“Could we just forget about that night?”

Lorna asked.

“I guess that was an unusual night for both of us.” Jess believed anything she told him, he realized. But he still had the nagging sense that there was something else she hadn’t told him.

“I’d like to take you to dinner,” he said, sounding as casual as possible while he thought about what her body felt like. And how sweet she tasted when she parted her lips for his kiss. He wanted her more than he wanted to breathe.

“It’s not necessary,” she replied. “Honest.”

“I’d like to anyway.”

“I can’t.”

“Are you involved with someone else?” Jess wondered, ignoring a fierce stab of jealousy.

She shook her head.

“Then you’re free to have dinner with me Friday night.”

“Mr. Sheridan, I really can’t go out with you.”

“Call me Jess,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He turned quickly and went down the porch steps. He didn’t want to hear her objections, didn’t want to hear her refuse his invitation.

He was a patient man. He could wait until Friday.

Dear Reader,

Welcome once again to Beauville, Texas!

Blame It on Babies was such fun to write, especially when it opened with Jake and Elizabeth’s wedding in the town square. Pookie is there, wearing a tux in honor of the festivities, and so are all the cowhands from the Dead Horse Ranch. A waitress serving barbecued ribs at the reception and a bitterly divorced wedding guest end up together at the end of the evening. Six months later, Jess and Lorna’s volatile romance gives the townspeople lots to talk about!

You’ll meet these characters again, plus some other familiar friends, in my next book, Blame it on Texas, a Harlequin single title available in March 2001. You’ll see what happened to Elizabeth and Jake, plus learn a few of the town’s best-kept secrets, when the Good Night Drive In is turned into a retirement home and Dustin Jones, former cowhand at the Dead Horse Ranch, meets up with his first love.

I love hearing from readers, so please let me know what characters you’d like to see again in future Beauville stories.

Best wishes!

Kristine Rolofson

P.O. Box 323

Peace Dale, RI 02883

Books by Kristine Rolofson

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

765—BILLY AND THE KID

802—BLAME IT ON COWBOYS*

Blame it on Babies

Kristine Rolofson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

1

JESS SHERIDAN HAD NO USE for weddings. He was only attending this one out of respect for the man standing next to the bride, an impressively beautiful woman he’d seen shopping in town a few times. She’d looked pleasant enough…but didn’t they all?

Until the ring went on their finger, that is.

He watched Jake Johnson kiss his bride and applauded with the rest of the Beauville residents as the justice of the peace pronounced them married. Then he acknowledged Jake’s grin as the groom walked Mrs. Johnson back up the makeshift aisle toward the blue-and-white striped tent set up in the corner of the park. There’d be a makeshift bar in that tent, considering the amount of ice he’d seen being unloaded in that direction. No one would go thirsty this afternoon, not if the rumors were true about Jake sparing no expense to celebrate his sudden wedding to someone he’d known only a few weeks. The man was taking a chance, Jess figured, but no one had asked his opinion so he kept it to himself.

A cold beer would go down real good right now, considering a July afternoon in Texas had to be what hell felt like. Lucky he was used to it, like most folks around here, or else they’d expire before the barbecue ribs and corn bread were served over in the Grange Hall across the street. Jess looked around and saw some of the hands from the Dead Horse looking as if they were as thirsty as he was. Young Calhoun looked pale, probably hungover, if the rumors were right about him being dumped before getting married himself and drowning his sorrows in Jack Daniels ever since.

The kid spotted him, which made Jess wish he’d hurried to the beer tent a little faster.

“Sheridan!”

“Calhoun.” Jess braced himself for an onslaught of questions, but the group of men from the Dead Horse seemed uncharacteristically silent. “Nice wedding,” was all he could think of to say. Inwardly he wondered if Jake would be able to keep his ranch after the divorce or would his wife carry a bag of money back to wherever it was in New England she came from.

“What a shindig!” The young man wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. “I’m glad that’s over. Jake made us wear these neckties.”

“And iron our shirts,” Old Shorty griped. “But Miz Elizabeth sure looked pretty, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. Most brides do.”

Dusty Jones, the cowhand closer to his own age than the others, gave him a sharp look. And then he smiled, as if he knew darn well what other things Jess had been thinking.

“She’s a nice lady. And they’ll do just fine,” the man declared. “Jake’s a happy man today.”

Bobby sighed. “I should’ve been a married man last week. Amy Lou and I were gonna get married on the Fourth of July.”

Shorty rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, your heart’s been broken a few hundred times before this one, so you’ll get over it.”

“I saw the Wynette twins heading toward the beer tent,” Dusty said. “You might drown your sorrows in that direction.”

Calhoun brightened, his broken heart obviously forgotten with the news that the blond barrel racers were starting to drink. Billy Martin, his ever-present cohort, looked more cheerful, too. “Well, I guess we’d all better get us a cold beer.”

Shorty shook his head. “We’re supposed to go into the line,” he told them. “Shake Jake’s hand and kiss the bride and all that.”

“The receiving line,” Jess felt compelled to point out, “starts over there by the bar.”

He would have laughed at the expression of relief on the men’s faces, but he didn’t think anything was funny today. In a few short hours he was leaving Beauville, and he didn’t care if he never returned. “Where’s Roy?”

“He elected to stay at the ranch,” Bobby said. “He’s not much for crowds.”

“I’d better go get that dog,” Shorty said. “I promised Miz Elizabeth I’d keep him out of the sun.”

“And away from the ladies,” Bobby added. “The little critter likes to pee on just about anything.”

“Better keep Billy away from the ladies too, with his luck,” Shorty joked, earning an elbow in the ribs from Marty.

“He’s right. I have the worst damn luck with women,” the young cowboy grumbled, but his gaze was on the beer tent. The receiving line was moving right along.

“I think I win that prize,” Jess said, tipping his hat lower on his forehead. The four men stared at him, then looked at the ground, the beer tent, the sky and the two matronly ladies who walked past them.

“Well,” Shorty drawled, after swallowing hard, “not every man gets as lucky as Jake.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Bobby offered, and broke into his usual grin. Jess had to hand it to him. The boy was sure good-natured, like his father and grandfather, if the stories were right.

“And so will I,” Jess agreed, starting toward the line of people waiting to congratulate the newly married couple. A beer was sounding better by the minute in this heat. He wasn’t going to stay for the food or the dancing; he wasn’t going to give the town biddies a chance to look at him and gossip about his marriage and all the things that Susan had done behind his back.

