Snowbound with the Sheriff Read online

  Her cheeks reddened. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you want to.”

  Which was excellent advice for his gran to take. He, on the other hand, needed to do the opposite.

  * * *

  “Where are you going?” Maggie asked, complaining in tone if not words. She was lounging on her sofa, as instructed by her surgeon, but Stella could tell she was beyond done with convalescing. Two months of burn treatments and skin-graft surgeries had taken a toll on her sister. “I’m so sick of my own company.”

  “You’ve been with me or Gramps every day since I got here, and Asher literally every minute he’s not at work or playing chauffeur for Ruth. I’d have thought you were sick of having company.”

  Maggie shook her head. “You’re not going to be here much longer, so I have to soak up your cheer while I can.” She picked at a bandage. “Would you give up this whole ‘staying at the hotel’ thing, and come camp out in the second spare room? Please?”

  Stella froze. Neither Maggie nor Lachlan had mentioned her sleeping arrangements since her initial argument with Lach. “You really want that?”

  “Well, people are asking, and it’s embarrassing.”

  “Oh.” There was the truth.

  Maggie made a face. “Don’t look at me like that. I was trying to make it easy on both of us. You want the truth? I want you here. It’s weird, because all we’ve ever had is distance, but...” She shrugged.

  Stella could feel her mouth flapping but no matter how hard she tried to snap it shut, she couldn’t. “I don’t—”

  “Just say yes.”

  “I—I guess I could check out of the hotel tomorrow.” If Maggie wanted to pretend she was as close to Stella as she was to Lachlan, who was she to argue? They both knew, deep down, that their relationship would never be the same. But if Stella staying in the house helped Maggie’s mindset, she’d heal faster. So the farce was worth it.

  She checked her watch and collected her purse from the kitchen, along with a fresh glass of water for Maggie. “Tell you what,” she called to the other room. “As soon as I’m done with Gertie, I’ll pick up pizza on the way home and we can share it with Gramps, Asher and Ruth. Vegetarian, I assume?” Maggie was vegetarian, and she’d mentioned that Asher stuck to as much of a kosher diet as he could.

  “They like mushrooms,” Maggie shouted back. “And Greek veggie for me.”

  She reentered the living room and handed her sister the glass. “Drink up. Fluids, remember? Speeds up the healing.”

  Maggie shot her a dry look. “Who’s the doctor?”

  A phrase that was becoming overused. “You are really doing an excellent job of living up to the maxim that doctors make the worst patients.”

  “Not sure that applies to veterinarians.”

  “It does with you.”

  “Jerk.” But the insult lacked oomph. Fear flickered across her sister’s pale face.

  Stella sat at the other end of the couch, placing a hand on Maggie’s velvety slipper. “What’s wrong?

  “What if the grafting doesn’t take? And physical therapy doesn’t work? I mean, look at Asher’s brother, Caleb. His hand surgeries didn’t repair the avalanche damage, and he had to give up surgery...”

  Stella’s heart sank. Her sister had a lot of therapy ahead of her, and soon Stella would be back in New York, unable to be the support Maggie needed. “Want me to call Mrs. Rafferty to tell her I’ll be a little late? I can stick around if you want to talk about it.”

  Maggie wiped away a tear. “I’m just being a baby.”

  “You’re not. Career threats are a big deal.” Of anyone, Stella would know.

  “Stop. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “At all?” Or with me?

  “Asher will be off work soon. If he hasn’t run screaming from me unloading on him yet, he won’t if I do it today. And he’s bringing their dog over.” Her face was a mix of misery and longing. “That’ll help.”

  “You always did go to animals over people.” Something inside her wanted to fix everything for Maggie, but Stella clearly wasn’t the solution her sister wanted. She just needed to try harder.

  “I’ve learned to reach out more,” Maggie admitted.

  “Asher’s good for that?” She liked her sister’s new man. Anyone who was able to debate the finer points of YA versus adult romance novels was good in Stella’s book.

