Snowbound with the Sheriff Read online

  “Where’s all your cop gear?” she asked. “Thought you drove a county vehicle.”

  “Not usually when I’m off shift,” he explained, steering them out of the neighborhood. “So tell me more about living in Manhattan.”

  “Well, it’s cold, but in a different way,” she said, trying to snuggle farther into her coat.

  With one hand, he picked his jacket off the console and draped it haphazardly across her torso. The scent of his jacket, masculine and comforting, curled into her nostrils.

  Okay, seriously. He collected supplies for the barn bee, played taxi and was dedicated to his job—no wonder why people elected him. It was way too easy to ignore his past sins with so much evidence he was a beyond-decent person. Why couldn’t he act like the jerk she’d cast him as for so long?

  Except those sins affected me more than they did the town.

  Which meant that maybe Lachlan was right. Maybe opening up about her miscarriage could make it possible to finally find closure. She didn’t need Ryan’s friendship back. But if honesty let her live a little easier herself, and removed a barrier preventing her from feeling comfortable in the town where her half siblings lived...? Might be worth it.

  Her heart thunked like a bass drum.

  “Ryan?” Her voice cracked.

  “Yeah?”

  “I have something to tell you.”

  * * *

  Ryan focused on the road, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to feel the leather compress. Good grief. Things just couldn’t be simple today. People wanting something from him—talk about a theme.

  And it went beyond his prodigal ex-girlfriend. His campaign supporters wanted him to be devoted to the county. His grandmother wanted him to be cautious around Stella.

  So what did he want?

  For starters, he didn’t want Stella to break her NDA on his behalf. And her expression and quick breaths suggested an imminent confession.

  He rubbed his jaw, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow rough against his palm. “I think whatever you have to say is best left unsaid.”

  She turned toward him, eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

  “Just a hunch,” he stated. He couldn’t let her break the law. Nor could he afford to get closer to her. “I get that now that you’ve jumped on the ‘spill your guts’ train, you’re wanting to make the ride worth it. But we don’t have to churn up a whole lot of things you don’t really want to talk about.”

  She blinked in surprise. “What happened to facing the things I was avoiding?”

  You looking at me like I’m both the reason for and answer to your problems.

  “It was the right thing to do with your family,” he said instead.

  “But not with you?” she asked.

  Drawing to a halt at a stop sign, he used the pause to take a long look at Stella, her blue eyes wide and plump lips pursed in question. Her analytical mind was clearly clicking away, like always. And she looked too damn good with his coat tucked up under her chin like a blanket.

  “No, not with me.”

  She released a long breath and settled into the seat. The wrinkle between her eyebrows softened.

  Maybe she hadn’t wanted to open up any more than he’d wanted to be on the listening end.

  He accelerated, driving on the road that looped toward the chateau-style hotel. Once upon a time, he and his high-school buddy Rafe had drag-raced along this road. Now, he ticketed people for doing the same. Or for driving too fast for conditions...

  “I’m sorry I had to ticket you last night,” he said.

  She snorted. “Sure.”

  “I’m the one who brought in the extra diligence policy after that fatality. If I got a reputation for playing favorites...”

  “Pretty sure everyone understands that’s not the case with me,” she muttered.

  He wasn’t sure that was what the townsfolk believed at all. Nor was he certain they were wrong in that assessment.

  He and Stella might have been completely wrong for each other, mainly in that she had deserved a person with a full range of emotions. Back then, his had topped out somewhere between stunted and stifled. But he still favored her, a hell of a lot.

  Enough that it probably hadn’t been smart to offer her a ride tonight.

  “Can you drop me off behind that little grocery store off Main Street? I’ll walk to the hotel from there.”

  “Uh, I guess.” Another block and he pulled his truck into the parking lot. “The path to the lift base is well-lit.” Sutter Creek was safe—he made sure of that—but like anywhere, it wasn’t a great idea for a person to walk down dark alleys alone.

  “If I can handle New York, I can handle Main Street at eight o’clock at night.”

  The dark circles under her eyes said she wasn’t handling New York. Her job problems appeared to be taking a toll.

  And unless you want to lose your own job, you need to keep that concern at a distance.

  “Don’t give me that ‘them there streets are dangerous, little lady’ look, Sheriff.”

  “I was thinking about you looking tired, not whether or not you’re safe in whatever Tribeca enclave you’ve ensconced yourself in.”

  “Upper West Side,” she grumbled, opening the truck door and slipping out. “And no need for you to concern yourself with either my sleep debt or my safety.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks for the ride. Way better ending than the last time you tried to drive me home.”

  He cringed. “Do me a favor and don’t bring that up too often in public.”

  People had forgiven him, but forgiveness was easily retracted.

  She shivered, then nodded.

  He tossed her his jacket off the seat. “If you’re going to insist on walking, at least take an extra layer.” He fully expected her to reject the offer, but she nodded again and slung the fabric overtop her sleek wool coat.

  “It’ll mean we’ll have to meet up again,” she cautioned him.

  “You know where to find me,” he replied, draping an arm across the back of the seat in an attempt to look casual.

  “But I don’t particularly want to.” She turned on a heel and headed for the back entrance to the grocery store.