Jess and the boys from the Dead Horse got in line behind a tall brunette with legs up to her chin and a plump redhead with a chest that could make a man weep for mercy. After the obligatory congratulations to the bride and groom, Jess stepped aside and left the flirting to Calhoun and Marty, two young men who had yet to discover that women were trouble and should be avoided at all costs.

THE BRIDE WORE GREEN. A cool, minty silver shade of the palest green that showed off her golden tan and chestnut hair. Lorna Walters would bet a million dollars the woman’s eyes were a similar mossy shade. It would be stunning, she thought, wishing she was closer to see what was going on, but she’d signed on to serve barbecue ribs and she didn’t think the bride would be beckoning her over any time soon.

The bride was carrying a dog. Or at least, Lorna thought it was a dog. It was hairy and wore a tuxedo, so it could have been a monkey. But she’d heard Martha McIntosh, the town clerk, whisper to a younger redheaded woman that the bride thought her little dog should be at the wedding, at least for a while. A dog in a tuxedo would certainly keep the towns-people talking for a while. That and the green bridal gown that didn’t look like a bridal gown. The new Mrs. Jake Johnson must be an original thinker.

Beauville wasn’t used to original thinkers, Lorna didn’t suppose.

Lorna basted ribs with Texas Tom’s Secret Barbecue Sauce and thought about weddings and men and one man in particular. He was here. She’d spotted him standing off to one side, staring at the bride and groom as if he’d never seen anything more horrifying than a man and a woman getting married.

She guessed she couldn’t blame him. Everyone in town had known what Sue was doing behind her husband’s back—except her husband. Even Lorna had heard about it and she’d been living in Dallas at the time.

That’s when she’d been employed, with a roof over her head and enough money to pay for gasoline and food and a closet full of clothes and shoes. She still had the car, the clothes and an impressive collection of shoes, but the job? Basting ribs and wearing a spattered canvas apron over her waitress uniform certainly proved what her mother had always warned, “Pride goeth before a fall, Lorna, so you’d better not get too big for your britches.”

Well, her britches would be spattered with barbecue sauce too if she wasn’t careful.

“Lorna!” Texas Tom waved his spatula at her. “Quit daydreaming and turn that batch over.”

“Okay,” she hollered back, and obligingly picked up the tongs. What was a little smoke? The crunchy edges only made the ribs taste better, Lorna knew, but she did as she was told before glancing toward the crowd across the grass at the beer tent. They’d be looking for platters of ribs soon, and Lorna hoped she’d be the one carrying the food next door to the Grange. Texas Tom had set up his barbecue grills in the park, as close to the Grange as he could get without interfering with the crowd of wedding guests. The smoke puffed away from the people and the ovens were placed so that inquisitive onlookers could look at the sizzling beef but not get close enough to burn themselves.

Jess Sheridan was somewhere in the crowd. If she could see through the smoke she might spot him. If she was lucky he might even take a rib or two from her tray. He would say, “I could never resist a woman who smells like smoked hickory,” and then he would sweep her into his arms and—

“Get those ribs in back out of the flames, dammit!” Texas Tom didn’t have a lot of patience for novices, not when his reputation was at stake. He did glance once again at Lorna’s breasts, as if he was trying to see them through the thick fabric of the apron.

“No problem,” Lorna said, trying not to burn herself despite the thick oven mitts she’d found in a box of spices and paper towels.

“Never mind,” the fat little cook sputtered. Texas Tom wasn’t known for his wonderful personality. He took the tongs out of her hand and pointed to the platters piled with smoking pork. “Take those into the Grange and put them on the long tables set up across from the desserts. And try not to drop anything.”

“I won’t,” she promised, catching the wink of the other worker, a teenaged boy who was in the unfortunate situation of having the “Texas BBQ King” for an uncle. She smiled at him and, dropping her gloves on the makeshift table, wiped her perspiring face with a clean paper towel. There were advantages to seeing Jess Sheridan at a distance, especially since she had never looked worse. Not that he would recognize her anyway.

“And get that hair out of your face,” came another order from the old ogre. Lorna complied, managing to redo her curly ponytail in one practiced motion.

Lorna picked up one of the heavy platters and got a good grip on the handles before heading to the Grange. She also had to get a grip on her imagination. She had as much of a chance with Jess Sheridan as Texas Tom did with her: Absolutely zero.

HE NOTICED HER. And he was certain other men did, too, though Jess didn’t see any of them bothering her while she refilled the rib platters and replaced empty pots of barbecued beans with full ones. She worked hard, managing to carry salads and platters and all sorts of food back and forth between the catering trucks and the Grange.

This particular woman would be difficult to ignore. Tiny, curves in all the right places, from what he could tell. She moved like a woman who was aware of exactly what she was doing to every man there at the Johnson wedding. Golden, almost silver, curls tumbled around her face and down her neck, as the ponytail at the back of her head loosened. Blue eyes, he’d guess, though he hadn’t been close enough to see for himself. Her face was flushed, though the color looked good on her.

He shouldn’t watch her, and he didn’t. Not too much, anyway. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her before, so she must have come with the Texas Tom employees. No way was she related to the BBQ King, not with that complexion and that hair. He hoped she got paid well, hoped she’d find another job that didn’t require carrying other people’s garbage.

But mostly he just wished she’d go away. He didn’t particularly like that he was watching her like some pervert.

“Mr. Sheridan?” He looked to his right to see the bride looking up at him, her expression a little uncertain. He wondered if he’d been frowning, so he forced himself to look pleasant.

“Mrs. Johnson?”

“Please, call me Elizabeth.”

“If you call me Jess. My first name is really Jester, but only my mother ever got away with calling me that.”

“Thank you.” The bride’s smile widened, which was what Jess intended. He knew he was overly tall and overly large, but that came in handy in his profession. Smiling didn’t.

“What can I do for you, Elizabeth?”

“Jake and I wanted to thank you for coming today. We’re getting ready to leave for our honeymoon, but I realized there were still people I hadn’t had a chance to talk to.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I wouldn’t have missed it,” Jess lied, knowing damn well he would have used any excuse he could think up to avoid watching a wedding take place. “Jake’s a good friend.” That was the truth. Jess looked past the bride to see the groom heading their way. He looked like a man who was ready for his wedding night, especially when his arm went around his bride and he reached out to shake Jess’s hand. Jess didn’t think he’d ever seen his friend so happy. Lord, he hoped it would last. At least for a couple of years.

