Dear Reader,

Have you ever convinced yourself that you have correctly discerned God’s will, only to realize that you’ve let your emotions lead you to an erroneous conclusion? Too often our emotions get in the way of our faith. We hurt, so we think that God is punishing us. We fear, so we assume that God has abandoned us. We tire, so we worry that God has forgotten us. We covet, so we feel that God doesn’t care about us.

Sometimes, hanging in and keeping on are more difficult for Christians than anything else, because we don’t trust God to have our best interests at heart. As our heroine, Kylie, finds out, however, God will often rescue us even from ourselves—if we let Him.

Do you need to be rescued from yourself? Remember that sometimes all God requires of us is that we hang in and keep on.

God bless.

The Sheriff’s

Runaway Bride

Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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“Because of the oppression of the weak

and the groaning of the needy, I will now arise,”

says the LORD. “I will protect them

from those who malign them.”

—Psalms 12:5

For my cousin, Terry Lynn Morris,

veteran, wounded warrior, retired peace officer and

so much more, definitely one of the “good guys.”

With love,

DAR

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Arlene James for her participation in the Rocky Mountain Heirs miniseries

Chapter One

“You’re a long way from Miami, my friend,” newly sworn Deputy Sheriff Zach Clayton muttered to himself, surveying the small,? narrow office.

Disorganized and poorly arranged, with dust covering every conceivable surface, it hardly invited confidence. Apparently, his predecessor, Linden Diggers, hadn’t filed anything in years. The best thing to do seemed to be to find some boxes in which to store all this detritus. He’d clean as he went along, then rearrange later.

Turning, Zach walked back through the door and past the white sedan bearing the logo and symbol of the county sheriff. The sheriff had promised that the rattletrap would be replaced “next year sometime.”

Zach hadn’t mentioned that he didn’t intend to stay long enough to see that happen. He’d pass the year in Clayton, Colorado, as required by the terms of his grandfather George’s will, but after that Zach would be ready to get back to his real life.

At least he prayed he’d be ready.

Plucking his mirrored sunshades from the chest pocket of his forest-green shirt with the Sheriff’s Department insignia at the top of each sleeve, Zach slid the glasses onto his face and adjusted the brim of his forest-green ball cap. His khaki pants boasted wide green stripes that ran down the outside of each leg from his waist to the tops of his black western boots.

The uniform felt strange. He’d made detective his fourth year out of academy and had worn plain clothes ever since. Now here he stood in full regalia with a gun on his hip and a utility belt. He’d never expected to wear a uniform again, but then, he’d never expected to return to his hometown either.

From sheer habit, Zach took stock of his surroundings, surveying for activity in the immediate area. Swathed in bunting and American flags in honor of the upcoming Independence Day celebration, the downtown square seemed deserted, despite the two dozen or so cars in the small parking lot to the east of the familiar white clapboard church in the southwest corner of the greensward. Sweeping his gaze across the green, Zach saw that the gazebo, playground and picnic tables remained empty. Across the way, the parking spaces all stood empty in front of the pharmacy, the grocery, and the Cowboy Café diner. Even the Hair Today beauty parlor looked abandoned.

Zach turned his attention to Railroad Street, the town’s main avenue, which ran east and west. A fat, red hen leisurely strolled beneath the only traffic light in town. Crossing Railroad, it wandered right down the middle of Eagle Street toward him. That meandering fowl seemed quintessential Clayton, Colorado. With a population around nine hundred, the whole town—which had been founded by his great-grandfather, Jim—wasn’t much bigger than a good-size chicken coop and about as exciting.

Shaking his head, Zach moved past his black Jeep Wrangler, intending to snag a few boxes from the grocery. As he crossed the street, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Halting, he turned his head just enough to get a full view. His brown eyebrows went up, arching over the gold rims of his sunshades, as he registered the sight before him.

A bride, white veil flowing out behind her, long skirt belling, ran toward him from the vicinity of the church, bouquet in hand. Zach dipped his chin and pushed down the dark glasses, peering over the rim, just to be certain that the altitude wasn’t playing tricks with his sight.

Hot on her heels ran none other than his old nemesis and cousin, Vincent Clayton, dressed in a cheap black suit. Behind him trundled a stocky middle-aged fellow in a tuxedo. Instinctively, Zach strode forward just as Vincent caught up with the bride at the edge of the greensward. Zach didn’t know what was going on, but he did know what a bully Vincent was, and the badge pinned to his shirt gave him all the authority he needed to intervene. Smiling grimly, he prepared to perform his first official act as deputy sheriff.

A beefy hand grabbed Kylie Jones’s arm, yanking her to a stop.

“Dagnabit, Kylie, hold up!” Vincent bawled, hauling her around to face him.

“Let go!” For emphasis, the bride whacked him in the face with her bouquet, which he then tore from her hand and threw to the ground.

“It was just a kiss!” Vincent yelled, grappling with her.

“It was not!”

“Just a last kiss before I become a married man,” he wheedled.

Yanking free, Kylie stumbled backward, then began edging closer to the uniformed officer who she’d spied coming out of Linden’s old office only moments earlier. Everyone in town knew that they were getting a replacement to man the satellite office of the county sheriff’s department now that Linden Diggers had retired, but no one had expected the new guy to show up on a Saturday morning. Conventional wisdom said he wouldn’t make it to town until after the Fourth of July holiday. Thank God that had proved wrong!

Livid about her breaking their engagement just minutes before the wedding would have taken place, Vincent had tried to force her into the church. Spying the deputy, she had run instead. Now, with rescue just feet away, she stood her ground.

“Vincent, I heard you! The two of you were obviously together all night. And you were planning to meet her again next weekend!”

He turned on the charm … he was good at that. Pity he wasn’t as good at telling the truth. “It was a joke, baby. That’s all.”

Vincent stood only a half foot taller than her own five-foot-three-inch frame, but he outweighed her by sixty or seventy pounds, all of it muscle. With his spiked blond hair, smooth, lantern jaw and bright blue eyes, he was a better than average-looking man, his features marred only slightly by a somewhat crooked nose. However, she’d been bothered for some time by a sense that Vincent was not all that he seemed, and now she had proof.

“I’m not an idiot, Vincent! I saw what the two of you were doing in that car, and I heard every word you said to her. What I don’t understand is why you asked me to marry you if you want to be with her!”

He dropped all pretense of innocence, resorting to sneering justification instead. “I was just playing around, Kylie Jeanne. That’s what men do. She might not be wife material, but at least she’s fun. If you really want to know, she’s a hot—”

Kylie slapped him smartly across the face, turning his head sharply to one side. For a long instant, the air seemed to sizzle with the sting of her hand. Then Vincent slowly brought his gaze around, his brow lowered in a thunderous expression of anger.

“You’re going to regret that.”

“Not as much as I’d regret marrying you!” she snapped, yanking up her skirt with both hands and whirling away.

Thankfully, the deputy had arrived on the scene and stood watching with the silent attention of a laser beam. Long-legged and slim-hipped, he looked to be at least a couple inches over six feet and packed enough upper-body weight to give even Vincent pause. Add the gun on his hip, and he became invincible. Kylie didn’t waste an instant deciding to put him between her and her erstwhile fiancé. Zipping around the big man, she plastered herself to the deputy’s back. That felt oddly right, not just safe but somehow fitting, almost familiar. She tilted her head, wondering how on earth that could be.

“Hold up!” Zach ordered, keenly aware of the slender, feminine form pressed against him.

Vincent halted in mid-stride, scowling, one palm cradling his reddened cheek.

