Who's The Boss [070-142-011-3.5]

By: Linda Turner

Category: FICTION ROMANCE

Synopsis:

No synopsis available.

Last printing: 10/10/02
`?45.' ISBN: 0-6823-100-7935-1
Chapter 1

The red Miata had once been a hot little number, but that was before it
tangled with the concrete support post of the only overpass within
twenty miles.  Watching the tow track haul off the twisted piece of
metal, Riley Willtaker shook his head in disgust at the careless
destruction of a good car.  He'd always hated waste.  Thankfully, he
wasn't the one who was going to have to call Brenda Johnson and tell
her what her little brother, George, had done to her new sports car
when he took it out for a spin without her permission.  No, that
unpleasant task was going to be left to George--Riley would make sure
of it.  Wild and reckless ever since he hit fourteen and started to
shoot up like a weed, the kid had been looking for trouble for the last
three years.  He'd finally found it.

Directing a hard glare at the pale young man who silently stood at his
side and watched the tow track head toward town, Riley said, "I'm going
to have to take you
in this time, son.  You had an open can of beer in the car and you
haven't got your license with you.  " George, looking a very
inexperienced seventeen, turned a sickly shade of green.

"I guess it was a dumb thing to do."

That went without saying.

"What I can't figure out is how you even got in the damn thing," Riley
retorted.

"Those little bitty go-carts weren't made for big old boys like you."

"That's why I had the top down," the teenager admitted in a voice that
had a tendency to crack.

"So my head wouldn't poke through the roof."

The image of the youth's red head popping through a convertible top the
way it would a T-shirt that was three sizes too small flashed through
Riley's mind, threatening to drag a smile across his rugged face.

"Well, at least you had the sense to wear your seat belt.  I imagine
your sister will be thankful you weren't hurt."

His freckles standing out in his pale face, George nodded glumly.

"Oh, yeah, she'll be thrilled.  Now she can kill me herself."

He sounded so forlorn that this time Riley couldn't help but grin.

"Not as long as you're in my jail," he assured him, pulling open the
back door to his patrol car.

"I won't let her touch a hair on your head.  So climb in, Son.  The
county's giving you a free ride to town."

It was a courtesy George would have just as soon de- dined, but he
didn't have that option.  Folding his tall frame in half, he ducked
into the back of the patrol ear.  Seconds later, they were headed back
to Lordsburg as the creeping shadows of early evening deepened into a
darkness that was as vast as the surrounding New Mexican desert.

When Riley saw the single headlight racing toward him in the oncoming
lane, he assumed it was a motorcycle.  But the minute the vehicle
whizzed past, it was obvious it was an older-model ear with one
headlight out.  Swearing, he was half-tempted to let it go so he could
get George into town and processed without delay.  But the teenager
wasn't in any hurry to call his sister.  And a ear with only one
headlight on a two-lane road was an accident waiting to happen.

"Hang on," he warned his passenger as he slowed down for a U-turn.

"I've got a little business to take care of before I take you into
town."

As expected, George didn't utter a word of protest.

With the wind rushing through the open window to.  whip her already
wild hair into a tangle of chestnut curls, Beeca sang enthusiastically
along with the Reba McEntire song playing on the radio of her
grandmother's old Ford.  The road stretched like a black ribbon before
her, straight as an arrow and deserted.  Relaxed, her elbow resting on
the window frame and her fingers tapping a beat on the steering wheel,
she never thought to look behind her.

Suddenly, a patrol car with light bar whirling and siren blaring came
out of nowhere, scaring the life out of her as it raced up behind her
and hovered threateningly on her tail.  Choking on the lyrics about a
cheating man, she snapped to attention, her heart in her throat.

"Just because he's right on your fanny doesn't mean he's after you,
girl," she told herself as she quickly lifted her foot from the
accelerator.

"He probably got a call and you're in his way."

But when she drifted over to the shoulder of the road to let the
vehicle behind her pass, it shadowed her every

? move and swung over to the shoulder, too.  Her stomach dropping to
her toes, Becca groaned.

"Oh, no!"  Muttering curses, she braked to a stop, racking her brain
for the offense she had committed, but she couldn't for the life of her
think of a single one.  Unless the officer had ears like radar and had
caught wind of her singing, she thought with a flash of dimples.
Granted, she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket and her crooning had
been known to make dogs howl, but that was hardly a ticketing
offense.

So what the devil had she done?

Resigned to facing the music--for whatever she had unwittingly
done--she grabbed her purse and stepped out of her car.  As a former
deputy sheriff herself, she knew what a difference attitude could make
between getting and not getting a ticket, so she waited patiently for
the officer to approach, silently cautioning herself to behave.  This
was not the time to let her sometimes-smart tongue get away from her.

With the patrol car parked right behind her vehicle, blinding her,
Becca could see little of the officer who made his way toward her with.
steps that wouldn't be hurried.  Surrounded by the night, his features
in shadows, he looked huge.  And with every step, he grew taller,
bigger, more intimidating.

"Good evening, ma'am.  Can I see your license, please?"

He spoke in a low drawl that slipped out of the darkness like the
rumble of thunder in the distance.  Another woman might have
appreciated the rough, sexy texture of that male voice, but Becca was
already digging through her purse for her wallet and merely glanced up,
distracted .  only to swallow as a gasp of recognition hit her like an
unexpected fist to the throat.

Riley Whitaker.

She'd never met him face-to-face, but she would have known him in a
crowd of thousands.  Lordsburg was a small town, with only a few people
who could be classified as celebrities, and like it or not, Whitaker
was one of them.  A private man who didn't seek the limelight, he'd
been the sheriff of Hidalgo County for close to a decade and, as such,
was one of the handful of elected officials who made the front page of
the newspaper regularly.

The gray-toned, stern pictures she'd seen in the Gazette, however,
hadn't done him justice, she nol~l dazedly.