“Thanks for coming.”

Jess cleared his throat. “Yeah. Where’re you headed now?”

“To the airport,” Elizabeth said. “We leave for Boston tomorrow morning.”

“We’re spending a couple of weeks in New England. I always wanted to see the ocean.”

“The boys at the Dead Horse can survive without you?”

Jake shook his head. “Probably not, but we’re moving out to my place. Permanently. Bobby’s going to have to find another foreman.”

“Or do the work himself,” Jess added.

“Exactly.” The men shared a smile. The thought of that wild-ass cowboy actually running his own place seemed ludicrous. “I guess it has to happen sooner or later.”

“Bobby will do just fine,” the bride declared. “And so will the ranch.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jess said to Elizabeth, but his mind was on the yellow-haired waitress whom he could see out of the corner of his eye clearing the table near where they stood. That damn apron mostly hid her body, but he’d bet his last paycheck it was the kind of body a man would remember.

“Shorty’s moving out to my place to take care of things while we’re gone,” Jake said, and Jess struggled to turn his attention back to his friend. He’d thought for a moment he recognized the woman, but on second look he doubted it. He would have remembered.

“Sounds good,” he agreed, shaking Jake’s hand once again as the couple bid him goodbye. He turned his attention once again to the blond gal, but she was busy handing out wedding cake and he couldn’t see her face. So he decided to have another drink. It would be whiskey instead of beer. He would join the crowd gathered outside and drink to Jake’s good fortune.

As the day wore on and drew closer to sundown, Jess freely sampled the whiskey and paid vague attention to the festivities. “Yeah,” he said in response to Calhoun’s words, lifting another glass to toast to…something. He hadn’t heard what Calhoun announced, but every other man standing at the edge of the tent looked damned impressed. The plump redhead was stuck to Bobby’s side like a tick, so the kid obviously wasn’t pining too hard for his lost fiancée. “Better watch out, Calhoun,” he muttered, lifting his empty glass. Someone filled it up again, which was exactly what he’d hoped would happen.

Teenage twins draped themselves over Billy Martin, Shorty sat in the shade with a flat-faced dog asleep on his lap, and a country-western band wailed from the bandstand in the center of the small park. Jake and his bride had spared no expense to keep the party going, even though they’d left town a while ago. He figured they must have invited everyone in the county to the wedding.

Thank God he didn’t have to work tonight. He had the next two days off, and Jess intended to make the most of his last hours in town. He was going to get good and drunk, drunk enough to forget that his wife had emptied their bank account and run off with a man from nearby Marysville. Drunk enough to forget that yesterday the divorce was final. And drunk enough to forget what she’d called him when she left.

Unfortunately, Jess didn’t think there was enough booze in Beauville to blot out the memory of his ex-wife.

SHE WOULD NEVER, EVER WORK for Texas Tom again, not if it meant having to load her possessions into a couple of stray grocery carts and live in the parking lot behind the hardware store. When he wasn’t leering at her chest, he was shouting orders. She didn’t know which one was worse; at least when he was leering she didn’t have to listen to the sound of his voice.

“Lorna!” She turned to see the fat toad gesturing toward another pile of garbage. Unfortunately the bags were made of clear plastic, meaning Texas Tom had seen something inside of them he didn’t like.

“What?”

“Those damn cowboys threw the silverware out with the paper plates. You’re gonna have to go through all this and make sure none of them forks get lost. I came here with four hundred forks and I’m damn well gonna leave with four hundred forks.”

She would give four hundred dollars—which would pretty much empty her bank account—to go back to Aunt Carol’s little house and soak in a bathtub filled with vanilla-scented water. Going through garbage was not her idea of a great way to end the day. “Look, Tom, don’t you think I should finish rinsing dishes?” She was standing there in wet tennis shoes, hose in hand, a stack of platters and various cooking utensils beside her that needed to be cleaned up before Tom’s nephew could finish loading everything in the truck.

“Yeah, but ’fore we leave we’re counting forks, or someone’s gonna pay,” he grumbled, his gaze dropping to her bare legs. He’d told her to wear a waitress uniform, so she’d gone to Marysville and spent thirty-seven dollars she could have used for the phone bill. She’d been so happy to find work she hadn’t questioned the expense.

“It takes money to make money,” her mother always said. And what would it take to paw through mounds of garbage? Rubber gloves and a decent vocabulary of cuss words, Lorna decided. She would curse quietly under her breath so no one would hear her. After all, some of those words might give Texas Tom ideas.

She tried to hurry through the cleaning of the cookware. The sun had set, though lanterns were placed around the tent and over the cleanup area next to the grills. Tom’s nephew was a decent enough kid, and the sooner she got the racks cleaned up, the sooner he and his uncle could head back to Marysville. With or without four hundred forks.

“Hey,” the nephew said, as she finished the last of the trays and turned off the hose. “How’s it goin’?”

“We can’t leave until we count the silverware,” she told him. “He thinks some of it ended up in the garbage.”

“Cripe.” The boy picked up all four racks of glassware as easily as if they were filled with paper cups. “He’s on that kick again?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll help,” he offered, “as soon as I get the truck loaded up. I’m about halfway done.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lorna picked up a lantern and swung it toward the piles of garbage bags. “With any luck it won’t take me long. The forks would sink to the bottom of the bags, right?”

He lowered his voice. “My uncle’s a real prick sometimes.”

“I just want to get paid,” Lorna said, setting the lantern on the bed of a truck. “He promised cash.”

“Yeah,” the boy said. “I know what you mean. Good luck.”

Good luck. Was there any such thing? Maybe, maybe not. “Luck” would be having the man of your dreams finally notice you. “Luck” would be landing a job with health benefits and a three-week vacation. Lorna untied the nearest garbage bag and put on a pair of yellow rubber gloves. “Luck” would be never having to work for Texas Tom again.

2

“YOU’RE NOT DRIVING, ARE YOU?”

Jess shook his head at the bartender. “Walkin’,” was his reply. He would walk to his truck and sleep in the cab. Wouldn’t be the first time, though those days were years ago. In his misspent youth.

Those were the days. Now, at thirty-seven, he couldn’t drink much whiskey—or anything else alcoholic for that matter—without hurting himself. It was hardly worth it, but today’s wedding preceded by yesterday’s divorce were events worth trying to forget.