The beauty of that slender, oval face with its luscious red lips and clear, moss-green eyes framed by very long, light-golden-brown curls had stunned Zach. At not much taller than five feet she was a slight thing, slender enough to hide completely behind him. The long-fingered hand grasping his arm displayed false, white-tipped fingernails, one of which had been torn loose by her assault on Vincent’s cheek. Zach was not inclined to hold either the fake fingernails or the slap against her.

“Now, see here, Sheriff,” Vincent said confidently, dropping his hand. “That’s my fiancée, Kylie Jones.” The name rang a bell in Zach’s mind.

“Former fiancée!” she declared.

Vincent went on as if she hadn’t even spoken. “I’m Vincent Clayton. My great-granddaddy founded this town. This here is just a case of wedding day jitters.”

“This here,” retorted Kylie Jeanne Jones, practically climbing Zach’s back in order to speak over his shoulder, “is me not making the worst mistake of my life by marrying you, Vincent Clayton!”

“We’ll just see what your daddy has to say about that!” Vincent growled.

“Her daddy saw and heard you with that woman, too,” said the stout fellow, jogging up behind Vincent. He bent forward, palms braced against his knees, and tried to catch his breath, declaring, “No wedding! Not if my girl doesn’t want it.”

Vincent’s face turned ugly. “Oh, yeah? We’ll see about that. My grandpa’s not going to be happy about this, not one bit, and you know what that means.”

“Still throwing your weight around, huh, Vincent?” Zach observed calmly, peeling off his shades.

Vincent did a double take, staggering back a single step, before sneering, “Well, if it isn’t Cousin Zach.” He practically spat the name, scraping a scornful look from the insignia affixed to the front of Zach’s cap to the rounded toes of his black cowboy boots. “I should’ve known you’d crawl out of that Miami swamp hole sooner or later.”

“Looks like I made it just in time,” Zach replied smoothly.

Vincent had put on weight, building up bulging muscles in his chest and arms, but that didn’t impress Zach one bit. His own leaner form was not only adequately muscled but well trained. He didn’t doubt that he could take down Vincent in a fight, probably in three moves. He planned them in his mind as Vincent gathered his nerve.

Jabbing a finger at him, Vincent scoffed, “This ain’t like old times, cuz, when your grandpa ruled the roost around here. My daddy’s mayor now, you know.”

Zach did know. The sheriff had informed him at the swearing-in that morning. Zach made the same comment now that he’d made then. “Good thing I’m on the county payroll, isn’t it?”

“You just mind your own business,” Vincent snarled.

“I am minding my business, cuz. A lawman can’t walk away when he witnesses an assault.”

“What assault?” Vincent demanded, holding out his hands as if to prove his innocence.

“Why, I do believe the lady slapped you. Turned your head right around.”

Vincent’s scowl cleared, replaced by slyness. “That’s right. You saw it. She assaulted me. I could press charges, couldn’t I?”

Behind him, Zach heard the feisty bride gasp. Her father straightened, a protest forming on his lips, but Zach quelled it with a single stern glance before settling his full attention on Vincent.

“You could. Now, if you want, I’ll write up a report. You can look for it in Monday’s papers.”

“The papers!”

“New policy,” Zach informed Vincent coolly. “All formal reports make the police blotters in all the county papers.”

Knowing how little Vincent’s grandfather, Samuel, liked having the public light shined on his business and his side of the family, Zach had suggested the policy himself just that morning after the county sheriff had so graciously performed a rare weekend swearing-in ceremony. The sheriff had readily agreed, and Zach considered that a fine accomplishment for his first day on the job. This was just icing on the cake.

He watched Vincent mull over his options and come to a decision. Finally, he shook his head. “Forget it.”

“That’s what I thought,” Zach muttered.

Zach’s grandfather, George Sr., hadn’t been the most upstanding citizen, but at least he’d been blatant about his dealings. Samuel and his lot were sneaky, as Zach knew all too well.

Once, back in high school, Zach had been framed for stealing firewood—no small thing in cold country where many homes depended on the heat of a fireplace. A friend of Vincent’s, Willy Bishop, had eventually confessed to being the culprit, but everyone knew Willy was a follower, not a leader, and none too bright. Zach could not prove that Vincent was behind the scheme, but the incident had given him firsthand knowledge of how that side of the family worked. It had also provided him with his dearest memory of his late grandfather. George Sr. had not been an easy or even likable man, but he’d never doubted Zach and had prevented his arrest until his innocence could be proved, keeping alive Zach’s dream of making a career in law enforcement.

Later, of course, the old man had reverted to type and threatened to disown Zach when he’d refused to return home to Clayton after college. Though grateful for that early intervention, Zach would not have returned to Colorado just to please his grandfather, even if he’d known about the money. No one had ever dreamed that the old man was worth anything, let alone a fortune, not until the reading of the will a few weeks ago.

Even then, Zach might not have returned if things had been different in Miami and his youngest sister, Brooke, did not suspect Vincent of stirring up trouble for the family. She firmly believed that Vincent had kidnapped, or at least waylaid, her soon-to-be stepson, A.J., who was not yet three years old.

Thankfully, that situation had turned out well. Due to none other than Kylie Jones.

“Guess you’d best get on back to the church,” the deputy told Vincent sternly. “If and when she decides she wants you, she’ll be along.”

“Not if he was the last man in Colorado,” Kylie snapped.

The deputy smothered a chuckle with a cough behind a fist. Kylie quelled the urge to poke him for making her think that he might arrest her. Instead, a relieved sigh gusted out of her.

It wasn’t easy for Vincent to back down, and she well knew of the enmity between his branch of the family and old George’s. As soon as she’d realized the identity of this big man, she’d half expected the situation to devolve to fisticuffs. To “cousin” Zach’s credit, he’d managed to stop Vincent with wit rather than brawn.

Clearly thwarted, Vincent dithered for a bit before swinging around to stride angrily back toward the church, declaring, “This isn’t over!”

He shot a vicious glare at her father as he passed. Her dad sighed and shoved a hand through his thinning hair before trudging forward.

“Kylie, honey,” he said apologetically, “I’m so sorry. I knew that boy was no-account, but you had your heart set on him and—”

“Oh, Daddy.” She stepped out from behind the deputy to go to her father. “It’s not like that. I—I mean, I was willing to marry him. That is, I thought … It seemed like God’s will at the time, with the business and all.”

He caught her in his beefy arms and hugged her to him. “Kylie, I tried to tell you that my business with Samuel has nothing to do with you and Vincent.”

“It’s just that Vincent guaranteed Samuel would buy out your share of the ranch if we married.”

“Even if that were true,” her father argued, shaking his head, “it wouldn’t be enough to pay off the loan, not with real estate prices falling. God will take care of us, honey. Believe it!”

“May not be my place to say so,” the deputy spoke up, “but if you’re in business with my great-uncle Samuel, you’ve got enough trouble without bringing Vincent into your family.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that,” her father agreed, putting out a hand. “Gene Jones of Jones Feed & Supply.”

As he stepped forward to take that hand, the deputy glanced across the green to the feed store on the other side of the tracks north of Railroad Street.

“Used to be Wilmont’s Feed & Supply back in the day.”

“We bought him out six, seven years ago.”

“I was long gone by then. Zach Clayton, Deputy Sheriff.” He tipped his hat to the bride and smiled, displaying a single dimple.

Oh, my. Vincent was about to be dethroned as the best-looking Clayton around town. “Kylie Jones.”

“Kylie Jeanne Jones, if I’m not mistaken.”