  “Asher’s great for that.” Maggie waved a hand. “Aren’t you going to be late? Go.”

  Oh, man, just when her sister was opening up a little, Stella had to leave. “I’m sorry I made plans.”

  Maggie sighed. “Really?”

  “Yeah. This—” she motioned between them “—is nice. And new.”

  “A building fire puts things in perspective.” Maggie narrowed her eyes and gingerly drew her blanket up to her chin. “What’s it going to take for you, Stella? Is the threat to your job enough? I know you can’t discuss whatever’s going on at work, but that just makes me more concerned based on what’s been on the news. I wish you’d let us support you.”

  “I’m here to help you, not to have you help me figure out my crap.”

  “No reason why it can’t be both.”

  It was tempting to throw up a wall, but that wouldn’t be fair. Not in the face of Maggie’s raw honesty.

  “Being open isn’t easy.”

  Maggie snorted knowingly. “Better get used to it if you have a meeting with Mrs. Rafferty. She’s going to grill you six ways to Sunday.”

  “Yeah, I dated her grandson for years. I remember. And I think I can match her.”

  Standing on Ryan’s stoop ten minutes later, she wasn’t feeling so confident.

  Mainly because Gertie hadn’t answered the door—Ryan had. He was hunched over a little, holding the collar of a roly-poly Labrador, who stared at Stella with mild interest.

  Ryan was wearing that black uniform shirt again. It set off his eyes just right. And it would be way too easy to greet him with a kiss.

  She settled on “Oh. You’re here.”

  He looked at her like she was missing a good part of her frontal cortex. “It’s my house.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you’d be at work.”

  He let go of the dog, who, after a cursory sniff, waddled off to her bed, having deemed Stella unworthy.

  Gertie would be so proud of her great-granddog.

  Backing up, he waved Stella in. “Technically, I’m in my office right now. Can’t you tell?” He smiled, a devastating curve of lip and flash of teeth that melted her insides. “Thought you might want a referee, though. Gran will be here any minute.”

  “So we’re alone,” she murmured, zipping out of her leather ankle boots. Losing the height took her down a few inches. He’d always been too tall for his own good, but just right for Stella. Being a tall woman meant she had to savor her moments of feeling feminine, delicate. But around Ryan, it was the physical reality. And she’d missed having the option of being carried around like a featherweight.

  He’d still be able to do that. Those arm muscles didn’t lie—

  “Stop looking at me like that,” he said gruffly.

  She swallowed, hoping to cover up how dry her mouth had gotten. “Like what?”

  “You know.”

  “I do not.”

  He took a step toward her. “Stella,” he warned.

  “What?”

  “You’re lying.”

  Crap. There was no hiding anything from him. She lifted her hands, palms up. “Fine. I was looking at you like that.”

  He stepped forward again, until only a foot of space separated them. “See, this is why I didn’t want you over at my house.”

  His hands landed on her waist, and she shivered as the weight of his touch settled, as if they hadn’t been separated for
almost two decades.

  She slid her palms up his chest, over his uniform shirt. “You didn’t?”

  He shook his head, and backed her up until her shoulders pressed into the door and her body tucked into his. “I knew I’d have to do this.”

  His lips brushed hers. A tease of a kiss. She grumbled a complaint and jammed her fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth closer, meeting his tentative test with all the pent-up frustration she’d been holding inside for the last week.

  Week. Months. Eighteen years...

  He groaned and tasted her deeply. His hands roamed up her sides, and she pressed into his big, muscular body, needing the friction of more than lips and tongues.

  “Christ, Stella—”

  “Those better be prayers of thanks, honey,” said a voice from somewhere behind Ryan. “Because if anyone but me saw you doing that you’d be in up to your neck in trouble.”

  He stepped back, cursing low. “Hi, Gran.”

  Stella pressed a hand to the bottom of her rib cage and tried to take a steadying breath before Gertie Rafferty recognized just how much that kiss had thrown her. Holy crap, Ryan could kiss...