He set down his last empty glass and, stepping over the bodies of a couple of cowboys who couldn’t hold their liquor, managed to exit the tent without embarrassing himself by falling flat on his face. Most everyone had gone home—or on to the bars to finish what they’d started. Even the musicians were packing up, and over in the far corner of the park, lights highlighted the removal of Texas Tom’s traveling barbecue feast.

Jess thought he’d parked somewhere over there, but he wasn’t sure. He remembered passing the Grange on his way in, so he figured he was heading in the right direction if he walked toward the lights. As he got closer, he was surprised to see that pretty little waitress rifling through the garbage like a starving dog.

“Honey,” he drawled, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t scare her. She jumped anyway, then turned around and stared at him.

“What?”

“Honey,” he tried again, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket. “You sure as hell shouldn’t be in this pre-pre-predicament.” He pulled a couple of twenties out of his wallet and handed them to her.

“What are you doing?” She didn’t look too happy to take the money. In fact, she tried to stuff it back into his palm. And succeeded, too, before she took a step backward.

“Buy yourself a decent meal,” he said, holding out the bills again. “Decent meals,” he said, correcting himself. With forty dollars she ought to be able to eat for three days, if she was careful. “No reason to go through garbage for something to eat. Doesn’t that cheap bas—Texas Tom give you supper?”

He thought she was going to laugh, but he couldn’t see her face too well now that she’d stepped away from the lantern. He’d caught a glimpse of big blue eyes and a set of lips that were made for—well, just about anything a man could think of, he figured.

“I’m looking for forks,” she said. “And I’m not hungry, thank you.”

“Forks,” he repeated, hoping he sounded sober. He’d gotten a little dizzy a second ago when she’d smiled. “What for?”

“Texas Tom is counting the silverware.” She retied the garbage bag and set it off to one side with two others. “I have to see if any of his precious forks got thrown out before I can go home.”

“Or he’ll dock your pay?”

“Probably.” She reached for another bag and then shook her head. “I’m done. I found two of them.” She pulled them out of her apron pocket to show him. “I guess I’ve done my duty.”

“Maybe some more will turn up in the grass tomorrow,” he said, hoping to be helpful. He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t be helpful, after all. And the woman was so damn pretty.

“Yes.” She gazed up at him, real friendly and nice. Almost as if she knew him, but Jess didn’t think so. A man would remember her, that he was certain of. “You’re Jess Sheridan, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” So she did know him, or at least knew who he was. Most folks in town did. He went to take off his Stetson, but realized he was bareheaded. Damn. That hat had cost him a bundle six months ago. And it was probably stomped flat in the beer tent now.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“To sleep it off, ma’am. In my truck.” He pointed to where he hoped his truck was parked. “Somewhere over there.”

“Can you find your truck?”

He didn’t want to lie to the woman, but then again, a man had his pride. “Yep. No problem.”

“Lorna! You wanna stop flirtin’ with drunks and start countin’ my damn forks like I’m paying you to do?” A short bald guy, built like an Angus bull, came roaring up to the waitress and stopped just short of crashing into her. Jess wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s gaze drop to the little lady’s chest.

“Who you calling a drunk?” Jess straightened to his full height, which he knew was damn impressive, even in Texas, and glared at the screaming lecher.

“Never mind,” the waitress said, and she handed the man the forks. “Here. That’s all I found, Tom. And now I’m going home.”

“Not so fast, missy,” the man said, shaking the forks at her. “We’re not done here.”

The woman put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been either basting, chopping, grilling, serving, carrying, cleaning, washing or going through garbage since nine this morning. The place is cleaned up, the day is over and I want my money and I want to go home and go to bed. Now.”

Jess stared at her. He’d missed a few of the words, but he got the general idea. The little lady was tired.

“Bed?” Texas Tom grinned at her, but it wasn’t a real nice expression. “I’ll tuck you in, Lorna, if that’s what you want.”

“I want today’s pay. Eight dollars an hour, plus tips.” She wasn’t about to back down, something that didn’t surprise Jess. When a woman put her hands on her hips like that and started talking, it meant a man better listen. Or run for his life.

Tom glanced at Jess and took his life in his hands. “Get lost, cowboy. Lorna and me have business to take care of.”

“Nope. I’m staying right here.” Jess wished he hadn’t had that last glass of Jack Daniels. “I think you’d better give the lady what she wants.”

“You do, huh?” Tom reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a thick wad of bills. He counted out several and handed them to the waitress. “Hundred bucks plus fifty for the tip. Happy now?”

“Yes.” The money disappeared into her apron pocket and her shoulders sagged with relief. “Good night,” she said to Jess, and took a step backward.

“’Night,” Jess answered, realizing he couldn’t put off the search for his truck any longer. Besides, he was starting to get hungry. If he couldn’t find his truck maybe he could find the café and get some sustenance. He’d moved out of the circle of light when he heard Texas Tom’s voice again.

“Not so fast, babe,” the BBQ King said, stepping closer. He lowered his voice, but Jess had hearing like a fox. “There’s more where that came from, if you know what I mean. A woman like you could play her cards right and wake up with some money on her pillow.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the lady sputtered, then Jess heard a gasp. “Stop that!”

He was on Texas Tom in two seconds flat, plucked him by the back of his collar and held him away from the waitress, who looked like she wouldn’t mind a piece of him herself.

“The lady said no,” Jess drawled. “So I think it’s time for you to get into the truck and get out of here, Tom.”

Tom kept talking, and nothing was flattering to either Jess or the waitress, so Jess finally got tired of the noise and flung the man into the garbage bags, where he lay gasping for breath and more than a little stunned.

“Thanks.” The waitress smiled at him again, and Jess wobbled a little on his size thirteen feet.

“No problem, ma’am.” He wished he hadn’t lost his hat. He would have held it in his hands and begged her to keep smiling at him. “You need an escort home?”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, after looking over at Tom, who was struggling to get on his feet. “He’ll leave me alone now and I have the money he owed me.”

“I could walk you home,” Jess offered, hoping she lived somewhere in the direction of his truck. Or that he would see the truck on the way.

“Thank you, but—”

Jess barely knew what hit him. But in the moment before he blacked out he realized Texas Tom was the revengeful type.