She nodded, reaching up with both hands to pluck the combs from her hair and sweep off the veil. Her hair had been rolled up on both sides and pinned at the back of her head with a heart-shaped rhinestone clip, leaving the rest to hang down her back in spiral curls.

“Would you really have arrested me?”

“You and Vincent both,” he answered honestly. “If pressed to it.” Grinning, he added, “I think you’d have gotten off. Him too, probably. But the report would’ve gone into the papers just the same.”

“And you knew Vincent wouldn’t want that.”

The lawman nodded and said, “You found A.J. Wesson.”

“That’s right.”

“I’d like to talk to you about that.”

“Now?” Kylie asked, holding out her satin skirts.

“You seem to have something more important to do,” he conceded. “But soon. Next week for sure.”

Dropping her skirts, she sighed. “That’s fine.” She looked to her father, saying, “Right now, I guess one of us better get back to the church and tell everyone that the wedding is off.”

Gene patted his daughter’s shoulder. “I’ll see to it, honey, while you talk to your mother and sister in private.”

“Thank you, Dad.” Leaning in, she kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“It’s just as well, if you ask me. Better to find out he’s unfaithful now than after you’d married him.”

Kylie nodded, suddenly weary despite the great sense of relief that swept over her. To think that she had very nearly married Vincent Clayton! She felt as if she’d just awakened from a long, confusing dream.

Lifting her skirts, she began making her way back across the grass, but then she remembered that the new deputy wanted to talk to her about how she’d found A.J. that day. She paused and glanced his way. He was one big, handsome man, all right—but he was also a Clayton, and all the Claytons with whom she had dealt had turned out to be trouble. Nevertheless, this one wore a badge.

“Our place is out on Waxwing Road,” she told him.

“I’ll be around.”

“Okay, then. Oh, and thank you.”

He doffed his cap. “My pleasure, Miss Jones.”

She turned to make her way back across the green. She didn’t relish what was to come, but the unspeakable relief that she felt told her that she was doing the right thing. Recalling that she’d recently asked God to settle her doubts for her, she had to smile. Like her mama always said, be careful what you ask for.

Stepping up into the tiny mudroom of the frame house on Bluebird Lane where he had grown up, Zach set down his luggage and hung his cap on a peg. The house had been closed for several years before his sister Brooke had moved in a few weeks earlier. Her silver Toyota Corolla sat beside his Jeep out in the drive, so presumably he’d find her at home and not next door with her fiancé, Gabe. Zach walked into the kitchen, where he paused beside the long, low, narrow island that served as the breakfast table. Five round-backed chairs flanked it on three sides.

At one time, there had been six.

Zach tilted his head, listening. The whir of a hair-dryer came to him from the vicinity of the bathroom off the hallway to his left. Grinning, Zach sauntered in that direction, calling out, “Honey, I’m home!”

The dryer shut off, clattering in the sink. He jumped back as the bathroom door burst open. He’d learned that trick the hard way as a kid when the sudden opening of the door had caught him square in the face and raised a bump the size of a goose egg on his forehead. He no longer had the goose egg, but it had engendered a family nickname that his sisters still used even now.

“Lump! You came!” Wearing a bathrobe over shorts and a tank top, she threw her arms around his neck.

“Hey, Gigglebot.” He returned the greeting by hugging her hard enough to lift her off her feet.

A swatch of her long blond hair clung damply to one side of her face, and she wore not a speck of cosmetics, but the happiness shining in her blue eyes made her utterly beautiful. Zach smiled.

Pulling back, she looked him over. “So you did it,” she said. “You took the job as deputy sheriff. Never thought I’d see it.”

Zach shrugged. “Timing was right.”

Miami had become untenable for Zach, then suddenly Linden Diggers had retired as deputy sheriff, leaving the satellite office in Clayton vacant. Given that, the absurd stipulation in his grandfather’s will, which required each heir to live a year in Clayton, and Vincent starting to stir up trouble again, Zach had decided to step into old Diggers’ boots for a while, just as his late grandfather had proposed. That the old man had been keeping tabs on him galled Zach, but George Sr.’s taped message to his grandson had proved that he had been well aware of all that had happened in Miami, though Zach had not shared that information with anyone in the family. What good would that do? What mattered now was helping his cousins claim their inheritances, five hundred acres and a quarter million dollars each.

“You caught me all a mess,” Brooke said, touching her hair self-consciously.

“I have never seen you looking better,” Zach told her sincerely. “You look … happy.”

She laughed, that tinkling giggle warming his heart all the way through. “I am.”

Zach smiled. Before their baby sister Lucy had died, at only two-and-a-half years of age, Brooke had run around the house laughing and singing all the time. Afterward, he’d had to tickle her to hear anything approximating that little girl giggle, but it had never been the same. She’d blamed herself for Lucy slipping out of the house and going to the creek. All these years later, he was beyond grateful to hear that happy, joyous sound again. It meant that she had forgiven herself at last.

“He must be quite a guy, this Gabe Wesson.”

“Oh, he is. I’m getting ready to go out to dinner with him and A.J. Why don’t you come with us? He’s anxious to meet you.”

I bet he is, Zach thought. Zach had called Gabe for a little man-to-man talk after he’d accused Brooke of being negligent in the disappearance of his young son, who Kylie Jones had found in Vincent’s backyard. Brooke had phoned Zach in tears. In full big-brother mode, Zach had rung up Gabe. Now Brooke and Gabe were engaged, and Zach was prepared to let bygones be bygones, provided Gabe was all he seemed.

“Just let me shower and change out of these clothes. Diggers left the office a mess, and I’ve been working on it all day.”

“Take Mama’s room. I cleaned it out for you. That way Viv and I won’t have to share when she gets here.”

If she gets here, Zach thought, but he didn’t bother saying as much. She would come or she wouldn’t. Same with Mei and Lucas. Still, Brooke had wisely made provision. She and Vivienne had shared a room as girls, but as women they obviously needed a measure of privacy, provided, of course, that Vivienne eventually showed up. But that worry could be left for later.

“I’ll be ready before you will,” Zach taunted, grinning.

“True!” Brooke laughed, spinning back into the bathroom.

Zach smiled to himself. It felt surprisingly good to be home.

Chapter Two

He’d known good times here, but tough ones, too, Zach told himself as he carried his luggage to his room, especially when it came to Lucy and his late father. George Jr. and his twin brother Vern, Zach’s uncle, had died in an auto accident when Zach was twenty, some five years after Lucy’s drowning. Zach’s mother, Marion, had followed only a few years ago. After her funeral, Zach had intended never to return here.

Now, at thirty, he was moving back into the old house. Temporarily. After the required year here, Zach had every intention of heading back to his real life, wherever that might be. He expected that his sister Vivienne and most of his cousins would do the same, especially Lucas, who couldn’t wait to get out of Clayton in the first place and hadn’t even returned for their grandfather’s funeral.

That reminded Zach that he still hadn’t heard from or about Lucas. He had an old friend with the Florida state police putting feelers out unofficially, but so far he’d learned nothing. Uneasiness prickled the skin on the nape of Zach’s neck, and he sent up a quick prayer that whatever was going on with his younger cousin would be resolved soon and safely. He feared not only for Lucas but also for their cousin Arabella, who lived in Grandpa George’s house with her triplet daughters, Jessie, Julie and Jamie, and her ward, Jasmine Turner. Arabella had taken care of their grandfather for years and deserved to inherit the house, but that would only happen if George Sr.’s other grandchildren gave up a year of their lives to fulfill the terms of the old man’s will. Zach could only pray, for her sake, that everyone could and would.