Lord, he was a big man!  Engulfed in shadows, his rugged face set in
deep lines by the harsh glare of headlights that hit him from the side,
he was taller than average, broad shouldered and lean hipped in his
khaki uniform and black Stetson.  In spite of the warmth of the night,
he was neat as a pin, but Becca knew better than to mistake him for one
of the button-down-collar types who ran the sheriff's office from
behind a desk.  He worked in the field, just as his deputies did, and
had a reputation for being a hands-on law-enforcement officer who moved
fast when he had to.

Which didn't mean she thought the man could walk on water.  There was
no question that he was good in the trenches, but as an elected
official, he was only as good as the men he surrounded himself with.
And lately, his deputies had made an embarrass' rag number of mistakes.
Normally, Becca wouldn't have held that against him.

Mistakes happened.  But when they became chronic and the man in charge
did nothing to correct the situation, then he was falling down on his
job.  A job that she knew she could do better--which was why late that
very afternoon, she'd registered as a candidate for sheriff in the
upcoming elections in November.

?

Now, however, wasn't exactly the best time to bring that up, she
decided, prudently eyeing the ticket book he held in his hand.  But
Lord, she wanted to.  Struck by the irony of the fact that after living
in the area for nine months, she'd come face-to-face with him today of
all days, she cursed her crazy sense of humor.  Smart comments lined up
on her tongue like sky divers waiting to jump, and it was all she could
do to swallow them.

Struggling to hold back a smile, she found her license and handed it to
him.

"IS there a problem, Sheriff?  Unless the speedometer is off in this
old bucket of bolts, I wasn't speeding."

"Your speedometer's fine, Mrs.  Prescott," he replied, reading her name
off her license and showing no sign of recognition.

"Can't say the same about one of your headlights, though.  The right
one's out."

"Are you kidding?"  Surprised, Becea started around to the front of the
car, only then noticing that the beam of the old Ford's headlights was
noticeably absent on the right side~ "I guess I Wasn't payidg
attention.  This was my grandmother's car and it hasn't been driven in
a while" -- "Was?"  Riley broke in sharply, arching a d~rk brow at her.
First George, now this woman.  Didn't anyone drive their own cars
anymore?

"She died three months ago," Becca explained.

"She had a stroke right after Christmas, and I moved out here from
Dallas to take care of her.  She left me this old tank and this is the
first time I've driven it.  I wouldn't be in it now, but I had to make
a quick trip into town to get some things for my daughter's lunch
tomorrow, and the battery on my Jeep was dead."

It was a logical excuse and probably the truth.  Even in the fractured
light, Riley could see she had the open,

13 honest features of the girl next door.  Her driver's license said
she was thirty-two, but with her heart-shaped face, dimples and large
green eyes, she didn't look anywhere near that.  In fact, with her dark
hair falling in unrestrained cur is around her shoulders,-she could
have passed for a college student, and a darn cute one, at that.  The
thought slipped up on him from his blind side, catching him by
surprise.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd really looked at a
woman, married or single, especially on the job.  He didn't care for
the distraction.  Scowling, he tore his eyes away from the delicate
lines of her face, only to have his gaze land by chance on the
inspection sticker on the lower corner of the windshield.

It had, he noted suddenly, expired nearly ten months ago.  Without a
word, he stepped around to the rear of the old car to get'a look at the
license plates.  They, too, had expired.

"It looks like_ you've got bigger problems than I thought," he said
sternly as he rejoined her.

"Your husband should have taken a look at this old heap before he let
you drive off in it.  The plates and inspection sticker are both
out-of-date."

Becca's eyes glittered dangerously.  Let her?  she thought
indignantly.

No man let her do anything.  She almost told him just that before her
common sense reminded her she was on the verge of getting a ticket she
couldn't afford if she didn't find a way to get on this stern man's
good side.  And it took only one glance at the blue eyes frowning down
at her to tell her she had her work cut out for her.  The man looked as
unbending as a crowbar.

Dragging in a calming breath, she let it out slowly and forced an easy
smile that she was honest enough to admit had gotten her out of more
than one tight spot.

"I wish I could blame this on a man, but I'm a widow, Sheriff.  And

?

I admit I should have known better.  I was a deputy sheriff in Dallas
before moving here and"-- It was the wrong thing to say.  Becca knew it
the minute she saw Riley's eyes narrow.

"You were a deputy?"  he

"Yes, but" -- "Then you're right.  You should have known better.  I'm
going to have to give you a ticket."

"What?"  Totally forgetting her plan to charm him, she cried, "You
can't be serious!  I'm only a half mile from home!"

For a moment, she thought she saw his mouth twitch but immediately
dismissed it as a trick of the harsh lighting when he merely looked at
her, not the least impressed with that argument.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything!  Can't you just cut me some slack this once?  I prom iv
I'll go right home and I won't drive this old junk heap again until
it's street legal.  Scout's honor."  Staring down into those incredible
green eyes of hers, Riley was damn tempted to let her go with just a
warning.  And it had nothing to do with the way she was looking up at
him so pleadingly, he told liimseff in annoyance.  The offenses she'd
committed were minor, and he needed to get George into town and booked.
Unfortunately, the situation wasn't that simple.  His office had been
taking some heat lately from the mayor and the press for not issuing
enough citations for serious infractions.  He readily took the blame
for that--he didn't think a sheriff had to be hard-nosed to be
effective. But some of his younger deputies had been a little too
easygoing, so just that morning, he'd sent out a memo that no more
warnings would be issued.  If poopl~ broim the law, they would be given
the ticket they de~2~d,.  :

And Mrs.  Beeca Prescott had broken the law.  Filling out the citation,
he handed it and her driver's license back to her.

"Sorry, ma'am, but the law's the law.  Make sure you have the headlight
fixed and the car inspected and licensed before you drive it again.
Have a good evening."

That last, inane comment, Beeca decided, was too much.  Giving him a
withering look, she growled, "Stuff it!"  and slipped behind the wheel
of the old Ford.  Seconds later, she pulled back onto the highway and
drove off.  But not before she'd caught sight of his crooked grin in
the rearview mirror.

