Snowbound with the Sheriff Read online

  The life she’d built since had imploded on her, too. That was where her focus needed to be—regrouping, mending fences with her family and then salvaging her career. She’d wasted way too much time on this man, starting with the hours and days she’d cried over him after he refused to talk to her at the ranch. Good thing all that crying then had made her impervious to him now.

  You wish.

  He raked his hand down his face. His blue eyes were too damn earnest. They still held a hint of the devil-may-care boy he’d once been, but the faint crow’s-feet reminded her that he’d done just as much living since high school as she had.

  “It’s really weird that you’re here,” he admitted gruffly.

  It took everything she could not to react to his confession. “Water under the bridge.”

  His thinned lips suggested he knew she was lying, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  Thank God. “I think sorry and thanks are plenty for today—no need to go overboard on exchanging pleasantries.”

  “You and I have different definitions of pleasant.” He cracked a smile. The jolt of it spread through her belly and settled between her legs.

  That was one kind of pleasant they’d been darn good at, even as teenagers. If only we’d been as good at making responsible decisions.

  He tipped the brim of his hat and strode back to his truck, leaving her to sit in the darkness of the unlit highway, heart in her throat.

  She’d anticipated seeing Ryan, but not before she even arrived in town. And with him planning to help with barn construction, she’d be spending much more time with him than the “pass by on the street” encounters she’d prepared for. Between crossing the gulf between her and her siblings, and figuring out where she would land when she headed back to New York in two weeks, she had enough going on. She refused to add Ryan Rafferty to the list.

  * * *

  Ryan pulled up to his house and groaned when he saw the kitchen lights on. He’d told Stella the truth about not having a partner to come home to. But his grandmother had a key and absolutely no sense of personal space. He’d texted her earlier to ask her to feed his dog and let her out. He hadn’t meant “stay until I get home.”

  Somewhere between pulling over Stella and turning onto his quiet street, he’d written off his plans to enjoy a glass of red wine with his feet up. He had two nights and a day until he’d be guaranteed to run into Stella again, and he needed to be well rested for whatever she threw his way at the work bee.

  But he also had a hell of a time saying “no” to one Gertrude Rafferty. She’d been his rock during his childhood—after his mother had walked out when he was a toddler, his dad had made it clear mighty fast that he’d never wanted to be a parent. Ryan’s gran had loved him enough for two people, and had done her best to shore him up when his dad’s drug use disorder led to a fatal overdose.

  Ryan was ever-thankful he’d won the grandmother lottery. And by the mouthwatering smell of Bolognese sauce wafting from the kitchen, today was yet another example of that.

  His stomach growled. Okay, eating was going to have to happen. As was casually telling his grandmother that Stella was back in town. If Gran heard that he’d pulled over Stella from someone else, she’d consider it a personal insult.

  He toed off his boots in his mudroom. His chocolate Lab, Puddle, wagged her way over to him. He kneeled, taking a moment for a snuggle and to shower her with “good girl”s before heading into the kitchen.

  Gran sat at the kitchen counter on a barstool, fiddling with her tablet. With a backbone stiffer than the hairspray she still favored to keep her short sweep of now-gray hair in place, she had her thumb on the pulse of every living thing in Sutter Creek. Amazing she hadn’t known Stella was coming to town, actually. But welcome. Better that he was the one to break the news.

  “You didn’t have to cook for me, Gran.” He gave her a half hug and a kiss on top of her head.

  “Ground round was on sale. There’s enough for leftovers.” She flipped the cover shut on her tablet and fixed him with a concerned look. “It’s eleven o’clock. No wonder you can’t keep a girlfriend. All these late nights... You look peaked.”

  He glanced up at the ceiling, tired of the common refrain. Of all people, she should understand how much it took to prove to everyone in Sutter Creek that he was worthy of their votes. He removed his duty belt and locked it away. After serving himself a heaping dish of pasta, he took a seat at the other barstool.