Unzipping his bags, he first stowed his personal carry gun in the drawer of the bedside table before quickly unpacking. As he worked, he wondered idly when he would see Kylie Jeanne Jones again. Maybe he’d go out to the Jones place after the Fourth. It seemed likely that she would lay low for a few days after canceling her wedding to one of the town’s most prominent sons.

Zach couldn’t understand why Kylie had ever agreed to marry Vincent in the first place. All that talk of a buy-out was just so much nonsense. Samuel never parted with a nickel of his own if he could get someone else to do so first. Besides, from what Brooke had told him and what he’d seen already, Vincent hadn’t changed much. Even if Brooke’s fears and suspicions should prove unfounded—and Zach was too good a cop to let his personal prejudices decide the matter for him—Vincent still seemed to be the sly bully that he’d always been.

After stowing his empty bags in the closet, Zach removed his service gun, holster and belt, tucking them into the top drawer of his mother’s empty dresser. All the while, he considered Kylie Jones.

She was an attractive little thing, with that waist-length cloud of light-golden-brown curls, those moss-green eyes and perfect lips. He thought of the finely boned shoulders and long slender arms displayed by the strapless wedding gown, the neatly nipped in waist and the flare of the full skirt.

Attractive? Who was he kidding? She was beautiful, breathtakingly so in her wedding gown. Much too beautiful for the likes of Vincent.

At least she’d come to her senses in time to save herself. For now. The question was whether she’d stick to her guns or let Vincent wear her down, as he would surely try to do. Vincent didn’t like to lose, even if the “prize” was something he didn’t really want. Zach hoped that Kylie would be smart enough to keep her distance from Vincent, which was probably good advice on his end, too.

The last thing Zach needed was trouble with Vincent and that side of the family, especially since Vincent’s father Pauley had managed to get himself elected mayor. Thankfully, Zach thought, I answer only to the county sheriff!

After a quick shower, he changed into comfortable jeans and a simple navy blue T-shirt before performing a fast shave and sweeping his short, ash-brown hair straight back from his brow. He saw that the barber hadn’t quite gotten all of the lighter tips on the top of his head, where the Florida sun had bleached his hair almost blond. That made the contrast between his hair and his darker brows all the more pronounced. No matter. Another trim would take care of it.

He wondered how soon his tan would fade. Probably not for a few months. He recalled that Kylie Jones had smooth, ivory skin, with just a smattering of freckles on her cheeks. Turning off that thought, he pulled on a pair of black cowboy boots. Then he took the compact 9 mm from the drawer in the bedside table and slipped it into the holster hidden in the small of his back, making sure that it was secure and easily accessible. By law, all peace officers were required to carry a handgun when off-duty. It seemed unnecessary around here, but Zach would have felt naked without the thing. And he had learned the hard way how helpless a cop could be without firepower.

Properly dressed, he went to the kitchen and helped himself to a cold glass of water. Brooke came out of her room a few minutes later dressed in patriotic style, the softly gathered skirt of her red-white-and-blue plaid sundress swirling about her ankles.

“Come on. Gabe’s waiting!”

Chuckling, Zach left the glass in the sink and walked his sister next door to meet the man who had put that silly smile on her face.

Though a wealthy businessman from Denver, Gabe turned out to be unexpectedly down-to-earth. His home displayed a certain tasteful affluence well above the norm around Clayton, but Gabe himself came off as an average guy. The look in his eyes when he welcomed Brooke told Zach that Gabe felt as much for Brooke as she did for him. Best of all, Gabe’s little boy flew into the room and literally threw himself at Brooke’s knees. She lifted him up onto her hip with such fond ease that Zach found himself clearing away a sudden lump in his throat.

He’d prayed to see Brooke as at ease with a child as she appeared to be with this one. After Lucy’s death, Brooke had vowed never to have children of her own. Now here she stood, rubbing noses with little A.J. and making goo-goo eyes at him while Gabe looked on with fierce pride and obvious love.

They moved into the living room to visit for a few minutes. Talk centered on the day’s events, starting with Zach’s swearing in that morning and culminating with the breakup of Vincent and Kylie. Though shocking, the news that the wedding had not taken place pleased Brooke.

“We weren’t invited, of course, being from George’s side of the family, but I couldn’t help wondering if she knew what she was getting into.”

The two brothers—George Sr., Zach’s grandfather, and Samuel, Vincent’s grandfather—had come to a parting of the ways more than fifty years ago. Sadly, the two sides of the family considered themselves enemies.

“Kylie was very kind that day,” Gabe said, stroking A.J.’s tiny head. The boy had gone missing while in Brooke’s care and been found by Kylie a quarter mile away in Vincent’s backyard.

Eventually the little party began forming up to leave. “So, where are we going for dinner?” Zach asked.

Brooke and Gabe looked at each other, then turned as one to him. “To the Cowboy Café. Where else?”

Zach chuckled. He had thought that they might drive over the mountain to one of the more touristy communities with their review-rated restaurants. Evidently, his little sister had well and truly settled back in Clayton. Leaving town hadn’t even occurred to her.

Some minutes later—getting a child into and out of a vehicle proved to be more complicated than Zach had realized—Zach followed his sister, Gabe and A.J. into the little café in downtown Clayton.

The old place hadn’t changed, despite the little American flags peppering the place. A couple hands from the ranches outside of town turned on their stools at the counter running down one side of the long, narrow room to see who had come through the door. Others sitting at the rustic tables crowded into the front of the room looked up to wave or nod as a raucous country and western tune blared from the jukebox near the door.

Gabe and Brooke chose a table in one corner near the antique cash register at the end of the counter, helping themselves to a battered booster seat along the way. While they settled A.J., Zach shook hands with an old schoolteacher who had recognized him. He’d barely put his backside to the chair when a slender dervish in skinny blue jeans and a red T-shirt plunked down glasses of water, including a plastic cup with a lid for the toddler. The long, golden-brown braid hanging down her back swung across her shoulder as she bent to bring her face close to A.J.’s.

“Hi, sweetie! How are you? Gerald’s made up some mac and cheese that you ought to love.” She tapped the tip of his nose with a bare, neatly trimmed fingernail and straightened. “Meatloaf to go along with it for the rest of you, if you’re interested.”

Feeling a jolt of combined recognition and surprise, Zach blinked at the waitress. She blinked back at him. At almost the same instant, they both blurted, “You!”

Obviously, Zach had underestimated Kylie Jeanne Jones. This morning she’d canceled her wedding, and this evening she served tables in the most public venue in town, sans the fake fingernails. No shrinking violet here. Just a very pretty one.

Zach couldn’t help smiling.

Sitting at home and indulging in a pity party after her canceled wedding had not appealed to Kylie one bit. She knew from experience that, when disappointment derailed one’s plans, keeping busy helped. That’s what she’d done since leaving college just months shy of graduation to come back here and help out at home financially.

She’d thought marrying Vincent would ease her family’s situation, but after spotting him making out with another woman in a parked car in the lot at the church where she had just arrived for their wedding, she hadn’t been able to go through with it. She felt surprisingly relieved about canceling the ceremony, even though it meant that her family would continue to need her wages to keep from losing their business. All things considered, after the debacle at the church, picking up an extra shift at the café had seemed like the thing to do. However, she hadn’t expected to bump into the one individual, besides her dad, who had actually witnessed the humiliating scene with Vincent today.