Chuckling, Riley stared after her long after her taillights disappeared
from view, appreciating the lady's spunk.  So beneath those cheerleader
-cute dimples of hers, the lady had a temper.  She was the type to lead
some man a merry chase, and a lifetime ago, it might have been him. But
not now.  It had taken him a long time to find contentment, and no
woman was messing that up.  Dismissing her from his thoughts, he turned
back to his car.  and George.  His shift was over, and he would have
liked nothing better than to leave the problem of the teenager to the
next deputy who clocked in.  But if he made the collar, he did the
paperwork--it was that simple.

Resigned to at least another hour of work before he could head for
home, he climbed back behind the wheel and headed for the jail.

As it turned out, booking George didn't take all that much time.

Dealing with the youngster's sister, however, was another matter.  Just
as soon as Brenda Johnson was assured her brother hadn't been injured
in the wreck, she threatened to choke him until his eyes bugged out.

?

Thankfully, George was already behind bars at the time, so she couldn't
get her hands around his throat.

"He's dead meat," she told Riley, glaring at her brother through the
bars.

"Just as soon as he's out of here."

Amusement gleaming in his tired eyes, Riley turned her toward the front
door.

"Then if he turns up mi~ing, I'll know who to blame.  Go home and cool
off, Brenda.  I promise this'll lOOk better in the morning."

She apparently didn't think so, but she finally took his advice and
left.  Riley planned to do the same thing as soon as he checked his
messages.  But before he could touch them, his newest deputy hesitantly
knocked on the dOOrjamb of his open office door, and it was all Riley
could do to swallow a groan.

It wasn't that he didn't like the kid.  He'd hired Mark Newman five
months ago because he had all the makings of an excellent deputy. Fresh
out of college, with a de.  grce in criminology, he was young,
enthusiastic and willing to do whatever was asked of him.  At the time,
his eagerness to be the best law-enforcement officer New Mexico had
ever seen had seemed like an asset.  It had taken a week for Riley to
realize that Mark's eagerness bordered on a zealousness that more often
than not led to mistakes.

Just looking at the younger man made Riley feel every one of his
thirty-five years, but it was his constant bungling that strained
Riley's patience.  He'd lost count of the times he'd almost let Mark
go, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.  Newly married, with
a baby already on the way, the younger man really was t~ying to do his
best.

Firing him would be like kicking a big, overgrown puppy for tripping
over his own feet.

Motioning to one of the chairs angled in front of his desk, Riley said,
"Have a seat, Mark.  What's on your mind?"  Loose limbed, with his
uniform, as usual, straining across his broad shoulders, Mark rushed in
and dropped into the nearest chair, his brown eyes bright with an all
too-familiar eagerness.

"It's about the election, sir... I just wanted you to know I'm backing
you one hundred percent.  If you need any help with your campaign, any
help at all, all you've got to do is ask."  Surprised, Riley didn't
even want to think about what Mark's well-intentioned fervor could do
to a campaign.

"I appreciate the offer, but I wasn't actually planning to do much ...
just put up a few posters to remind people I'm running again.  Since
it's a one-horse race, it's a waste of money to do anything else."

In the act of stretching out his long legs, Mark froze.

"You mean you don't know?"

Something in his shocked tone warned Riley he wasn't going to like what
was coming next.

"Know what?"  he asked carefully.

"That you've got some competition this year.  And it's a woman, too!

Let me tell you, it about knocked my socks off when I heard about it.
From what Isabel Martinez over at the county clerk's office said, the
lady just barely met the residency requirements.  She moved here from
Dallas"-- " Dallas?  " Riley echoed sharply, the memory of flashing
green eyes working their way back into his thoughts.

"You aren't talking about Becca Prescott, are you?"

"Yeah.  According to Isabel, she came out here to take care of her
grandmother after she had a stroke.  You know her?"

?

"Only well enough to give her a ticket she wasn't too happy about," he
said flatly.  And to know that the lady wasn't big as a minute.  Barely
five-four if she was an inch, she couldn't have weighed a hundred and
ten pounds dripping wet.  She might have held the title of deputy in
Dallas, but Riley seriously doubted she could have been anything but a
paper-pusher.  No man with a brain in his head would want a woman like
her as backup in the field.

Memories, dark and bitter and long buried, stirred like the ashes of a
fire that refused to die, but Riley had no intention of letting them
fan to life.  His expression cold, he ruthlessly forced the stark
pictures back to the distant, black pit of the past.  There were some
things a man was better off forgetting.

"Isabel said she seems just spunky enough to give you a run for your
money," Mark said, worry knitting his thick brows together into what
looked like a ledge across his square forehead.

"You know, it might not hurt to schedule a few more speeches and see
about getting a campaign manager.  Just in case.  You wouldn't want to
underestimate the lady or anything."

Shaking off his grim mood, Riley almost laughed.  If his opponent had
been anyone but a woman, he might have had something to be concerned
about.  But Lordsburg wasn't a big, cosmopolitan city like Dallas. This
was ranch country and still pretty much a man's world.  The voters were
conservative, and they weren't going to take kindly to the idea of a
Becca Prescott toting a side arm or dealing with troublemakers who
weighed twice as much as she did.  She could campaign until she was
blue in the face, but it wasn't go' rag to change the fact that she was
the wrong sex for a sheriff, and an outsider as vlell.  She was beaten
before she even got started.

"I'll think about it," he agreed, mainly to appease the younger man.

"But I'm not going to lose any sleep over the lady.  Once the voters
get a good look at her, she's going to have a hard time convincing
anyone she's serious."

Seated at her kitchen table as she figured up her monthly bills, Becca
stared down at the pitiful balance in her checking account and tried
not to wince.  It wasn't easy.  That morning she'd sold her
grandmother's old Ford to Frank Taylor, the rancher down the road, but
she hadn't been able to get much for it, since she hadn't replaced the
broken headlight or done the other things necessary to make it street
legal.  What little she had gotten had gone to pay last night's
exorbitant ticket.  Then she'd had to dip into her miserable excuse of
a savings account to buy a battery for her Jeep.  With what she had
left in her account, she and her daughter, Chloe, would he lucky to eat
hamburger until payday.