  “Since when do you come in the back door?” he asked his grandmother, who stood by the kitchen island with her arms crossed.

  “Wouldn’t have been able to get in the front door anyway, not with the two of you using it for hanky panky,” she said. She sat primly at the dining-room table tucked into the space between the front door and the kitchen. Ryan’s house was small, but cozy. And you’d probably be in the bedroom by now were it not for Gertie.

  Stella didn’t know if she was annoyed or relieved at the interruption. Smoothing her hands down her sweater and lifting her chin, she sat across from the older woman. “Let’s talk money.”

  “We have all day to do that. What’s more important is what I just saw.”

  “We’re not errant teens anymore,” Ryan interjected, walking to his fridge and grabbing a few sodas. He set a Diet Coke in front of Stella—damn it, he had way too good of a memory for Stella’s preferred beverages—and passed Gertie a ginger ale. “Respectfully? Back off.”

  “How can I? You’re losing perspective. Someone has to keep it.”

  “Stella and I have plenty of perspective,” he murmured.

  “And is it taking into account whatever she did at work? When the news of that comes out, and people actually have facts instead of the current rumors, what’s going to happen then?”

  “It’ll exonerate Stella,” he snapped, sitting down at the end of the table.

  He sounded so certain. His confidence warmed her belly, even if he couldn’t know more than the vague details being reported. Unless... Had he gone back on his word and investigated her?

  Her stomach clenched. “Why are you so sure?”

  He stared at her, his soft expression revealing no clues. “I trust you. That’s enough for me.” Emotion shimmied in her chest.

  “Probably shouldn’t have so much blind faith, Sheriff,” she croaked.

  Gertie jabbed him in the arm. “People trusting you is the bigger issue. And you can’t be involved with a woman who’s involved in a crime,” the older woman insisted. She pierced Stella with her gaze. “Did you break the law?”

  Stella met Gertie’s challenge. The truth burbled beneath the surface, and she scrambled to hold back any detail that would violate her agreement with the investigators. “I haven’t committed a crime since I drove your brother-in-law’s car, knowing full well it was stolen.”

  “Stella,” Ryan said quietly, staring at his tented fingers. “You don’t need to explain yourself.”

  Dog claws clicked on the floor and Ryan’s dog nosed her head into Stella’s lap. Stella dug her fingers into the lab’s soft fur and breathed until her pulse slowed. Calmer, she had a better grasp of what needed to be said.

  “As for whether Ryan’s shining reputation will be tarnished by the likes of me, it’s all moot,” she pointed out, still focused on Gertie. She couldn’t look at him, not when his eyes shone with faith and respect. She patted her lap, inviting the dog to drape across her legs. She looped her arms around the dog’s chunky neck and hugged the canine close. “One kiss does not a rekindled relationship make. Soon enough, I’ll go back to New York. And Ryan will be able to stay here and marry goddamn Emma Halloran—”

  Ryan’s tender expression darkened.

  “If only,” Gertie muttered under her breath.

  Stella narrowed her eyes. “Do you want my help with your finances or not?”

  “I do, actually.” The older woman almost sounded contrite.

  With the conversation focused on money and investments, the pressure in Stella’s chest eased. With Puddle full-on snoring in her lap, she spent enough time building a picture of Gertie’s finances that Ryan had to leave before they were done.

  “I’ll call you,” he said.

  “Don’t feel you have to,” Stella replied mildly as the dog scrambled down to say goodbye to her alpha human.

  “I’ll call you,” he repeated, shaking his head as he left through the front door.

  Stella stared at it closing for a second too long.

  “He’s my most precious person, you know,” Gertie said, clenching her hands around the thin scarf she’d removed from her neck.

  He used to be mine. Nodding, she cleared her throat. “I think we can identify areas where your money could be working better for you. If you make some adjustments, you’ll have enough to create an annual travel fund.”