The deputy sheriff’s good looks struck her again. The dark blue of his eyes almost matched his navy shirt, and his smile carved that single dimple in the lean plane of his cheek. Brows and lashes a shade darker than his light brown hair, which the sun had bleached gold at the tips; a strong, straight nose and wide mouth completed the picture.

“I understand you’ve met my brother,” Brooke said wryly.

Kylie’s head snapped around. “This one’s your brother?”

Brooke inclined her head, eyes shining. “That’s our Lump-head. Better known as Zach.”

“Watch it, Gigglebot,” he shot back.

She smiled, and Kylie realized that Brooke had the same dimple. Funny, she’d never noticed that before, and she’d known Brooke since high school. She’d known, too, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Brooke had an older brother, but he’d been long gone by the time Kylie had come to Clayton.

“Then I guess your brother’s told you …” She waved a hand, unwilling to say more about canceling the wedding here in the diner. Everyone knew, of course, but they were curbing their curiosity out of sheer civility.

Brooke nodded. “To tell you the truth, I’m relieved.”

“Why is that?” Kylie knew how deep the animosity ran on both sides of the family, but she couldn’t imagine why Brooke would be concerned for her one way or another. It had been years since they’d been even casual friends, and Kylie had put herself in the enemy camp, so to speak, by becoming engaged to Vincent.

For answer, Brooke just glanced at her brother, who drawled, “Because no woman in her right mind would get involved with Vincent.”

Kylie stiffened. “Oh, really?”

Today’s events had left her emotions raw, and the criticism sounded particularly harsh coming from the man she’d been thinking of as her personal hero. Obviously, his intervention today had been all about sticking it to Vincent rather than rescuing her.

At the tone of her voice, Zach Clayton frowned. “I didn’t mean—”

Kylie interrupted him, stung and embarrassed. “What can I get you folks? I highly recommend the special, but it’s up to you.”

Gabe flashed Zach a sympathetic look and said, “Meatloaf sounds great to me.”

They all ordered the meatloaf. Gabe and Brooke chose iced tea with theirs. Zach preferred a cola.

Kylie tried not to glare at him. She didn’t care what he had to drink or know why his comment bothered her so much. Yet, for some reason she especially resented hearing her rescuer describe her as “not in her right mind.” At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable about it. Well, that made two of them.

“Suit yourself,” she barked, hurrying away.

She regretted her tone immediately. Maybe coming to work had been a bad idea after all. Feeling weary, she suddenly wished that it had been anyone but Zach Clayton standing there in that uniform today. She’d have much preferred old Diggers to have witnessed her humiliation. Then again, Diggers might not have even intervened. Everyone knew that he and Pauley, Vincent’s father and the town’s part-time, unpaid mayor, were thick as thieves.

Besides, she had much bigger problems than a little embarrassment. No matter what her father said, Kylie knew that he’d been counting on Vincent’s grandfather to buy out his share of the ranch in which they’d invested together. If only her dad hadn’t followed Samuel’s advice and put up Jones Feed & Supply as collateral for the loan. If only he hadn’t bought into the ranch with Samuel in the first place. If only Vincent could have been trustworthy. If only …

Sunday morning dawned bright and beautiful. The doves nesting in the bigtooth maple outside her open bedroom window cooed and gurgled in the cool morning air.

Kylie rolled onto her back, shoving away the covers on her bed, but she did not immediately rise. Zach Clayton’s words from the night before had played through her head incessantly.

No woman in her right mind would get involved with Vincent.

Sadly, Zach Clayton had that right. Kylie could admit now that she hadn’t been in her right mind when she’d agreed to marry Vincent.

Desperation had driven her to consider his proposal, but she had been wrong to accept. She didn’t love him. She barely even liked him, but somehow she had convinced herself that she should marry him. Idiot that she was, she had believed that he cared for her and that he would, at the very least, be a faithful husband. Thankfully she had realized the truth before saying her vows.

Still, she had been a ninny to let it get that far. Oh, she’d told herself that she could change him, but in truth she’d gotten so carried away by her hopes for her family and her delight in planning the wedding that she’d almost forgotten that the price for those things would be a lifetime of marriage to Vincent.

She considered pulling the covers over her head and pretending that yesterday hadn’t happened, but that would serve no purpose, and it might even make things worse. It would be best to show up at the church where she’d intended to be married with her head held high. Besides, her soul craved the healing balm of worship.

At least she need not fear running into Vincent there. Her ex had made it clear that he had little use for “organized religion.” Actually, it would have been much more likely that he’d have appeared at the diner last night, but she hadn’t considered that at the time. Thank goodness he’d apparently had something else to keep him busy last night. Or someone.

The door to the hallway opened, and her little sister bounced into the room. A cheerleader and distance runner, the energetic seventeen-year-old had a disposition as sunny as her long, yellow-gold hair. Kylie’s own plain brown was crinkly curly, but Mariette’s curls were as bouncy as Mariette herself. With eyes like jade instead of moss, Mariette outshone Kylie in every way, and Kylie couldn’t have been more proud of her. Having graduated as valedictorian of her class, Mariette had landed a scholarship to a small college in New Mexico where she expected to run track, but Kylie knew the scholarship wouldn’t cover everything. They’d all have to pull together to keep her sister in school.

“Oh, you’re awake already,” Mariette said. She dropped down onto the bed with one long, slender leg folded beneath her. “You look tired. Didn’t you sleep well?”

Kylie sighed and shook her head. “I feel so stupid. I had convinced myself that Vincent was God’s will for me, for all of us. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Mariette patted her hand. “It’s okay, sis. Mom says maybe we can sell the dress. Technically, it was never used, you know. I mean, nobody got married in it.”

Kylie laughed. “That’s true. I wore it for maybe an hour.” Finding the dress and planning the wedding had been the most enjoyable part of her engagement, and she knew any number of Internet sites where she could “remarket” the dress and decorations. Kylie had become something of an expert when it came to finding wedding bargains online.

Mariette popped up off the bed. “Mom’s making a huuuge breakfast, so find an appetite. Okay?”

Kylie nodded, smiling. Usually they all fended for themselves. Lynette Jones worked side-by-side with her husband at the Feed & Supply, so no one expected her to run a short order kitchen at home. However, whenever anything threatened the family, whenever anyone needed support, she broke out the pots and pans. Grateful for a loving family, Kylie found, to her surprise, that she actually had an appetite this morning.

She went to the table twenty minutes later in her bathrobe, freshly showered, her wet hair streaming down her back.

“I’m glad not to have to face holidays with that slimy old man,” she declared, meaning Samuel.

A smaller, leaner version of her own daughters, Lynette seemed trim and fit next to her husband’s larger, rounder form. While his kinky blond hair thinned into nonexistence, her long, wavy locks had silvered to the point where the original golden brown had all but disappeared.

“Now, now, sugar pie,” Gene said mildly, dipping his pancake into heated syrup. “You know what the lawyer said.”

“Just because there’s no proof,” she retorted, “doesn’t mean Samuel Clayton didn’t cheat us. I don’t care what he says—he had to know those assay reports were incorrect. He just wanted someone else to help him pay for his ranch.” She exhaled sharply. “Now he’s running cattle, and we’re making payments on land we can’t afford to use and no one wants to mine. At least we don’t have to call him family.”

Kylie had long known her mother’s feelings toward Vincent’s grandfather, but Samuel had not forced her father to take out that loan, after all. It did seem odd, though, that after seeking a partner for the venture, he’d come up with the cash to purchase cattle on his own. Meanwhile, Kylie’s parents struggled with onerous loan payments. When it had become obvious that no mining company was interested in going after the smattering of silver on the place, Kylie had left college and come home to help. Together, she and her parents had caught up the payments and kept them current, but doing so left very little to spare. One bad month at Jones Feed & Supply and they’d be lost.