For what seemed like the thousandth time since her~ grandmother had
died, Becca found herself second guessing her decision to stay in
Lordsburg.  Granted, she'd inherited her grandmother's house, but there
wasn't much work in the area.  The only thing she'd been able to find
was a part-time position as a teacher's aide three days a week, and it
didn't pay peanuts.

She knew if they returned to' Dallas, she could probably get her old
job back.  But she and Chloe hadn't exactly been living high off the
hog there, either.  She hadn't been able to afford an apartment in the
best area of town, which had presented another problem.  Some of the
neighborhood bullies had decided it would he fun to pick on a deputy's
daughter, and Beeca had been afraid to let Chloe out of her sight.
There was no way in hell she was

? going to put her back in that situation, especially when she was so
much happier now.

If, however, she could manage to sell her grandmother's house, she'd be
able to afford something in a better neighborhood than they'd been in
before.  Playing the devil's advocate, Becca had to admit that was a
big if.

Lordsburg wasn't exactly a hot spot for real estate.  The house could
he on the market for years before a buyer was found.

Which left her and Chloe right where they were, with barely two nickels
to rub together.  God help them if they had any kind of emergency.

A knock at the back door distracted her, but before she could answer
it, Margaret Hawkins, one of her neighbors, blew in like a dust storm.
"_Becc__a, thank God you're home!"  she breathed in relief, her brown
eyes snapping behind the leases of her bifocals.

"I'm so mad, I could spit!"

The most eccentric of three ladies who had been her grandmother's
neighbors for fifty years or more, Margaret lived life with a vigor
that Becca couldn't help but love.

Eighty if she was a day, she kept her hair dyed strawberry blond and
didn't care a fig if it looked natural or not~ A potter by trade, she
wore clothes and jewelry as outrageous as her hair.  No one could ever
accuse her of being dull.

Grinning affectionately, Becca pulled out a chair for her at the table,
then headed for the stove.

"Have a seat while I make a pot of tea.  You look like you could use
some."  Too agitated to sit still, Margaret paced the length of the
big, old-fashioned kitchen with her usual restless energy.  Her free~
flowing red-and-gold-gauze dress streaming out behind her plump figure,
she whirled suddenly and waved a piece of paper under Becca's nose.

"Look at

21 this--this garbage.  That man actually had the nerve to give me a
ticket for disturbing the peace!  " Bewildered, Becca echoed, " A
ticket?  For disturbing the peace?  Let me see that.  "

"I wasn't doing a thing," the other woman claimed with outraged
innocence as Becca smoothed out the crumbled citation and read it.

"Just crossing the street in front of the art-supply store when that
pup of a deputy-Mark What's-his-name--stopped me and accused me of
jaywalking.  Right there in front of God and everyone!"

she buffed, her softly lined, usually smiling face snapping into an
indignant frown.

"But there're no crosswalks there or traffic signals," Becca said.

"What did he expect you to do--go three blocks down to the nearest
light and cross there?"

"You got it, sweetie.  Can you imagine?  I told him he was crazy, and
that if I was his granny, there was no way in hell he'd make me do
that."

Her eyes starting to dance, Becca said dryly, "Let me guess... that's
when he gave you the ticket for disturbing the peace."

"Yes!  JUst like I was some drunk making a ruckus in the middle of
church!  So I figured if I was going to get a ticket anyway, I might as
well speak my mind.  And let me tell you, he didn't like it one little
bit when I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, picking on an
old lady who didn't have anything but her Social Security.  That's when
he got all red in the face and threatened to haul me in if I didn't go
on about my business."

Her smile slipping, Becca could picture the scene all too easily.

Under other circumstances, it would have been comical.  But there was
nothing funny about her elderly friend scraping together what pennies
she had left after

? her bills were paid for a ticket that should never have been issued
in the first place.

Tucking the citation into the pocket of her jeans, Becca slipped an arm
around the older woman's shoulder and gave her a hug.

"Don't worry about it," she said reassuringly.

"I'll take care of it."

It wasn't an idle promise.  Looking after her three eccentric neighbors
came as easily to Becca as nursing her grandmother had.  The only adult
under seventy-eight in a string of four houses ten miles outside of
town, she ran errands for them, took care of them when they were sick
and took on their battles when they needed a defender.

And right now, Margaret needed someone to fight a battle for her.

Becca was just the one to do it.

~ hal~!  interviews.  His success as sheriff was well documented and a
matter of public record.  It was his past he didn't care to discuss,
the life he'd buried before he'd settled in Lordsburg.  That was
ancient history and had nothin~ to do with the man he was today.  But
some things couldn't be avoided, especially in an election year when he
had competition for the first time in nearly a decade.  That thought
brought the image of Becca Prescott to mind, irritating him no end.
With Sydney O'Keefe seated across his desk from him, the last thing he
needed was the distraction his opponent provided.  -A reporter for the
Hidalgo County Gazette, Sydney had the nose of a bloodhound when it
came to a story.  and the tenacity.  With the awards she'd won, she
could have made a name for herself on any big-city paper in the
country, but for reasons Riley couldn't begin to guess at, she didn't
seem the least bit interested in venturing further afield.

Dreading the thorough questions he knew were sure to come, he resigned
himself to the inevitable and settled back against the age-softened
leather of his desk chair.

"I've got fifteen minutes," he told her, his blue eyes glinting with
challenge.

"Give it your best shot."  More than equal to the task, Sydney jumped
right in.

"It's no secret that you've had some problems with your staff over the
last couple of months.  Do you plan to make any changes before or after
the election?  Assuming you're reelected," she quickly added with a
small smile when he gave her a sharp look.

Half expecting the question, since the problems he'd been having were
the talk of the town, Riley said, "Whenever you take on new,
inexperienced personnel, mistakes are going to be made.  It goes with
the territory.