LORNA SAT in the grass beside the man of her dreams and thought a little bit more about luck. Was this good luck or bad luck? She’d had a crush on Jess Sheridan since she was thirteen and now, years later, she was spending the evening with him. Just because he was snoring and unconscious didn’t discount the fact that they were together at last.

Here she’d always hoped he’d notice her, and when he did he thought she was digging for food from the garbage. It wasn’t what she’d call good luck, but she’d enjoyed talking to him, even if he’d had too much to drink and acted a little silly and wouldn’t remember her in the morning.

She liked looking at him. Lorna peered into his face, which had always been handsome. His dark hair was a little too short, but it waved nicely on his forehead. He had a large nose that fit his face, and lips that were neither too thin or too plump. His skin was tanned, as if he spent a lot of time outside, and she loved his chin. There was a faint dimple there; she could see its shadow from the corner streetlight and she’d touched it with her index finger just to make sure. His skin was smooth underneath her fingertip; he must have shaved right before the wedding.

He didn’t look as if he was in pain. Or dead. He looked peaceful, like he was taking a nap. His breathing was even and sometimes noisy. There’d been no blood. She’d thought about going for help, but that would mean leaving her rescuer alone near the pile of garbage. Which didn’t seem at all like the right thing to do.

Texas Tom had left in a hurry, especially after she threatened to call the police. Lorna thought it was her screaming that made Tom run to his truck, with the oversize metal tongs he’d used to hit Jess in the back of the head still in his hand. She’d screamed loud enough to wake the dead, but oddly nobody in Beauville came to her rescue. It was Saturday night and she could hear the music blasting from one of the bars around the corner. The beer tent was still standing, but it looked deserted, as if they’d left the cleaning up for tomorrow and gone to party somewhere else tonight.

Lorna looked back at the man sleeping on the grass. She couldn’t leave him here and he was too big to drag home, even though she didn’t live that far away. She could have gone to the sheriff’s office, but she didn’t want Jess to get into trouble. And she couldn’t sit here all night hoping that someone would come along and help her out. No, she was going to have to deal with the man all by herself.

“Jess,” she said aloud, inches from that handsome face. “Jess? Jess Sheridan, wake up.” She tried shaking his shoulder, but she was too gentle. She spoke louder and shook harder and managed to get a muttered oath out of him before he went back to sleep. She supposed the amount he had drunk had more to do with his condition than the blow dealt by a pair of barbecue tongs, but she still felt responsible for his predicament. He’d tried to give her money. How sweet was that?

So Lorna kept talking and prodding until Jess Sheridan opened his eyes and said, “For God’s sake, woman, leave me alone!”

Victory was hers, until she tried to get him to sit up, and then stand. He was heavy and sleepy and wobbly, but he put his arm around her when she told him to and she managed to lead him across the grassy park and across the street. There were lights on in most of the houses that lined the residential end of West Beaumont Street. They crossed Comstock without any problem, though Jess was a large man and Lorna was beginning to wonder if she had made a mistake in her plan of action. Screaming herself hoarse yelling for help might have been better than risking a broken back.

By the time she coaxed him up the three stairs to the front porch of her aunt’s narrow yellow house, Jess had begun to walk under his own power.

“Where are we?” he asked when she settled him against the front of the house so she could get the key out of her pocket and unlock the front door.

“My house.” She swung the door open and urged him to enter the living room.

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t leave you there in the park,” she explained as she turned on a light. “Not after everything you did.”

“Oh.” He looked confused.

“How’s your head feeling?”

“I’ll live.”

“I hope so.” She smiled up at him. “I didn’t know if I should take you to the hospital. I’d be glad to drive you home now if you’ll tell me where you live.”

He frowned and felt the back of his neck, then looked around the curtainless living room. Boxes were stacked neatly against the walls and the wood floor was bare. “Are you coming or going?”

“I just moved in,” she said, and would have explained about her aunt and her job and probably blabbed the complete unabridged story of her life, but Jess began to sway again. She caught him before he toppled over, then hurried him to the bedroom off the living area, a room she hadn’t had a chance to paint, and the only bed in the tiny house. Thank goodness she’d had time to make it this morning before leaving for the park.

“Sorry,” he managed to say. “The wedding—the whiskey—” He stared at her as she pushed him backward against the pillows. “Funny hair,” he muttered, touching one of the loose tendrils that had fallen on her cheek when she bent over. “Who are you?”

“Lorna,” she replied. “And we may have to go to the hospital after all to get your head examined.”

He grinned at her, making him look devilishly handsome and causing Lorna’s heart to beat a tiny bit faster. “Honey, do I look crazy to you?”

He looked as if he belonged there, was her first thought. And then she caught herself. “You look like a man who has had too much to drink. Sleep it off and I’ll drive you home later.”

“Home,” he repeated, then yawned. “Good idea,” was the last thing he said before leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes.

Lorna watched him for a moment and then decided he was asleep and would likely stay that way until she woke him to take him home. And she’d wake him, all right, as soon as she scrubbed off the barbecue sauce and washed her hair. She may have had a big crush on Jess Sheridan, star football player of the Marysville Marauders, when she was thirteen. She may have worshipped the rugged sheriff’s deputy who didn’t give her a speeding ticket the first day she got her driver’s license, and she may have even secretly hoped that Jess wouldn’t marry snippy Sue Miller, who didn’t deserve him, and instead would notice that the girl down the street had grown up.

But she didn’t expect him to remember her, even if tonight he was actually in her bed. Aunt Carol would roll over in her grave at the very idea, since the elderly woman hadn’t exactly thought a whole lot of men and had held very loud opinions on the kind of women who took men into their beds before their wedding days.

“Well, Aunt Carol,” Lorna explained aloud as she headed toward the bathroom, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do with him.”

HIS OWN SNORING woke him up. That, and the pain throbbing at the back of his neck. Jess opened his eyes and expected to be in his motel room, but his motel room didn’t smell like vanilla and hadn’t been shared with a woman. And there was definitely a woman curled up in the bed beside him. He was afraid to move for fear of waking her up, but his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and he saw a faint light at the other end of the room that he hoped led to a bathroom.

He lifted the sheet and saw that he was fully dressed, which only added to his confusion. When he slid out of the bed, he knocked over his boots. The noise didn’t appear to bother the woman, though. She lay curled away from him, long curly hair covering most of her face, her body relaxed and quiet.