But, Kylie thought guiltily, if the business went to the bank, her father would have to move the family back to Denver to find work, and she would leave Clayton behind once and for all. Maybe she could finish school then and find a way to open that bridal shop in Denver that she’d always wanted.

“I thought Vincent was okay,” her sister admitted, “but I’m glad you didn’t marry him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Kylie felt tears well up in her eyes. How selfish of her to think of her own desires and ambitions when her sister’s remained at risk and her parents’ business teetered on the brink of disaster!

“You wouldn’t be at all prejudiced, of course,” she managed, finishing up her breakfast.

“I certainly would,” Mariette admitted with a cheeky grin.

Laughing despite herself, Kylie pushed back from the table and went to dress.

Almost an hour later, the entire family piled into the battered white, dualie pickup truck for the almost two-mile ride into town. Gene and Lynette had bought the small acreage and picturesque log house on Waxwing Road—along with the business in town—from Edison Wilmont and his wife, who had retired to Durango to be near their daughter. It was a beautiful place built only a decade or so ago after the original frame house had burned.

Kylie had been content here throughout high school, but when she’d gone to Denver for college, she hadn’t intended to return to Clayton except for visits. She’d planned a career in business, but only when she’d interned at one of the city’s largest bridal shops had she found her calling. She loved putting together weddings and had quickly made up her mind that she wanted her own business as a wedding planner.

For the good of her family, she’d tried to put that dream aside when she’d agreed to marry Vincent, but now it came roaring back to life. Sadly, she didn’t see that dream coming true anytime soon, but maybe things would be different once Mariette finished college. Until then, Kylie was well and truly trapped in Clayton, Colorado.

But it wouldn’t always be that way, she promised herself, and she would never again compromise her dream. Doing so had been a grave mistake.

With that silent vow, she turned her thoughts elsewhere and immediately found herself wondering if Deputy Sheriff Zach Clayton would be in church today. Or did he, like the other Clayton men of her acquaintance, believe that he did not “need” to attend worship?

Knowing what he must think of her, she almost hoped that he would not be there. The day promised to be challenging enough. However, she hated to think that he was no different from Vincent. That would be sad, indeed. Sad and, in a way she didn’t want to examine too closely, very disappointing.

Chapter Three

He had to hand it to her, Zach thought, watching Kylie Jones join the congregation in singing a patriotic hymn. Despite her shadowed eyes and less than animated expression, the girl seemed determined to stand her ground openly. Deep down, Zach admired her for that. Unfortunately, that hadn’t kept him from making a ham-handed statement that had obviously offended her last night. And who could blame her?

He noted that her family seemed very supportive. That included the golden-haired teenager who hovered protectively at Kylie’s side. Given the resemblance, Zach assumed the blonde to be Kylie’s younger sister. Obviously, the girls took after their mother.

Like nearly everyone else in the building, Kylie had dressed in keeping with the Independence Day observance, but Zach couldn’t help wondering if she’d chosen white deliberately. Of course, yesterday’s ivory satin confection could not truly be compared with today’s white denim skirt and sleeveless knit top emblazoned on one shoulder with a red star trailing a sparkly blue trail. Still, it reminded him of his first sight of her, a dream in satin flying across the corner of the greensward. He particularly remembered the way the hip-length veil had floated behind her as she’d run toward him.

He marveled at the length of her vibrant hair. Caught back with a wide, red, knit band at the crown of her head, the crinkly ends hung all the way to her narrow waist. His fingers itched to touch that hair, to test its texture and weight. It looked like a soft, misty, light-golden-brown cloud.

Realizing that he was not paying attention to the service, Zach shifted his gaze to the hymnal in his hand, following along as the others sang. Because his singing sounded like a bullfrog in full throat, he never joined in, but he’d found that not singing actually heightened his appreciation of the music and allowed him to concentrate more on the words. When he could keep himself from staring at a pretty girl displaying almost heroic bravery.

He managed to confine his gaze to a path between his Bible and the pulpit as the pastor delivered the sermon. Quite a sermon it turned out to be, too, referencing both the twelfth chapter of Mark, where Jesus was asked about paying taxes, and the Gospel of John, Chapter two, which described Jesus driving the money changers from the temple. The pastor managed to tie both together into a coherent argument for patriotic duty superseded only by righteous zeal.

Having met the man just twice, once a few years earlier at his mom’s funeral and again recently at his grandfather’s, Zach knew Reverend West only slightly. The pastor had some interesting ideas and seemed a vibrant presence in the little church, which had become, in many ways, the hub of the town. Brooke had told him that the reverend, rather than the mayor, had even spearheaded the community-wide picnic on the green. Otherwise, she’d said, the Independence Day tradition would have died. Some city head Pauley had turned out to be if the pastor of the church had been required to step in and plan a community event.

At the end of the service, Zach made it to the door well ahead of Kylie and her family simply because he’d been sitting closer to the back of the sanctuary. Reverend West, a tall, bulky man in his forties with the build of a football player, warm brown eyes and thick, caramel-colored hair, gave Zach’s hand a hearty shake and welcomed him to town in his capacity as the deputy sheriff.

“It’s good there was no lapse in assignment,” he said. “Clayton’s no worse than any other small town, I suppose, but I think many are comforted to know that we didn’t have to wait months for a replacement deputy.”

“Guess it’s God’s timing, as my mother would say,” Zach replied with a smile.

“Yes, Marion would say that,” the pastor, whose first name was John, agreed.

Zach stepped to one side, and they chatted a few moments more between other handshakes and greetings until Zach moved farther away.

“Glad to have seen you here today,” the pastor told him, turning to give a frail, elderly woman his attention.

She looked rather like old Mrs. Rader, only even smaller and more wizened. She seemed distressed. The pastor bent low to listen to what she had to say. Zach hovered at a polite distance, his senses alerted to trouble, while Brooke and Gabe visited and laughed with friends at the bottom of the steps.

Zach first realized that Kylie had slipped past the traffic jam in the doorway when she appeared at his elbow and muttered what sounded like, “It’s her granddaughter.”

Copying Reverend West, Zach bent his head to her in an attempt to provide some privacy. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mrs. Rader.”

“Ah. I thought that was her.”

“She’s concerned about her granddaughter. Seems Sherilyn didn’t come home last night.”

“I see.” He glanced at the elderly woman. “Maybe I should introduce myself.”

Kylie shrugged. “If you’re going to search for Sherilyn, start at Vincent’s.”

“Vincent’s?”

“She was in the car with him yesterday.” Turning to gaze out over the parking lot, Kylie nodded. “Right over there.”

“She’s the one you caught him with,” Zach surmised quietly.

“Yep.” Kylie moved toward the steps, and he ambled up beside her.

“Miss Jones.”

“Hm?” Kylie asked.

“About what I said last night … I didn’t mean that as an insult. I spoke without thinking.”

She glanced at him, nodded and dropped her chin. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t … Weren’t …”

“In my right mind,” she supplied helpfully, stepping down.

“It’s just that I spent my entire childhood around Vincent,” he said, keeping up with her, “and I’ve seen some things beneath his charming exterior that …” He broke off, realizing with some puzzlement that he had said more than he normally would have. Feeling oddly exposed, he pulled his sunshades from his coat pocket and slid them on.

She sent a look up at him from beneath the thick sweep of her lashes. “You were right,” she said quietly. “I was foolish and desperate.”