That doesn't mean you fire"-- A sudden commotion in the outer office
interrupted him.

"Wait!"  John Sanchez, one of his deputies, called out in surprise.

"Ma'am, you can't go in there!  Sheriff Whitaker's busy" -- "This won't
take a minute."  With the promise floating down the hall ahead of her,
Becca hurriedly evaded the deputy and rushed through the open office
door.  The second she spied him seated at his desk, she had eyes for no
one but Riley.  Her gaze locked with his, and suddenly her heart was
pounding crazily.  From irritation, she assured herself quickly,
refusing to notice how ruggedly handsome he looked in the light of day.
He might he a good-looking son of a gun, but what kind of sheriff
allowed his deputies to harass little old ladies?

Marching right up to his desk, she carefully laid the ticket down in
front of him and gave him a sweet smile that was as sharp as the
daggers in her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Sheriff," she said pleasantly.  Too pleasantly.

?

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I was wondering if you'd care to
explain this."

Riley's gaze shifted from the citation to Becca Prescott to the
flustered deputy who hurried in after her with the clear intention of
doing whatever he had to to get her out of there.

All too aware of Sydney taking in the entire scene like a kid at a
candy store, he could already see the headlines.

Somethnes, he thought, swallowing an oath, it just didn't pay to get
out of bed in the morning.  Quickly waving John away, he said, "It's
okay.  I'll handle it."

Not fooled by her apologetic manner, R/Icy knew a riled lady when he
saw one.  Oh, she hid it well--he had to give her credit.  But behind
that saccharine smile of hers, she was all but grinding her teeth,
champing at the bit to light into someone.  It didn't take three
guesses to figure out who.

He picked up the citation she'd laid before him, as- sure hag it was
the one he'd given her last night, though he couldn't for the' life of
him figure out why she thought arguing about it now was going to do her
any good.  Then he read it.

"This is for disturbing the peace," he said in

"That's right," she said approvingly, like a teacher praising a first
grader's attempt at reading.

"One of your precious deputies gave it to my eighty-year-old neighbor
because she argued with him when he stopped her for jaywalking.
JayWalking, Mr.  Whitaker," she stressed in a honeyed voice, her eyes
mapping with fire.

"What's the matter?  Were your deputies having a slow day?  Or do they
make a habit of picking on little old ladies to liven things up?"

"No, of course not"

"So giving frivolous tickets to octogenarians is standard practice for
your office?  Is that what you're saying?"

She was spoiling for a fight, but Riley wasn't a man who let anyone
pull his strings easily.  Especially this little bit of woman who he
hadn't even known existed yesterday.

"My deputies aren't in the habit of harassing anyone, especially senior
citizens," he said carefully.

"Since this is the first I've heard of it, I can't comment on the
circumstances, but you can be sure I'll look into it."

If that was supposed to reassure her, Becca had news for him.  She knew
the procedure as well as he did--he'd question his deputy, then accept
his version of the incident as gospel, case closed.  And poor Margaret
would still be stuck with a ticket she didn't have the money to pay.

"That's it?"

she demanded incredulously.

"You're just going to look into the matter?"

Beginning to get irritated, Riley suddenly found himself battling a
crazy urge to grin.  Damn, she had a short fUse.

"You got a better suggestion?"

"You're dam right I do," she retorted.

"But if you think I'm going to tell you how to straighten up this
place' and get you reelected, you're crazy!"

She stormed out without another word, leaving behind a silence that
fairly crackled with tension.  Muttering a curse under his breath,
Riley tore his gaze from the empty doorway only to have his eyes lock
with Sydney's amused one.  After one look at the Cheshire-cat smile
slowly spreading across her face, he knew he was in trouble.

God, how could he have forgotten her?  She'd sat as quietly as a mouse,
eating up Becca Prescott's defense of her friend with a spoon.
Tomorrow's paper would be full of it:

Sheriff Accused Of Harassing Old Ladies.

?

He'd never live it down.

Sitting back in his chair, he surveyed Sydney wryly.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you don't know who that was."

Unabashed, she laughed softly.

"You're darn tootin', cowboy.  You know me--I always do my homework.

"By lunchtime today, I knew everything there was to know about Becca
Prescott, including her shoe size.  You're in for a tough fight."

That was just what he'd been afraid of.  If today had proved anything,
it was that the lady was more than willing to stand up for what she
believed in.

"She's an outsider.  That won't sit well with a lot of people."

"So were you at one time," she reminded him.

"And that didn't stop you from getting elected.  She also has
experience, the kind that could get her hired in any law enforcement
office in the country.  Her ex-boss in Dallas could do nothing but sing
her praises when I called him about her.

Said she could have been bossing him instead of the other way around if
she hadn't been a woman.  " She waited expectantly for him' to respond,
but Riley's tooroma hadn't raised any idiots.  He liked Sydney,
respected her, admired her tenacity.  But he never, ever, forgot that
she was a reporter.

"That dog won't hunt, Syd.  This election isn't going to be a battle of
the sexes."

"Maybe not for you," she replied easily, undaunted, "but don't bet your
job that it won't be on the minds of every dude and dudette in this
county.  Becca Prescott is going to gain a lot of sympathy from the
women around here.  She lost a husband to cancer while she was pregnant
with her daughter, then paid off his medical bills with the little bit
of life insurance they had.  She could have gone on public assistance,
could have sat down and felt sorry for herself, and no one would have
blamed her.  But

27 she didn't.  She got a job with one of the largest sheriff's offices
in the country and supported herself and her baby without anyone's
help.  Then, when her grandmother got sick, she walked away from a good
job to do the right thing.  That takes guts, and once the women in this
county learn.  more about her, they're going to like what they hear.
"

"I didn't say they wouldn't like her," Riley argued diplomatically.

"From the sound of it, she has a lot of admirable traits.  But this
isn't a popularity contest.  We're talking about who's best for the
job, and my record speaks for itself.  I've protected the citizens of
this county and their property for almost ten years, and I don't think
they're going to be too keen on voting me out of office, let alone
replacing me with some newcomer they don't know from Adam."