Jess managed to find the bathroom and, realizing he smelled like someone had spilled booze all over him, took advantage of the pink-tiled shower and some vanilla-scented soap. He found mouthwash on the counters, towels in a narrow closet behind the door, and aspirin in the medicine cabinet above the sink. And since he didn’t know where he was and didn’t particularly care about it in the middle of the night, Jess went back to the bedroom—and found the sleeping woman sprawled across his side of the bed.

Who was she? He remembered a wedding. Jake’s wedding. But he was a little fuzzy about the rest of the day and night leading up to being in bed with a beautiful blonde. He wasn’t sure whether or not to untie the pink bath towel from around his waist and climb into bed with her, or if he should put his clothes back on and get the hell out of town.

If he knew what town he was in. The throbbing in his head lessened, but Jess figured he was better off staying where he was, which—before he woke—was in bed with Blondie here, if he could get back into it without waking her up.

His body definitely awakened the moment he touched her. Oh, he didn’t mean to make getting into bed an erotic experience, but he couldn’t explain that to the part of his body that reacted the moment he kneeled on the bed and attempted to scoot Blondie over a couple of inches. She moved easily, curling on her side again. She wore something soft, something with little flowers on it, and her arms were bare.

And her skin was soft. So soft that Jess dropped his towel on the floor and decided that the woman—whoever she was—must have invited him here, into her bed, and he damn well was not putting his jeans back on. He’d be a gentleman—or die trying—but he wasn’t going to be uncomfortable. He’d never be able to get his pants over his erection now anyway.

Jess adjusted the pillows, slid under the soft, clean sheet and tried to get comfortable in the small bed. Trouble was, the woman’s bottom curved against his thigh. And he had no place for his right hand, unless he put it over his head.

It wasn’t easy to relax, and when the woman turned over and pressed her nose into his rib cage, relaxing became downright impossible.

“Honey,” he muttered, lowering his arm in an attempt to move her before she tickled him again. His fingers touched soft curls and ended up brushing them off her face. And what a face. Skin as soft as flower petals, delicate bone structure, lips soft against his body. Jess didn’t know what to do with her, but his body was sure trying to explain it to him.

Selfish bastard. His ex-wife’s words mocked him. Was it selfish to seduce a sleeping woman? He’d tried it—once—with Sue and had been thoroughly chewed out for it the next morning. No, he decided, removing his hand from Blondie’s silky hair. He’d keep his hands—and his erection—to himself unless this woman woke up and told him—

“Nice,” she said, and kissed him right above the rib he’d broken when, as a seven-year-old, he had fallen off a horse he wasn’t supposed to ride. His rib had never felt better than when her mouth touched it. In fact, Jess thought his headache disappeared, too. Along with his reluctance.

He turned slowly onto his side, wishing she’d awaken. Hoping that when she opened her eyes she wouldn’t look shocked and start screaming. She snuggled against him, her hand going around his waist, her elbow grazing what was rapidly becoming painfully aroused.

“Honey,” he tried, wishing he could remember her name.

“Mmm,” was all she said, lifting her face to his. Nope, her eyes were still closed. Maybe she liked to have sex with her eyes closed, he speculated. If so, he was more than ready to oblige. So he bent down and kissed her. Those full lips of hers were warm and obliging, so he kept kissing her. He moved closer, his thighs against her cotton-covered body. She didn’t seem to mind, even seemed to be enjoying it, so Jess moved his free hand to the dip of her waist, and then to her nicely rounded thigh, to take the hem of her gown and lift it above her waist. Then he ran his hand along the curve of satiny skin and resisted the urge to take her right then. He didn’t want to rush.

He hadn’t had a woman in over a year. And he certainly didn’t anticipate beginning a hot sex life when he arrived in Huntsville Monday, so Jess wanted to slowly and thoroughly make love to this sweet thing as if she was the last woman he’d have in a long, long time.

And she didn’t seem to mind, either, come to think of it, when he lifted his lips from her mouth and down to her neck. He moved the nightgown higher, to expose one lovely shadowed breast to the dim light of the room. He couldn’t resist cupping it with his hand, tasting the budded tip with his tongue, gently urging the woman onto her back so he could give the other breast the same attention. He heard her moan, and her fingers smoothed his shoulders and tickled his neck. He lifted his head and saw her smile, her eyes still closed. But he knew she was awake, or awake enough to know that he was making love to her now.

“Jess?” she whispered, and he surprised himself with how relieved he was that she knew his name, knew who was in her bed.

“Yes, honey,” he replied, but her body tempted him once again, so he kissed a trail to her belly button, and lower. She was sweet and responsive when he touched her with his fingers, and when he eased her thighs apart and tasted her with his lips and tongue, he felt her shiver and heard her sigh. And wanted to be inside of her more than he wanted to breathe.

So Jess eased alongside of her and, as they lay facing each other, he fitted himself against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, slid one leg over his, and welcomed him inside of her. He thought he’d died and gone to heaven—a heaven where a passionate woman wanted to make love with him.

Jess took his time, moving in and out slowly. Then deeper, testing to see if his length would hurt her. If anything, she seemed to want more of him, lifting her mouth to his to kiss him while they were joined together. He cupped her buttocks, holding her tightly against him as he took her again and again, until Jess wondered if he would ever want to do anything else but be inside of her. At the same time her breath caught, he felt the contractions of her climax and she made the tiniest of sounds against his mouth. That was all he needed to push him over the edge and when he came, it was for longer than he’d thought was humanly possible.

Much later, when dawn lightened the room and he slipped out of the bed to find his clothes, Jess made his escape. The woman was still asleep and Jess knew that, despite drinking too much last night, he’d managed to wind up in bed with Texas Tom’s waitress. How that happened, he didn’t remember, but he knew he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. He had a job to get to. And, besides, women were never as nice to him in the morning as they were at night.

3

“SHERIDAN’S BACK,” Lorna heard someone at the counter announce. “Carter said he walked into the sheriff’s office late last night and moved his stuff in.”

“Where’s he been?”

“Workin’ over in Huntsville, I heard. He was pretty broken up about that divorce,” another man added. “Had to leave town, y’know, ’cuz she ran off with—who’d she run off with?”

No one answered, which Lorna found a little disappointing. She would have liked to know exactly what happened to Jess’s marriage and why. She waited for someone to mention whether or not he had children, but no one offered the information.

“I heard he’s renting a place from Jackson.”

“Nah,” came another opinion. “He won’t live in town. He’ll go out to his place and start ranchin’ again.”