  “Had an interesting roadside incident that delayed me more than expected,” he said, trying to keep his voice mild.

  “And?”

  “You failed to tell me Stella Reid was coming back to town.”

  Silence followed, and a few blinks of disbelief. He couldn’t tell whether she was shocked that she wasn’t the first to know something, or felt guilty that she had known and hadn’t given him a heads-up.

  “Surprised?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, cocking her head and pursing her lips in disdain. “The last time I took Kittay in for a checkup, Tom said Stella was too busy at work to come for a visit. And given how much Tom sacrificed to come home, I wouldn’t blame that man if he didn’t want to speak to his granddaughter, let alone welcome her back into the fold.”

  Even after his brief retirement, Tom Reid still had the veterinary magic touch—Puddle loved her dog appointments. Tom was also way too kind to cut Stella out of his life.

  “Tom’s not the sort of guy who would blacklist one of his grandkids, Gran. And also...that sounds like a whole lot of ‘not our business.’”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Whatever you say. So, you were telling me about Stella. How is she?”

  Prickly. Gorgeous. Still has a smile that makes my pulse skip.

  “Fine,” he said simply.

  She poked him in the side. “Fine? The girl you intended to marry comes back to town and all you say is fine?”

  “Let’s not get carried away, there, Gran,” he murmured. “We were only kids.”

  “What, you’re going to deny I found a ring when I finally cleaned out your room before I moved to the seniors’ facility?”

  “One of many misguided choices of my youth. Laughable, to say the least. Or at least, it was at the time I bought that ring.” Do not let her think you’re still soft for the woman. “I was as infatuated as any eighteen-year-old boy would be. Key word—was.”

  “You took the fall for her. She should be thanking you.”

  “She did.” Well, sort of. She’d thanked him for saving Maggie, and had admitted he’d done her a solid when he’d pretended she hadn’t known the car was stolen. Put together—close enough.

  She shook her head and tsked. “Stella Reid. And here I thought it was the cold and work stress putting that ruddy color in your cheeks.”

  He stared at his dinner so she wouldn’t see the truth in his eyes. “We had a short conversation. Nothing more.” But everything about the situation was sitting wrong. How he’d pushed her away so long ago, ignored her attempt to see him... It had seemed so crucial at the time, necessary as part of putting his life in order, in proving he wasn’t going to go down the road his dad had traveled. But she was definitely still mad about it. And to hold on to something like that—Stella didn’t seem the type. His well-honed cop radar twinged.

  “Better not be more,” Gran said. “She showed her colors when she let you get arrested for her crime.”

  “I was guilty, Gran. I deserved punishment.”

  “So did she.”

  “She’d never done anything like that before. Not like me.” It hadn’t been the first time he’d “borrowed” a vehicle without asking. He’d gone for more than one joyride, usually with his buddy Rafe Brooks. It’d just taken stealing Ryan’s unforgiving uncle’s truck to finally get caught.

  “Humph.” Gran drummed her fingers on the counter. “You ne
ed someone who’s as devoted to Sutter Creek as you are.”

  “Whoa, there. Who said anything about reconsidering what I had with Stella?” he grumbled.

  “Your face said it for you.”

  “Seeing her bothered me, but not for the reasons you’re thinking.” He suspected he was part of the reason Stella had stayed away so long. Damn. Just when he was starting to think he was truly clear of his mistakes—getting elected sheriff was supposed to have proven that—another painful reminder surfaced.

  “Just be careful.” Pointing a finger at him, she warned, “She was your first love. We get nostalgic about that.”

  “I’m not feeling nostalgic.”

  “You’re feeling something.”

  He’d let Gran see too much. Holy hell, this was embarrassing. Hiding his emotions was part of his job. He’d faced down criminals with no hint of what he was feeling. But combine Stella and Gran, and he was apparently as expressive as an overeager community-theater actor.