  He stared at her retreating form. She might not want to see him again, but they were going to have to spend time together at the work bee. He’d have to make sure they were working in different areas, because the thought of Stella wielding power tools was enough to make him lose concentration and chop off a finger with a drywall saw. And the last thing he needed was to have one of his friends come at him with an “is that a hammer in your pants, or are you just happy to see Stella?” gibe.

  Surely with all the work to do, it wouldn’t be hard to keep her at a safe distance.

  Chapter Seven

  Gran’s text came in early Saturday morning as Ryan was getting ready to go help out at the Reids’s barn.

  What’s the name of the company where Stella works?

  He drained the rest of his coffee and shot off a reply. Holden Management. Why?

  CNN is reporting something about investigation rumors.

  Anxiety panged in his stomach. If Stella’s name got dragged into this, her life was about to get a whole lot worse.

  Before he could respond, another message arrived. If she’s up to no good, and it’s known you’re chatting her up over coffee and ferrying her all over hell’s half acre, you’re going to get questions.

  He shook his head. The only thing he was going to get was indigestion caused by grandmotherly interference.

  Let me see what I can find out.

  He had twenty minutes before he needed to leave, so he poured himself another coffee, booted up his laptop and did some cursory searching. There wasn’t much to be found in regard to the rumors Gran had mentioned, or speculation on what it could mean. Stella
wasn’t talked about anywhere. And if she was working with federal investigators, with no plea agreement in place, it was unlikely there’d been criminal activity or an ethical breach on her part. But he didn’t like the position she was in. The people at her company had a lot to lose, and if Stella took the brunt of that...

  Not what Gran was worried about, so he could at least be honest with her.

  I’m not seeing anything to be concerned about on the public record, he texted. Telling Gran that his stomach was twisting at the prospect of potential harm to Stella would be asking for a headache.

  He was lacing up his work boots when his phone rang. He didn’t need call display to tell him Gran had given up on text messaging. He put it on speaker so that he could keep getting ready. “Yes?”

  “I’m not convinced, Ryan.”

  “You’re going to have to be. I can’t find anything else out without making some calls or digging into records, and that would be overreaching, nor could I disclose anything I found to you, anyway,” he said, pulling a hoodie out of the hall closet.

  “Humph. Maybe I’ll do some poking around.”

  He froze with his sweatshirt half over his head. “No.”

  “Nothing obvious, honey, but if we’re going to look out for your reputation—”

  “Trust me to handle it.” Pulling his hoodie on the rest of the way, he picked up his cell from the hall table and clicked it off speaker. “I have a building blitz to get to.”

  “Will Stella be there?”

  “They’re expecting a crowd, so I assume yes.” Hope so, more like it. All levels of stupid. “And do me a favor—stop wasting your Saturday on CNN.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  It wasn’t the promise of noninvolvement he wanted, but he needed to hit the road.

  A half hour later, he was already sweating, helping Lachlan haul in fresh sheets of drywall. The restoration company had stripped away the damaged materials and the emergency contractor had shored up the sections that were weight-bearing, so now it was grunt-work time. Framing in the rooms, mounting drywall, replacing windows...

  “You know,” Asher Matsuda complained, working alongside Ryan and Lachlan, “I swear I already did this once.”

  Ryan snorted. “You’ll be extra fast, then. Though I figured we wouldn’t see you today, being Saturday.” Asher was Jewish, and usually didn’t work on Shabbat.

  Asher shrugged and put his hands on his hips, scanning the interior with his experienced eye. “I’m not getting paid, it’s a family affair and it’s an off-week for our synagogue—we meet biweekly—so I’m calling in a technicality. Plus, Ruth had ski practice. I would have been at loose ends.”

  “Whatever gives us an extra set of hands,” Lachlan said. “Rafe should be here soon, too. And Maggie and Stella are on a hardware-store run.”

  “Hadn’t wondered,” Ryan lied.

  “BS,” Lachlan said, muffling the callout with a cough.

  Ryan shot him the finger and got back to work.

  Between the Reid family, the clinic employees and a few of Lachlan’s search-and-rescue crew who were there to pitch in, it was an efficient crowd. Ryan hammered, lifted and taped for an hour, eventually stripping down to his T-shirt. Soon after, his buddy Rafe arrived, and they traded insults and filled each other in on their weeks while working. Rafe owned the ranch next to Georgie Halloran’s, and had been hit by the cattle theft ring, too. He was as anxious as Georgie that the culprits be discovered and arrested.

  “Hello, busy bees!” Gran greeted from the doorway. Maggie and Stella followed her, each carrying a cardboard tray with travel cups. “I ran in to your shopping crew at the bakery and came along to deliver coffee!”

  Deliver coffee, my ass. Keep an eye on Stella is more like it.

  Stella pointedly didn’t look at him, taking her tray to the opposite side of the large space to pass out drinks to the search-and-rescue crew.

  All right then. They were pretending the other didn’t exist. Exactly what he’d planned to do, especially with Gran in the building. So why did it chafe?