“I thought his wife got the ranch,” someone added. “You know, in the divorce.”

“She sold it,” another retired cowboy declared. “She always was a hard one to like, but she was a good looker, all right.”

Lorna picked up the coffee carafe and turned to refill cups along the counter. Ten stools, ten men, ten coffee cups. And one topic of conversation: the return of Jess Sheridan. Her hand shook a little as she made her way down the counter. She’d hoped Jess Sheridan would walk back into her life; she’d prayed he wouldn’t. It just depended on the day. And the weather. And how much her feet hurt.

“You okay, Lorna?” one of the older men asked. “Maybe you should rest a little.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, not much for sympathy. “You make your bed, you lie in it,” was another one of her mother’s maxims. Lorna figured she’d made herself quite a complicated bed, all right. And she would lie in it without complaining.

“Can we get some more cream in here?” the next guy asked, pushing the stainless steel creamer toward her.

“Sure.” She finished refilling the mugs, replenished the cream, rang up two transactions on the cash register and glanced out the window three times, but saw no one or nothing of any interest. January in Beauville wasn’t exactly the busy season, and the breakfast rush was over. She enjoyed her job at the Coffee Pot Café. The customers were, for the most part, a pleasant and undemanding group. Her boss believed in serving good food, kept the place spotless and didn’t mind when Lorna took a few minutes to rest whenever she grew tired.

She glanced at the clock above the door and saw that it was almost ten o’clock. There would be some time to sit down before the lunch rush began.

So Jess Sheridan was back in town. She’d read in the paper he’d accepted the job as sheriff. She’d also read he was some kind of hero, having risked his life doing undercover work at the Huntsville prison.

Lorna didn’t care what kind of hero he was. She only wanted him to go away before he discovered she was having his baby.

NOTHING IN BEAUVILLE had changed in six months, Jess figured. He’d done his stint at Huntsville, added a healthy sum to his bank account and now could afford to contact Bobby Calhoun about buying back his ranch. Until then he was homeless, or pretty close, if he didn’t count his room at the motel. He’d looked at a couple of apartments above the drugstore, but Jess wasn’t ready to move in just yet.

He drove along Beaumont Street, along the north border of the park, and realized he hadn’t set foot in town since the weekend of Jake Johnson’s wedding. That was one night he hadn’t forgotten. And probably never would. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since. He’d never been so stupid in his life, unless he counted his marriage.

But that night in July had been one hell of a night. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex. He shouldn’t be cruising the streets of Beauville looking for the sight of a curvaceous curly-haired blonde and trying to remember where she lived the night he slept there. He knew it was a small house not too far from the park, but the next morning pain, embarrassment and guilt had combined to make him unaware of his precise surroundings until he stumbled back to the Grange and found his truck parked around the corner. It hadn’t been one of his best mornings.

Jess turned on Main Street and tried to forget what a fool he’d been that night last summer. He could sure use a cup of coffee and he wouldn’t mind a little conversation, either. The Coffee Pot didn’t look crowded, which suited Jess just fine. He didn’t feel like talking.

And he didn’t think talking would be possible when his mouth went dry at the sight of the woman from last summer sitting in the café. But was it her? Jess hesitated before taking a seat at a table by the door. The woman in a booth at the other end of the room sat with her back to him, a familiar mass of yellow curls twisted into a knot at the top of her head.

He didn’t know if he wanted it to be her or not. For one thing, he wasn’t sure she’d remember him. Which wasn’t exactly a compliment to the lady. Or to himself. For another, it was damn embarrassing to come face-to-face with someone you’d only known for one night—and one sexual encounter.

But what an encounter.

Jess ordered coffee from Charlie, who’d come out of the kitchen to welcome him back.

“Is there anything else I can get you, Jess? Breakfast is on the house,” the man offered.

“In that case, I’ll have a couple of eggs over easy,” Jess said, not wanting to hurt Charlie’s feelings.

“We’ve missed you around here,” the cook said, going back behind the counter to pour the coffee. He came back with an oversize mug he set in front of Jess. “Black, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing once more at the yellow curls in the back booth. “You remembered.”

“Sure. You weren’t gone that long.”

“Are you the waitress now, too, Charlie?”

“Nah. She’s taking a break. Holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Jess took a sip of coffee and looked around the café. The place hadn’t changed for as long as he remembered. Though he’d grown up outside of town, his father brought him here for breakfast every Saturday morning. He nodded at a couple of older men on their stools who swiveled at the counter toward him. He pretended he recognized them, accepted their “welcome back” and “good to see you again,” but his gaze went more often to the woman at the end of the room. In fact, she was seated at the last booth before the rest rooms, so Jess decided it was time he answered nature’s call. Or at least pretended to.

He slid out of the booth, left his hat on the table, and headed toward the far end of the restaurant. He couldn’t see her when he passed, though he tried to look out of the corner of his eye. Jess went into the men’s room and washed his hands, smoothed back his hair and looked at the fool in the mirror, who looked back at him as if he was the biggest idiot in Texas.

When he stepped out, he was conscious of his heart racing faster than usual, and his throat had gone dry again. And all because of the sight of yellow curls. His gaze went right to her, and he knew her right away, even though she had her head lowered and appeared to be reading a magazine.

“Excuse me,” he said, pausing at the table. The profile, the petite nose, the hair—it had to be her. So when she turned and lifted her gaze to meet his, there was no doubt he’d found the woman he’d made love to last July. In fact, she blushed. And he thought his own face felt a little too warm, but then again, Charlie didn’t care to use a whole lot of air-conditioning this time of year.

“Yes?”

It occurred to him that he didn’t know her name. “Haven’t we met?”

She looked straight into his eyes and lied. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Really.” He looked at her until those blue eyes blinked once and then looked away to her magazine. “Are you sure?”

She glanced toward him once again. “I’m sorry,” she said, but there was no regret in her voice. “I suppose I would have remembered.”

“Yeah.” Jess walked away, toward his cooling coffee and the plate of eggs that Charlie had just set at his table. She didn’t remember him or she didn’t want to. He supposed she was as embarrassed as he was about that night. He thanked Charlie for the eggs, then lowered his voice so the cook would have to lean closer. “Is that your waitress?”

Charlie chuckled. “Yeah. I saw you talking to her, Jess. How’d you make out?”

“Not too good.”