  Ryan tucked in to the rest of his dinner, mind whirling. He’d have to make sure that he didn’t let the same thing happen at work tomorrow. He had a meeting with the mayor and the head of the local ranching association about a recent rash of cattle thefts, and if either of them clued in that he was distracted, he’d be facing questions about Stella that he definitely didn’t want to answer.

  Chapter Four

  Stella’s phone dinged right when she was finishing flat-ironing her hair the next morning. The primping might have been overkill, but it never hurt to show up ready for anything. She planned to fetch coffee to take to Lachlan and Maggie as a peace offering, and who knew whom she’d run into on Main Street. Her pride wouldn’t let her look anything less than her best. A little “check out what I’ve done with my life” jab.

  Ugh. How was it she’d been in Sutter Creek for less than twelve hours and was already worrying about what everyone thought of her? It wasn’t high school anymore, and she needed to put on her grown-ass woman pants and stop thinking as if it was.

  Putting down the styling wand, she checked her phone.

  Her stomach turned. The notification screen was going berserk. There were numerous texts from work, and emails from three reporters who all wanted her take on the rumors. Freaking great.

  A dropped call from a Montana number she didn’t recognize sat sandwiched between all the work crap. Weird. Well, she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone who wasn’t one of her half siblings, and they would have called her from their own numbers.

  Stella put down the device. She’d check the voice mail later.

  And she’d leave the texts and emails, too. Everything going on in New York could wait. It had to wait. She had explicit orders not to talk to anyone, let alone colleagues or reporters. Today was for coffee bribery, and some more lying to Lachlan and Maggie about why she’d essentially ghosted them. Exhaustion pressed on her shoulders, and she took a deep breath. Being Friday, she knew they’d be working, so she’d meet them at the clinic. She preferred that, honestly. She had way too many memories of crying on the couch at her grandparents’ old place, where Maggie now lived.

  The barn’s behind the clinic, though. And the loft was an aching reminder of her stolen moments with Ryan. Fumbling fingers and clumsy caresses—all that teenage fervor. Love, too. The crash and burn had been devastating, but what came before it... She sure hadn’t felt anything similar in any of her dating forays in Manhattan.

  She put her phone away and threw on her coat and boots. Priority one: caffeine. Mental armor via espresso bean before she faced talking to her siblings about her current problems. Her decision to stay at a hotel last night might have infuriated Lachlan, but who knew how things would have gone had she shown up? She probably would have said or done the wrong thing and made him even angrier than she had by refusing his spare bedroom. And the Sutter Mountain Hotel had been an opulent place to land last night.

  An added benefit? One hundred percent less family drama.

  Her conscience didn’t let her sit with that satisfaction for long.

  Right. One hundred percent more sibling guilt. Would she ever figure out how to be an acceptable sister?

  Heading out of the glitzy lobby into the January morning, she jammed her hands into her thin, knit gloves to fend off the cold. Giant logs served as portico supports on either side of her, grand enough to stand up to the view of the mountain in front. The sky was as blue as it could possibly be. Snow from last night’s storm crunched under her heeled boots, a carpet of white around the base lift near the resort hotel. A far cry from the dingy slush lining Manhattan’s streets.

  Point: Montana.

  Gritting her teeth at the begrudging admission of superiority, she trudged down the path connecting her hotel and the center of town. Trees lined either side of the path, muting the noise from nearby streets, and a layer of icing-sugar snow dusted the thick, green branches.

  Awareness crawled up the back of her neck. Since when did she find towering trees more eye-catching than soaring skyscrapers? She lived for New York’s “the city that never sleeps” vibe and the enthralling architecture. And, sure, she liked being on first-name basis with the owner of the bodega on the corner of her block, but she didn’t need him to know her life story. She’d experienced enough neighborly “concern” before she moved away from Sutter Creek to last a lifetime.

  She rounded the corner of the path to the town center, where four streets of buildings framed what was a big lawn during the summer. Today, snow covered the wide expanse. A pine tree as tall as the two-story buildings surrounding the square shaded a gazebo and a jelly-bean-shaped ice rink. At Christmastime, the tree was decorated with lights and a star, but any trace of last month’s holiday was long gone.