  His grandmother did a piss-poor job of hiding her glances between him and Stella, clearly registering the purposeful distance. She took her travel tray to Maggie’s receptionist and his husband, a physical therapist at the health center where Ryan went to the gym.

  Maggie sauntered toward him and plucked a travel cup out of the cardboard tray she was balancing on her forearm, probably to avoid holding any weight with her bandaged hands. “We meet again, Sheriff.”

  “Didn’t realize you were keeping track,” Ryan said.

  “I’m not.” She waved a hand at their surroundings. “I meant in here.”

  He took the drink from her. “Gotcha. Can’t say I spend a lot of time thinking about that. Much more of a fan of walls that aren’t on fire.”

  Or ceilings. Or construction detritus, burning two feet away from a passed-out Maggie. He suppressed a shudder.

  She blanched. “Good point.”

  Gran bustled over and put a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Maggie, honey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Yeah, mine,” she murmured under her breath.

  “You and Ryan were both brave that day.” Gran patted Maggie’s cheek. Maggie didn’t seem to mind the mothering gesture. Gran raised her voice as she went around the room to give Lachlan, Rafe and Asher their coffees. “We ran into Georgie Halloran at the hardware store. She said to say hello and that she’ll come help out tomorrow.”

  Stella’s frown caught Ryan’s eye. She stood next to her brother, wearing a pair of jeans that were way too fancy for construction work. Her sweatshirt, emblazoned with the Sutter County Search and Rescue insignia, must have been one of Maggie’s. Or Lachlan’s, maybe, given it was a little big on Stella. She hadn’t yet made eye contact with Ryan, and her back was still stiff from his grandmother’s announcement.

  “That’s kind of Georgie,” Ryan said. Gran wore a wily, calculated expression that made the back of his neck prickle.

  “She’s bringing Emma,” Gran continued, staring at him.

  “Great. Though why you’re directing that at me, I don’t know. I’m just a worker bee.”

  “Georgie thought you should know,” his grandmother said.

  Ryan groaned inwardly. Apparently, the rancher hadn’t believed him when he’d told her nothing was going to happen between him and her daughter.

  Maggie snorted and raised an eyebrow at Gran. “More to the point, Georgie was wanting my opinion on Ryan’s opinion on Emma. And Stella’s opinion on—”

  “Maggie,” Stella snapped.

  Shrugging, Maggie pitched the empty cardboard tray in a recycle bin and joined Asher over by the half-built wall that would become Lachlan’s new office.

  Ryan lifted his chin at Gran. “Feel free to mark out some measurements and cut boards if you’re not heading back to the bakery.”

  “I can pitch in for an hour,” she said, motioning for him to pass over the tape measure. “Let’s mount some drywall.”

  “I bet the drywall also wants to know Maggie’s opinion on your opinion of Emma Halloran, Sheriff,” Lachlan called out, laughing.

  “I can’t speak for Maggie, but I know mine is that she’s a good woman who has no interest being married to law enforcement.” He pointed at Maggie. “And I’m betting you’d be breaking all sorts of best-friend laws if you colluded with Emma’s mom in playing matchmaker.”

  “Collusion,” Gran said. “Honestly, Ryan.”

  He chanced a glance at Stella. Her arms hung loose at her sides. Brow furrowing, she pulled her lower lip in between her teeth.

  “Setting Emma up is in no way on my agenda,” Maggie said. “But I don’t see why you’re so opposed. You guys would be cute together.”

  “You mentioned wanting a wife and family, dear,” Gran added.


  Stella gasped, loud enough that a half-dozen heads swiveled in her direction. Her face paled. Then she coughed, thumping a fist against her chest. “Sorry. Must have inhaled some dust.”

  It was a decently convincing act, but Ryan was trained to pick up on lies. And Stella Reid had just dropped one on her family and their employees.

  She locked gazes with him. Those blue irises were a wallop to the gut. He kept his gaze on hers when he said, “You got me there, Gran. Pretty sure I’ve figured out my past crap enough that I’d make a decent husband and dad.”

  Now it was a matter of finding someone who believed it, too.

  * * *

  So, Ryan had figured out his past crap? Must be nice. Stella’s hands shook, and she stuck them in the pockets of the hoodie she’d borrowed from her brother.

  Why was she even affected by Ryan knowing what he wanted from life? She knew what she wanted—why should it be different for him? As if she gave a hoot whom he dated, or if he wanted to be a family man.

  He almost was a dad. And doesn’t even know.

  She growled. Her conscience needed to lay off. For one, she had been barely pregnant when she miscarried. And two, she never would have kept it a secret had she carried to term. Like he said yesterday, there was no need to churn up things she didn’t want to revisit. The past could stay in the past.

  Though Gertie Rafferty didn’t seem on board with that. She needed to stop sending not-so-subtle messages that Stella wasn’t welcome here. The older woman had been downright antagonistic at the bakery when Maggie and Stella had put in their order for the crew.

  It was time to make it clear that she wasn’t intending on staying in town any longer than necessary. Crossing the room, she halted in front of Ryan and his gran, who were busy measuring sheets of drywall.

  “Gertie, thanks for coming to help today,” she greeted. “Before you’re elbows-deep, let’s catch up outside for a few minutes.”