“You’re not the first man around here who’s tried and failed, Jess. Don’t take it too hard.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lorna,” Charlie replied, and the name sounded familiar. Had he known her name that night? He had a vague recollection of a waitress uniform and a fight over garbage bags. There’d been a ruckus, and that was all he remembered until waking up to find himself in bed with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. Lorna.

“Lorna what?”

“Walters. She’s from Marysville, but she inherited her aunt’s house here in town last summer.” Charlie winked. “If you want to know anything else, you’ll have to ask her.”

He intended to, now that he’d found her. Surprisingly it hadn’t taken very long. She knew who he was, but she didn’t want to admit it. He would talk to her again, ask her out for dinner, maybe. Show her that he wasn’t the combative drunk she’d known a few months ago. He was the town’s sheriff now, after serving as a deputy in Marysville for more than ten years. He was well-respected, or at least he hoped he was.

Jess attacked his eggs, even though he didn’t have much of an appetite. Lorna Walters didn’t want to have anything to do with him. He should have guessed that his luck with women couldn’t be anything but bad. Some guys were lucky—and some guys were better off staying home with their dog, their refrigerator and the remote control.

HE WAS A QUICK EATER and he didn’t linger over his second cup of coffee, which meant Lorna didn’t have to make her morning break last longer than it should. There was no way she was going to get out of the booth and show Jess Sheridan her new figure, even if it meant sitting there until sundown. Oh, she knew she couldn’t avoid seeing him until March, when the baby was due, but she hoped to stall the inevitable for a while longer.

“You feelin’ okay?” Charlie asked, when she stood behind the counter once again and poured herself a glass of ice water.

“Fine.” She fixed a fresh pot of coffee, wiped down the counters and checked the napkin holders to make sure they were filled.

“The new sheriff was asking about you,” Charlie said, grinning at her. She thought for a moment her heart stopped.

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him your name, that’s all. And if he wanted to know anything else he should ask you.” The cook shook his head. “For a pregnant woman, you sure get asked out a lot. How come you don’t go?”

Lorna attempted a laugh and smoothed her white blouse over her rounded abdomen. “I’ll give you one guess.”

“That baby’s gonna need a father,” the man warned. “And you’re gonna need a husband.”

“That would be nice, Charlie,” she agreed, trying to keep her voice light. “Do you have anyone in particular in mind?”

A voice piped up from the end of the counter. “How about the son-of-a-bitch who did this to you?”

“He’s not available, Mike,” she told the old man. Mike Monterro lived alone, spent hours at the café and wasn’t shy about pronouncing his opinions. He looked about ninety, with a weathered brown face and wiry gray hair that stuck up in patches on the top of his head. Lorna was still a little bit afraid of him.

“Hmmph,” the man grumbled, frowning at Lorna’s belly. “In my day women didn’t go around having kids if they weren’t married. The men married ’em and gave the kids a name.”

“Have you ever been married, Mike?” She hoped to change the subject as fast as she could, before he delivered another opinion on her pregnancy.

“Yes, ma’am, and a sweeter woman you’d never meet. She could bake pies that would make a man weep, my Felicia could.”

“What kind of pies?” She poured a fresh cup of coffee and placed it in front of him. Mike usually stayed for lunch, then went home to “get some work done.” Or so he said. Lorna figured he took a nap.

“Apple, peach, rhubarb, you name it.” He sighed. “Felly’s been gone twenty-seven years now and I still miss those pies.” He gave her a sharp look. “Do you bake pies, missy?”

“No. I never learned.”

“Well,” he said, nodding to himself. “That’s your problem. You learn to bake pies and mebbee you’ll get yourself a man.”

Lorna hid her sigh. Mike didn’t know it, but Lorna would have baked a thousand pies if it meant that Jess Sheridan would fall in love with her. “I wish it was that simple, Mike,” she said.

He shrugged and picked up his coffee cup. “It should be, missy, yessiree.”

WALTERS. LORNA WALTERS. He’d grown up with a Walters family. They’d lived down the street. There might have been a daughter named Lorna, but he didn’t remember. Jess tapped her name into the computer, but came up with nothing but her driver’s license and her Beauville address. She wasn’t wanted for anything, had no record of speeding tickets or in-fractions of any kind. At least he knew where she lived and could see if that was the house that matched his memory.

Or not. He could let it go, chalk it up to one of those “strangers in the night” happenings, one of those things that was better left in the past.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t. He told himself he needed to apologize. He told himself he needed to know what exactly happened that night—after all, he’d had a lump on the back of his head for a week. He told himself once again he was acting like a fool. But at seven-twelve Monday evening, Jess knocked at 1205 North Comstock and waited for Lorna to come to the door.

Her eyes widened when she recognized him, but she was behind the screen door and didn’t open it.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“I’m Jess Sheridan,” he said. “And we have met.” He paused, hoping he was going about this in the right way. “I wanted to apologize for that evening.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she said, and he noticed she held a white bed pillow in front of her. She wore a fluffy blue robe and her hair was damp.

“This isn’t a good time to drop by, I guess.” He waited, hoping she would invite him inside. It was damn hard to talk while standing on the other side of a door. He started to feel uneasy, like he was making a big mistake.

“Not really,” she agreed. “It’s a little embarrassing. How did you find the house?”

“I’m the sheriff,” he said. “I got your name from Charlie and the rest was easy.”

“I know who you are. I knew who you were last July, too.”

Once again he felt an unaccustomed heat tinge his face. “There isn’t much I remember about that night. I was hoping you could fill me in. How drunk was I?”

“You were a perfect gentleman,” Lorna said. “You helped me out of a jam and you got yourself conked on the head for it. So I brought you home to recover.”

“To recover,” he repeated, remembering the way she’d felt in his arms. He’d recovered just fine, and when he’d put himself inside of her he’d thought he’d found heaven. Now it was Lorna’s turn to blush.

“Could we just forget about that night?” she asked, those big blue eyes imploring him to end the conversation. “Please? I don’t expect you to believe me, but I don’t pick up drunks and bring them home after work. You were the first.”

“And I’m not usually a drunk,” Jess said. “I guess that was an unusual night for both of us.” He’d believe anything she told him, Jess realized. Including that the earth was flat, the sky green and the state of Texas bordered the Atlantic Ocean. But he still had the nagging sense that there was something more, something else she hadn’t told him. He hadn’t been a cop for all these years for nothing. He fingered the prickles on the back of his neck and remembered the lump. “Who hit me?”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.