying it in your purse or wallet.” He left the motor running as they sat staring out the windshield at the house. “I don’t suppose you have an extra key at the shop?”

She worried her lower lip as she shook her head. “Afraid not.”

He picked up the microphone to radio Jason that he wouldn’t be back to the office until later, then backed the truck out onto the street. “Looks like I’ll have to take you to my place.”

“We can’t go to your house,” she protested. “I need to reopen my shop for the rest of the afternoon.”

He continued to drive toward the cabin he shared with Pete on the outskirts of town. “I doubt you’ll have that much business in this kind of weather, but after I loan you a pair of sweats, I’ll bring you back to town.”

The thought of her wearing his clothes sent his blood pressure soaring and made him harder than hell. If just thinking about her in his baggy sweatsuit aroused him this much, he was in bigger trouble than he’d ever imagined possible.

Steering the truck up the lane to his cabin, Dylan tried not to dwell on the fact that very soon he’d be inside his home with Brenna. Alone. And she’d be taking off her clothes and putting on his. Sweat popped out on his upper lip and he had to concentrate to keep from groaning out loud.

“I hope Granny and Pete make it to Alpine safely,” Brenna said, bringing him back to the present.

“I’m sure they will.” He pulled the SUV to a stop beside the front porch of his home. “Pete’s seen more than his share of blue northers move through.” Dylan opened the driver’s door, then came around to help her from the passenger side. “Just be glad that this far south we get rain and not snow. It’s my bet the Panhandle is knee-deep in it about now.”

“It feels cold enough to snow,” she said, shivering visibly.

“It’s chilly and you’re wet. It just seems colder than it really is.” He placed his hands at her waist to
lift her down from the truck and gritted his teeth at the feel of her satiny skin against his rough palms.