"What about the problems you've been having?  The mix-ups?  The
mistakes?"

A muscle riPPled along Riley's granite jaw.  Ten years of excellent law
enforcement shouldn't be shrugged aside because of a few stupid
mistakes.  His blue eyes shuttered, he struggled for patience, refusing
to let her rattle him.

"We've had some turnovers in the last year, and anytime you take on
rookies, you've got to expect some problems," he explained calmly.

"Inexperience will show every time, but you don't fire someone just
because he makes a few minor mistakes.  Rookies are by nature overeager
and too anxious to make an impression.  Unfortunately, it's usually the
wrong one."

"So you think this is just a temporary condition?"  she asked shrewdly,
nailing him down.

"Of course," he said confidently, and silently prayed he wasn't
whistling in the wind.

Chapter 2

Sydney left soon after that, and Riley couldn't deny he was glad to see
her go.  Usually they got along fine, but there was no question that
she made him nervous when she got that reportefts gleam in her eyes.
Nothing stood in her way when she smelled a story, and there were more
than a few things in his past he'd rather not have laid bare ',m the
paper.

In the outer office, phones rang above the clatter of computer keys,
and at the coffee machine in the staff room, John Sanchez and Myrtle
Purvis, the mouthy dispatcher who had been part of the office long
before Riley had come on the scene, argued over the possibility of the
Dallas Cowboys winning another Superbowl this year.  He had his own
ideas on the subject, but next year's budget projections littered his
desk, and if he didn't get the numbers together and to the city
council, he was going to have more explaining to do.

Blocking everything out, Riley was bent over his desk, scowling, when
there was a perfunctory knock on his door.  He looked ~p to find Gable
Rawlings striding into his office as if he owned it.  A slow grin
turned up one corner of Riley's mouth.

"Well, come on in, man," he drawled, motioning to the chair the rancher
had already dropped into.

"Make yourself at home."

Humor glinting in his light blue eyes, (}able did just that, stretching
out his long legs.  As head of the Double R Ranch, one of the most
successful spreads in southwestern New Mexico, he could, at times, cut
a commanding figure.  But never with his friends.  And he'd c]almed
Riley as a friend from the moment he'd first been elected sheriff and
started cleaning up the corruption of his predecessor.

"Don't give me a hassle, Whitaker.  You've got a problem."

"More than one," Riley replied ~ppantly, frowning down at the
alarmingly high figures he'd just come up with.

"Which one were you referring to?"

"Becca Prescott."

Riley's head snapped up.

"What is it with that woman?"  he complained crossly.

"I only just learned of her existence last night, and now she's all
anyone wants to talk about!"

The humor fading from his weathered face, Gable said, "I'm not
surprised.  Josey can't stop singing her praises."

Frowning at the thought of one of his best friends' wives supporting
his competition, he sat up straighter.

"She's met her?"

He nodded.

"At the elementary school.  She's a teach- efts aide there, and Josey
ran into her a couple of days ago when she stopped to make sure all the
kids had their shots.  She thinks you're going to have a fight on your
hands,

?

Riley, and so do I. Have you hired a campaign manager yet?  "

"No, of course not.  You know I never mess with that kind of stuff."

"Because you've never had any competition before.  You haven't got that
luxury this year.  The lady could give you a run for your money."

"Oh, come on," Riley scoffed.

"We're talking about a woman.  A little bitty woman," he stressed,
using his hands to indicate her height and build.

"Sure, she could probably run the office without too much trouble, but
how's she going to handle Dan.  Trainer when he gets plastered every
payday and starts pushing his wife around?

Even drunk he'll be able to swat her out of his way like a gnat.  Can
you honestly see the men in this county taking her seriously?  "

"In case you've forgotten, men aren't the only ones who have the vote
around here," Gable said dryly.

"A lot of women are going to like what Mrs.  Prescott has to say,
especially when she zeroes in on the mistakes that have been plaguing
your office for the last couple of months.  When the ladies step into
the voting booth, you could be history."

Far from resenting his friend's remarks, Riley had to give him cue
dit--he didn't beat around the bush but shot straight from the hip.

"That's why I just had a long discussion with Sydney O'Keefe.  I wasn't
making excuses, but I wanted her and her readers to know that I've
hired more new people this year than I have in all the other years I've
been in office combined.  And rookies make mistakes.  But they'll
learn--you just have to give them time.  Once the voters understand
that, they'll see that Beeca Prescott has far more liabilities than I
do."

It was a sound argument, but Gable still wasn't convinced.

"Maybe, but the lady's obviously got a lot going for her, and a good
campaign manager would know how to handle her.

And you know how short people's memories are.  A lot of them are going
to forget all the good things you've done and just remember the
screwups"-- As if his words had conjured up the main perpetrator of
those screwups, Mark Newman knocked at Riley's of rice door and only
then noticed he had a visitor.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir.  I got a message that you wanted to see me, but I
didn't mean to interrupt.  I'll come back later."  Normally, Riley
would have preferred to speak to the younger man in private, but his
shift ended soon, and if he didn't talk to him now, he wouldn't get a
chance to until tomorrow.

"That's not necessary," he said, mo- fioning him in.

"Have a seat, Mark.  I understand you issued a disturbing-the-peace
citation this morning."

"Yes, sir!"  Always eager to talk about his work, Mark sank into the
chair next to Gable's like a 1ooselimbed puppy," his brown eyes alight
with indignation as he reeatled the incident.

"I stopped a woman for jaywalking on Main Street.  She cut across the
street right in front of me!"

"Were you in your patrol car?"

"No, s'~r.  I'd just stepped out of the City Diner, where I'd had
breakfast."

"Were there any other vehicles on the street?  Did she almost get
hit?"

"No, but it was a clear violation, sir, no question about it.  And
after your memo the other morning, I couldn't just let it slide.  So I
stopped the lady and explained to her that she was violating the law by
not using the crosswalk."