Uncertain what to say to that, he simply stared at her until she stepped down onto the ground and walked toward his sister’s party. Zach followed, automatically reconnoitering the area, noting who got into which car and who stood and gabbed with whom. Brooke and Gabe now chatted with a thin redhead and a little girl, maybe nine or ten years of age, wearing pink eyeglasses. As Kylie approached, the woman and child turned to greet her. The woman looked older than he’d first assumed her to be and seemed conspicuously frail. The child resembled a blond, blue-eyed doll.

“Do you know the Perrys?” Kylie asked. Zach shook his head as Brooke made the introductions.

“This is Darlene and her daughter, Macy.”

“Hello.”

“My brother, Zach.”

“Oh, you’re the new deputy sheriff,” Darlene said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

The girl shaded her eyes with a hand and looked up at him shyly. “You’re tall.”

“Mmm-hmm, and you’re pretty.”

She gave him a tiny smile and then ducked her head bashfully. Suddenly recognition hit him square in the chest. He looked at his sister then at Gabe and Kylie, but obviously none of them saw it. They wouldn’t, of course. How could they know that Macy Perry, with that long blond hair, bright blue eyes and single dimple in her left cheek, looked exactly like Brooke at the same age? Or did his mind play tricks on him? Maybe being at home again had colored his perceptions, but his cop sense told him otherwise.

Talk turned to the Independence Day picnic. Kylie said something about having to serve food, but Zach listened with just half an ear while trying not to stare at Macy Perry. It wasn’t unusual for two unrelated people to look alike, of course, but in a town filled with Claytons, such resemblance did not seem random. Who, he wondered, glancing around at the thinning crowd, was Macy Perry’s father?

Shoving the flimsy, disposable aluminum pan back into Kylie’s hands, Jerome shook his head. “That’s perfectly good meat. Serve it.”

“It’s all fat!” Kylie protested.

Unlike Gerald, his happy-go-lucky, roly-poly brother, Jerome was tall, rail thin and as cheap as chewing gum. Both were excellent cooks. Neither, however, could make beef fat palatable.

Erin Fields, the owner of the Cowboy Café and their boss, breezed by, her long, copper-red ponytail flashing out behind her. Snatching the pan from Kylie’s hands, she carried it away, saying, “You’re just cooking the meat, Jerome, not paying for it. We’ll make this pan an Independence Day treat for the local dogs.” With that, she hurried toward the serving tables being set up on the green.

Jerome rolled his eyes disapprovingly and turned back to the enormous wheeled grill. Built into a trailer frame, it had been towed to the edge of the street in front of the diner for easy access. The huge chunks of beef, donated by one of the local ranchers, had been smoking on the grill since six o’clock the previous evening, making dogs howl all over town. Erin and her employees had volunteered to serve it.

Kylie moved to the steel worktable that had been moved out of the kitchen and set up beneath a bright blue canopy tent. Humming, Gerald busily sliced smoked meat with an enormous knife and mechanical precision, piling the slices into a series of disposable pans. Kylie covered one with tin foil and carried it across the street toward the serving tables. Ahead of her, Vincent sauntered by with Sherilyn Rader on his arm.

They’d been burning up the edge of the green nearest the diner all afternoon, strolling back and forth, over and over again. Apparently, Vincent found it necessary to flaunt his girlfriend in public to save face. At first, Kylie hadn’t recognized Sherilyn because the silly thing had dyed her streaky chestnut hair an unnatural black. Despite studiously refusing to acknowledge the pair’s existence, Kylie couldn’t help noticing that Sherilyn wore next to nothing. Her outfit seemed to consist of flip-flops, a white sports bra and denim short shorts. She made Kylie feel positively overdressed in her usual work clothes: athletic shoes, jeans and a T-shirt, red in honor of the holiday. She’d wisely added a white visor, which meant that she could avoid looking at Vincent by just dipping her head slightly.

The next couple hours passed in a flurry of activity as Kylie and her coworkers laded the tables and served hundreds of pounds of mouth-watering, slow-cooked beef, which the diners carried back to their picnic spots and augmented with their side dishes of choice. Many of them actually carried the meat home with them and ate it there, several of them admitting that they’d be back to watch the fireworks being readied over at the football field. Zach came through near the end of the line, smiling behind his sunshades and carrying two large disposable platters.

He lifted the one on his right and said, “For me, Brooke, Gabe and A.J.” Shoving forward the platter atop his left palm, he explained, “This one’s for Arabella and her crew.”

Arabella Michaels was another Clayton cousin. The divorced mother of triplets baked for the diner, and everyone greatly appreciated her offerings. Kylie started piling on the meat.

“Is Jasmine with Arabella?”

“Yep.”

In addition to her own three kids, Arabella had taken in a teen abandoned by her drunk of a father. Jasmine Turner, who had recently become engaged to marry Cade Clayton, a first cousin to Vincent. Neither side of the family seemed thrilled by that relationship, but wherever Jasmine could be found, Cade would likely be, so Kylie kept piling on the meat until Zach chuckled and moved the first platter out of her reach.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked idly, filling the second platter while she eyed his dark green uniform shirt, which he wore today with blue jeans and boots.

“Sure. How about you?”

“Too busy. I’ll enjoy myself after the meat’s all gone.”

“Pity,” he said.

“Aw, I don’t mind.” She could’ve let him go then but found that she didn’t really want to. Despite what he’d said on Saturday night, she liked this gorgeous man. Not only had he been in church on Sunday, he’d apologized for his remark and then he’d stood around worrying about poor old Mrs. Rader. Besides, something about his smile made her smile, so she asked, “Are you working, too?”

He dipped his chin in a nod. “I am.”

“Wasn’t sure. I mean, you’re wearing the shirt but not the rest of the uniform, and you’re not carrying your gun.”

Leaning forward, he confessed, “Frankly, I’m not keen on the uniform. Too many years in plain clothes, I guess.” He looked at her over the rim of his shades, his dark-blue eyes gleaming, and quietly added, “As for the gun, it’s a law that a peace officer has to go armed in public at all times. Just because you don’t see a firearm, darlin’, doesn’t mean I’m not packing one.”

“Oh,” Kylie squeaked, undone by his nearness, the deep, smoky timbre of his voice and that perfectly meaningless word “darlin’.”

A microphone whined, and they both looked to the gazebo in the center of the green as Reverend West stepped up to speak. The crowd quickly hushed. Red, white and blue bunting ruffled in the breeze as he welcomed the crowd and led them in eloquent prayer before introducing the mayor. As soon as Pauley pulled a sheaf of folded paper from his pocket, everyone went back to what they’d been doing before the pastor had spoken.

Zach spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Guess we know who commands the respect around here.”

Kylie said nothing, but she couldn’t stop a smile from breaking across her face. Chuckling, he moved off then, and Kylie nodded at the blue-haired matron waiting behind him, her handbag dangling from one wrist, cardboard platter in hand. When the woman’s narrowed gaze cut to a loudly laughing Vincent, Kylie realized that the woman had overheard every word of her conversation with Zach, most likely weighing every word for gossip potential.

As if to prove that assumption, the woman thrust forward her platter, remarking, “Those Clayton boys make fine-looking men, don’t they?”

Kylie hummed a noncommittal reply and dished out the beef. Fine-looking men, indeed. She glanced surreptitiously from Zach to Vincent. Handsome, yes, but at least one of them had proved himself to be a jerk. Her gaze moved back to Zach, following him across the green. It remained to be seen whether the other was as fine as he looked.