  “Place hasn’t changed much,” she muttered to herself. Except, she had to admit there were a lot of differences. Sure, Ryan’s family’s bakery was there, windows painted with a cupcake logo and Sweets and Treats in pink, flowing script, but a number of restaurants existed that hadn’t before. Far more high-end amenities for tourists—spas and shops—but without erasing the town’s ranching roots. Most of the buildings, freshly painted in cheery pastels, had the Old West fronts she remembered from her teen years. It was...pretty. Huh. Quaint and homey, not suffocating and backward like she remembered.

  And the fresh air, untainted by exhaust and questionable air-vent smells, was like taking a giant pipe cleaner to the lungs. Maybe she needed to walk the few blocks to Central Park more once she was back home. She’d certainly have time, unless the authorities sped up the criminal-charges process.

  A bunch of elementary-age kids skated around the rink, a school group by the looks of it. A peanut of a girl twirled on the ice, totally in the “dreaming of being an Olympic figure skater” zone. Stella halted on the path that cut through the snow-covered lawn to watch. The pint-size skater dipped her head back and spun with her arms extended. Stella’s heart panged. She missed that special freedom of twirling on skates. She’d taken skating lessons as a kid, had even competed for a few years until it got too expensive to buy skates and ice time and private coaching. Her mom’s refusal to take any sort of child support from Stella’s father had put a damper on Stella’s utterly unlikely chance at Olympic fame.

  “Taking you back?”

  She startled at the gruff interruption. Peering at her intruder out of the corner of her eye, she replied, “Little bit.”

  Two words was about all she could get out. Her mouth dried up so fast, it was like she’d stuffed a towel in it. Ryan in uniform in the daylight was sanity-stealing. It shouldn’t have been. Black jacket, tan pants—nothing special. Law-enforcement officers had never been her jam. But something about the way his jacket stretched across his broad shoulders made her want to put a hand there for a second—test just how much stronger he’d gotten since she last wrapped her arms around him.

  Admit it, it’s the
cowboy hat.

  Damn it, what was she doing? Ryan was not hers to admire, hadn’t been since she was barely old enough to vote. And he was still the same guy under the badge. A person couldn’t change that much.

  “Excuse me. I was headed to get coffee.” Forcing a smile, she backed away and hurried toward Peak Beans, the café nestled between a sporting-goods store and an upscale esthetician’s salon.

  Ryan caught up to her right before she got to the street. “Stella, slow down.”

  “What? I’m not jaywalking. It’s pedestrian-only.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I’m not here to police your behavior. I’m just coincidentally also in need of joe. I just finished up at the ATM—” he pointed across the square at the brick front of the bank, then gestured past Main Street at a partly visible, glass-sided structure glinting in the morning sun “—before going to my office.”

  “Right,” she grumbled, opening the door to the coffee shop and lining up behind the half-dozen sleepy-looking people who were also in need of a pick-me-up. Vintage-ski chic added a cozy ambiance to the place. A garland of jewel-toned pom-poms was draped along the barn-wood counter. A chalkboard filled the wall behind, displaying the menu, and hand-drawn marmots skied down the border next to the prices. Apparently, the town mascot hadn’t changed.

  Most tables were occupied. A few faces looked a bit familiar, but many weren’t. Tourists, probably. And a reminder of how she’d spent her high-school years with one foot out the door—she’d kept to herself, so she hadn’t bothered to maintain connections over social media.

  “How was your hotel?” Ryan asked.

  She didn’t hear any judgment over not staying with a family member in his tone. “Quieter than staying at Lachlan’s. And Maggie already has Gramps with her.”

  He let out a dissatisfied sound in his throat.

  Yeah, there was the guilt trip. I’m well capable of guilting myself without your help, Ryan. She was about to say just that when the college-age barista behind the counter asked him if he wanted his usual order.