  Gertie studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide if she was going to call out Stella on the subject change. “If that’s what I decide to do with it. My family is used to me being here.”

  “Yeah, I’ve found that when you leave, people adjust.” Oh, damn. She closed her eyes, chest tightening. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. No one would ever forget you, Gertie.”

  Mrs. Rafferty’s mouth twisted. “No one forgot you, either, Stella. Even if you hoped we would.”

  Chapter Ten

  Working on the barn every day until the following Tuesday was oddly soothing. Maggie was easing back into some of her veterinary duties, Gramps was supporting her and Lach was juggling his vet-tech hours with his responsibilities at the training school. Stella didn’t have much construction experience, but she could wield a paint roller. With the majority of the drywalling completed during the work bee, there were plenty of surfaces to slap with paint.

  The solitude was welcome, too. Staying at Maggie’s since Friday meant a whole lot of socializing in the evenings, exactly the time of day she was used to having space. So she didn’t bother with putting in her earbuds and catching up on podcasts while she painted—the sound of eggshell latex slicking over the walls was meditative, counteracting how jittery she’d been since that kiss.

  More than jittery. Consumed.

  He’d stayed away, at least. Somehow, they’d managed to avoid each other. She’d spent most of her time with her half siblings, which had likely helped, but still. Not running into someone in Sutter Creek for five days seemed noteworthy.

  “Stella?”

  The low voice startled her, and she almost dropped the roller. “Did I summon you?” she muttered.

  Ryan rounded the corner into the conference room, concern shadowing his eyes. He had on his uniform, including his black cowboy hat. Great. One more hot mental image to fixate on.

  He came right up to her, lifting his hand and almost touching her face. He dropped it to his side before he actually made contact. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I not look okay?”

  “Yeah, but you’re good at putting on a show.”

  Fear rolled through her. “What happened?”

  “You haven’t seen the story yet?”

  Her stomach bottomed. That she’d had close to two weeks before the news
broke had been both a blessing and a curse. She’d known this day was coming. But she still didn’t want to face it. “I left my phone in my purse. How bad is it?”

  He held out his phone.

  She shook her head. “My hands are covered in paint. Just tell me.”

  “It names you. And it speculates that you took a deal to cover up something you did. Mentions a multi-agency investigation.”

  Her knees shook, and she sank to the cement floor, cross-legged. Oh, God...

  Ryan took the paint roller out of her hand, placed it in the tray and kneeled next to her. “Hey. Deep breaths.”

  “Yep.” Impossible, what with the knowledge that she might never get her life back, her dream back.

  He stroked her back. “Seriously, breathe.”

  “I am,” she croaked. Not well, though. And she did not need an audience judging her wheezes. “Why are you here?”

  “When Special Agent Gill couldn’t get a hold of you, he called me to see if I’d check up on you.”

  She jerked away from his touch. “You know my FBI contact?”

  He nodded curtly. “He called me the day after you got to town.”

  What? “How much do you know?”

  His hand returned to her back, a comforting weight. If she scooted closer and leaned on him, shared her burdens with him, could she trust him?

  Yes or no, it won’t do any good in the long run. She’d be returning to New York to deal with the trial and rebuilding her career alone. Better to start out how she intended to continue.

  Ryan stayed silent a few more seconds before replying. “I know enough to understand that these news stories are false. But I didn’t need a federal agent’s explanation in order to believe your innocence.”

  “So you’ve been sitting on the truth since I got here? And you didn’t tell me?”

  He kissed her temple. “Couldn’t. I’d think you’d understand that.”

  Anger sizzled in her veins. How could he not... No. Be honest. She wasn’t mad at Ryan. He’d followed protocol, just like she had. And letting her devastation spill out onto him, hot and furious, would be exceedingly unfair. “Well, you can let Agent Gill know I’m fine. Or better yet, I’ll call him myself. I’m going to need to get a hold of my lawyers, too. They’ve probably been trying to contact me.”