By the time Kylie found herself free to enjoy the day, it had all but ended. Just the barest lip of the sun clung to the horizon as she strolled across the grass toward her parents, who had placed their chairs on the church lawn, her father having been charged with opening the church to provide access to the restrooms in the tiny vestibule. A tall form fell into step beside her. Smiling, she glanced up at Zach Clayton, noticing that his jaws had taken on the faint shadow of a day’s growth of beard. The slight stubble gave him a rakishly handsome appearance.

“Where you headed?” he murmured.

“Going to sit with my parents a while.”

“That’s good. I won’t worry about you then.”

Kylie stopped dead in her tracks. “Worry about me?”

He winced. “I, um … well, you’ve seen how Vincent’s been acting.”

“No, not really,” she said. In point of fact, she’d done her dead level best not to notice what Vincent had been up to, but she felt a glow in the center of her chest at the knowledge that Zach worried about her. With all these people here, three or four hundred at least, tall, good-looking Zach Clayton had been keeping an eye on her.

Zach cleared his throat, but the eruption of a loud argument forestalled whatever he’d been about to say.

“I want to go now!” pleaded a brunette in red capris and a red-and-white-striped tank top.

“You will sit down and shut up until I’m ready!” a man bawled right in her face.

“Who is that?” Zach asked, turning in their direction.

“I want to go now!” the woman insisted plaintively.

Kylie wracked her brain. “Uh, Janey … Janey …” She shook her head, unable to find a last name.

“I said be quiet!” the man shouted, launching into a diatribe about whiny, self-centered women.

“That’s Rob Crenshaw. He’s about my age and a friend of Vincent’s.”

Nodding, Zach strode forward. Without thinking, Kylie followed, drawn by Janey’s sobs. Zach didn’t pause, just walked right up and threw his left arm around Rob’s shoulders in what looked like a companionable gesture.

“Rob,” he said calmly. “Rob Crenshaw.”

That surprised the younger man enough to shut him up and have him turning a stupefied gaze on Zach.

“Do I know you?”

“Deputy Sheriff Zach Clayton. How do you do?” Zach said, offering his right hand for a shake. Rob automatically took that hand and then seemed to have some difficulty letting go again. Zach turned him and walked him several steps away from the woman. While the two of them spoke quietly—actually, Zach did most of the talking—Kylie went to Janey.

“You okay?” she asked, patting the other woman on the back.

Heavily freckled and wholesome-looking, with pale hazel eyes and sleek, chin-length, dark-brown hair tucked behind her ears, Janey sniffed and nodded, confessing in a small voice, “He gets like this every time he drinks.”

“I thought alcohol wasn’t allowed on the green.”

“It’s not. He showed up with a snootful.”

Just then, Rob turned and lurched toward Janey. “We’re going,” he announced tersely, seizing her by the upper arm.

Kylie glanced at Zach, who stood with his hands at his hips, watching. “Do you want to go with him?” Kylie asked quickly.

For an instant, Janey hesitated, but then she nodded and let Rob pull her away. Zach watched to make sure Janey was driving. Then he removed his sunshades, folded them, stowed them in his shirt pocket and strolled toward Kylie. She turned as he drew near, and he once more fell into step beside her. They a put a few yards between them and the small crowd that had gathered to gawk.

“You handled that quite easily.”

Zach shrugged. “A bully never expects anyone to stand up to him. He’s surprised when people don’t cower or slink away. If you know what you’re doing, that can give you an upper hand.”

“I guess the badge doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Not a bit,” he admitted with a grin.

He walked her toward her parents. Reverend West stood waiting for them at the edge of the church lawn. Somehow, John West always managed to look as cool as a cucumber, and today proved no exception. His chinos held crisp creases, and the white of his Old Glory T-shirt fairly glowed in the fading light. He stepped forward at once, offering his hand to Zach and greeting Kylie with a nod.

“You two obviously work well together.”

Zach seemed as eager as Kylie to quell talk that involved the terms “you two” and “together.” They both began speaking.

“Oh, I was just talking to Janey.”

“A little private conversation between me and Crenshaw.”

“I wasn’t involved in anything.”

“It’s my job. The badge does most of the work.”

Reverend West laughed and stepped forward to drop one hand atop Zach’s shoulder and the other atop Kylie’s. “I have a couple of spots open on the helpline ministry team with our Church Care Committee.”

Zach flashed a pained look at Kylie.

“Oh, I’m, uh, on call twenty-four hours a day.”

“And I work shifts,” Kylie put in quickly.

“One evening a week,” West said, not in the least deterred. “I believe it will fulfill the voluntary community service requirement of the county sheriff’s new community involvement initiative.”

Zach twisted one corner of his lips into a wry grin. “So it will.”

The reverend looked to Kylie, saying, “I’ll speak to Erin. Make sure she doesn’t schedule you to work during your assigned hours.”

Kylie swallowed a sigh and nodded.

“I’ll tell Martha to expect you for training this Wednesday after prayer meeting then.” With that, West slid his hands into his pants pockets and strolled off in another direction, whistling complacently.

Backing up a step, Zach sent Kylie a loaded look and said, “Remind me to watch my step around him from now on.”

“You and me both.”

“He’s slicker than suntan oil. Glad he’s on the good side.”

“There is that,” she agreed with less enthusiasm than she probably should have displayed.

“Well, I’m working,” Zach said after a moment, shooting a glance at her parents. “Best get back out there.” He walked away with a nod and a wave.

Kylie let out her sigh in one long, tired breath and turned to face her parents, who had watched the whole thing from the comfort of their lawn chairs, bottles of cold iced tea in their hands. Seeing the look of consternation on her face, they both burst out laughing. After a moment, Kylie joined them. For more than a year she’d avoided Reverend West’s enlistment campaigns, and now, in the blink of an eye, she’d been caught. Her gaze drifted across the green until it settled on Zach Clayton’s broad shoulders. At least she had company in the trap.

Kylie sat down on the grass next to her parents. Over the next hour or so, they watched a steady stream of mostly women trek to and from the church. Finally, her mother rose from her chair. “Keep Dad company while I check the supplies in the bathrooms, will you? We don’t want to be poor hosts, and things need to be stocked for Sunday.”

Kylie pushed up to her feet and waved her mother back down. “No, I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure?” Lynette asked even as she sat again.

Nodding, Kylie started toward the church. She knew how hard both of her parents worked. She could do this one small thing for her mom.

“The extra supplies are in the closet behind the sanctuary,” her father called. Kylie flapped a hand in acknowledgment and moved away. “It’s open,” he went on, “but you’ll have to go into the building from the front.”

She climbed the front steps and went into the building.

Crossing the small foyer, she passed through a door on the left. A quick check showed that the paper products were, indeed, running low. Kylie went out again and pushed through the double doors that closed off the darkened sanctuary. She could barely see, but she didn’t turn on the overhead lights. Instead, she went around the edge of the large, pew-lined room and out again through a door behind the piano. She did turn on a light in the back room and propped the door open with a cloth-covered brick, placed there for that purpose, while she went to the far corner of the cluttered space.

Her father had often complained of the lack of a light inside the closet, but it hadn’t been wired for electricity. Kylie unbolted the rarely opened back door and pushed it wide to let in as much light as possible before going into the closet to gather supplies. She carried them back to the vestibule and stocked the restroom, then returned to lock up and turn off lights. Just as she passed through the door behind the piano and into the storage area again, a hand clamped down on her wrist.

She knew at once who held her. Fear rose in her throat, and she instantly reached out to God with mind and soul.

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