Hot color, nearly as red as his cropped, curly hair, stole up his
throat into his cheeks.

"That's when she

?

chewed me out like a kid caught throwing spitballs in school.  And she
was loud, sir!  Everybody in the diner heard her, so I had no choice
but to cite her for disturbing the peace.  "

His lips pressed into a flat line, Riley didn't dare laugh, or look at
Gable, who was suddenly staring at the ceiling with fierce interest.
What, he wondered wildly, was he going to do with the kid?  He'd tried
to be patient with him, to get him to temper his enthusiasm with common
sense, but every time Riley thought he was getting through to him, Mark
pulled a stupid stunt like this.  Jaywalking, for God's sake!  No
wonder Becca Prescott had chewed a strip off of him--the whole damn
thing was ridiculous.  And trouble he couldn't afford with the election
just around the' corner.

Unclenching his jaw, Riley leaned back in his chair and surveyed his
deputy, letting the silence stretch just long enough to let Mark know
he was less than pleased.

"I realize that must have been difficult for you," he said finally.

"Especially if you were in the right and she really was jaywalking.

But sometimes the hardest part of the job is hanging on to your temper
and not letting someone goad you into making a bad decision.  Which is
what happened here.  "

"But she broke the law!"

"A misdemeanor," Riley countered.

"Jaywalking is hardly a federal offense.  And if you were so concerned
about the law she broke, you should have given her a ticket for that,
not for disturbing the peace because she argued with you.  Old ladies
speak their minds.  It's a free country.

You can't go around ticketing them because you don't like what they
say.  So next time, try to be a little more tactful, okay?  "

He posed the order in the form of a suggestion, b Mark wasn't dense.

Pushing to his feet, he nodded stiffly.~ "Yes, sir.  I'll do my best. 
Now, if you'll excuse me, I" got some ~ports to finish.  " Like a kid
escaping from ~/ principal's office, he wasted no time in leaving.  The
minute he was out of earshot, Riley checked l/ phone book and dialed
Margaret Hawkins's numb~ " Margaret, this is Sheriff Whitaker," he
said, grating 11 easily as soon as she answered the phone.

"I understa~ you had a little trouble with one of my deputies this
morning."

As expected, she gave him an earful, but Riley syml: thized with her
and assured her he understood perfect!  As sheriff, he wasn't just a
law~nforlaanent officer, b a friend, confidant and advisor to the
citizens of Hidall County.  He'd learned a long time ago that
talking--at listening--to people could accomplish a lot more than
playing the heavy, so when he hung up a few minutes late he and
Margaret had an agreement.  He would tear up the ticket, and she would
try to remember to use the eros walk from now on.

"The minute Becea Prescott hears about this, you knc what's going to
happen, don't you?"  Gable asked as sot as he hung up.

"She's going to aCCUse you of tearing t that ticket to win votes."

"Let her," he said with a shrug.

"No one will belie~ her.  It's common knowledge that I've been tearing
t frivolous tickets for years."

"I still think you need a campaign manager."

"Why?  He'll just tell me to put up some more poste and work on the
speeches I've already got scheduled.  ~ relax, will you?  I've got
everything under control.  Becc Prescott hasn't got a prayer."

?

Still miffed in spite of the fact that she'd given her opponent a
well-deserved piece of her mind, Becca would have liked nothing better
than to forget she'd ever laid eyes on him, Winning the lottery would
have been easier.

The word was now out that she was running for sheriff, so when she
stopped at the elementary school where she worked to pick up Chloe from
kindergarten, the only thing her friends and co-workers wanted to talk
about was the election and Riley Whitaker.  When she and Chloe stopped
at the printer's to pick up the posters she'd ordered to advertise her
candidacy--posters she had, thankfully, paid for before Riley hit her
with that outrageous ticket last night--she couldn't look at them
without thinking of the man she was challenging.

The real killer, however, was when she drove into her driveway and
found her three neighbors waiting for her on the wide porch that
stretched across the front of her grandmother's wood-frame house.
Seated next to her in the passenger seat of her ten-year-old Jeep,
Chloe straightened at the sight of their visitors, her blue eyes, so
like her father's, sparkling with anticipation.

"Look, Mom, the grannies are here."

Becca grinned at the eagerness in her daughter's voice.  The three
ladies had claimed Chloe as all adopted granddaughter from the moment
she and Becca had moved in.  Invariably, at least one of them was
waiting for her on the porch after school with a special treat.

"If they keep bringing you cookies, I'm going to have to go on a
diet."

Chloe giggled and was out the door like a shot the minute the car
stopped.  Shaking her head at the five-year old unflagging energy,
Becca retrieved the posters from the back seat and followed more
slowly, her heart warming as she watched her three elderly Lriends hug
Chloe and fuss over her.

TJaey ranged in age from seventy-eight to eighty-one and were as
different as night and day.  Clara Simpson, short and plump, was a
sweet-tempered gossip who adored a good love story.  Unapologetically
vain, she would rather bump into things than wear her ~ in public, and
she never left her house without rouge and lipstick on.  Lucille
Brickman, on the other hand, had no patience for cosmetics, kept her
iron gray hair cropped close to her head and was as straightforward as
she was tall.  She never called a spade anything but what it was, but
she was a soft touch when it came to kids.  She'd never had any of her
own and would have walked over fire for Chloe.

And then there was Margaret.  Surveying the potter's latest getup,
Bccca made no attempt to hold back a broad, fond smile.  Wearing a
purple-and-yellow muumuu and clunky gold earrings, she greeted Becca
with a fierce hug.

"You're the sweetest thing for talking to the sheriff!"  she exclaimed,
enveloping her again in a perfumed embrace.

"He called me."

"He did?"

Practically beaming, her parchment-fine chceks blushing like a
schoolgirl's, she nodded.

"He was so nice!  He said the ticket was all a misunderstanding--he was
sure I just forgot to use the crosswalk.  So he's going to tear it up
and we can forget this unfortunate incident ever happened.  Wasn't that
thoughtful of him?"

Lucille, sitting straight as a poker in the porch swing, humphed at
that.  "It sounds like election year shenanigans to me."  Shaking her
head in exasperation at her friend, she said affectionateiy, "I swear,
Margaret, sometimes you're so incredibly naive.  Of course he tore up
the ticket.  The man was trying to buy your vote."

?

Wide-eyed, Margaret gasped.

"No, he wasn't!  Was he?"

"Riley Whitaker's not like that, and you know it, Lucy," Clara scolded,
shooting Lucille a chiding frown.

"If he tore up a ticket, it was because it never should have been given
in the first place.  Which doesn't mean I'm voting for him," she
assured Becca quickly, in case she'd misunderstood her defense of the
man.

"I just don't think we should accuse the poor boy unjustly."

Becca wanted to smile at that--no one but Clara would describe
Lordsburg's tough, ruggedly masculine sheriff as a boy--but somehow she
managed to keep a straight face.

"Whatever his motives were, the ticket's been torn up and that's all
that matters."  Deliberately changing the subject, she said, "I picked
up my posters while I was out.

Come take a look and tell me what you think.  "

"We're going to put them up all over town after supper," Chloe confided
excitedly as they followed Becca inside the house to exclaim over the
professionalism of the notices, which Becca had designed herself.

"Mama said I can put some up, too.  But we have to make sure they don't
come down or we could get in trouble for littering."  Lucille gave a
quick, teasing tug on her ponytail.

"You got that right, spider.  Some of us" -- she gave Margaret a
pointed look "--have already tangled with the law enough for one day,
so we'd better mind our p's and q's.  Why don't we help you and your
more, and then you'll he finished that much faster?  We can divide them
up, then each go in our own car, and cover the whole county fore
dark."

Margaret and Clara immediately seconded the suggestion, chattering
excitedly about the places they thought the handbills would get the
most attention, but Becca hesitated, not sure the idea was a good one.
Clinging to

37 their fiercely guarded independence as long as they dared, they all
still drove--though the times they actually went out alone were
becoming rarer and rarer.  And every time they did, Becca found herself
holding her breath until they returned.

Lucille had a heavy foot, Clara had a tendency to crawl and Margaret,
God love her, was usually off in a world of her own making.  And none
of them could see well late in the day when the light was fading.
Afraid to let them out of her sight, Becca wracked her brain for an
excuse to turn them down, but even as the words hovered on her tongue,
she took one look at their expectant faces and knew she couldn't say
them.  Since her grandmother's death, the three of them had become like
family to her and Chloe, and she loved them dearly.  After all the
times she had run errands for them, this was a rare opportunity for
them to do something for her, and she couldn't deny them.  Even if she
knew she'd be worried sick about them the entire time they were running
around the countryside by themselves.

"Let me get a county map," she said, giving in gracefully, "and we'll
decide who goes where."

Even with help, putting up the posters took longer than Becca had
expected.  With Chloe's enthusiastic assistance, she covered the north
end of Lordsburg and the county, tacking handbills on strategic fence
posts, utility poles and, when she was lucky, a lonely tree.  By the
time she put up the last poster and headed for home, the sun had long
since sunk below the horizon, and Chloe was falling asleep in the
passenger seat.

Pulling into the driveway of her darkened house, Becca cut the engine.
Chloe only sighed and settled more comfortably against the padded
console, which she'd been using as a pillow for the last fifteen
minutes.  Glancing

? down at her ragamuffin of a five-year-old, Becca grinned.

The little imp was dirty, her hair a tangled cloud around her face and
her stomach full of Clara's chocolate-chip cookies, which she'd snacked
on ever since they'd left the house.  She needed a bath, something
nutritious for supper, then bed, but Becca didn't have the heart to
wake her.  She was tuckered out, poor baby.

Coming around to the passenger side, Becca scooped her up and carried
her inside to bed.  Exhausted herself, she would have liked nothing
better than to call it a night.  But the minute she'd pulled into her
driveway, she'd noticed that all three of her neighbors' houses were
shrouded in darkness, their driveways empty.  Returning to the front
porch after making sure Chloe was out for the count, Becca frowned at
the blacktop county road that ran in an unbroken line all the way to
town ten miles away.  There wasn't a headlight in sight.

Concern knotted her stomach.  They should have been back hours ago.

She'd taken most of the posters with her just to make sure they
wouldn't be out after dark, yet here it was going on nine o'clock and
there was no sign of them.  Dammit, where were they?

As if in answer to her silent query, first one, then a second and a
third pair of headlights appeared on the western horizon.  Her heart
pounding crazily in relief, Becca dropped into the porch swing and sent
up a silent prayer of thanks.

"Oh, Becca, we've had the most marvelous time!"  Margaret cried in
greeting as she surged up onto the porch with Lucille and Clara right
on her heels.

"I haven't had so much fun in years!"

"We've been everywhere--just everywhere!"  Lucille added with more
enthusiasm than Becca had ever seen her show.

"I had no idea this county was so big."

"And look what we found!"  Clara said gaily.

"Aren't they great?"

In the yellow glare of the Porch light, they held up dozens of posters
for the upcoming election.  And from everyone of them, Riley Whitaker
glared back at Becca almost accusingly.

Horrified, she gasped.

"What do you mean, found?  Where did you get these?"

"Oh, everywhere,~' Margaret said airily, her brown eyes dancing with
mischief.

"On trees and fences--everywhere we wanted to put up your posters."

"So we took them down and put yours up instead," Clara added, delighted
with their cleverness.

"Or~ we covered up the sheriff's."

"We thought it would be okay, as he's the incumbent and doesn't need
the publicity like you do, since you're new in town."  Lucille's smile
starting to dim as she noticed Becca's dismay, she glanced worriedly at
her cohorts in crime.

"I think we blew it."

Just as quickly, their faces fell, making Becca feel like the biggest
spoilsport in the world.  They hadn't meant any harm, she reasoned.
They'd just been trying to help.  And while she doubted they'd done
anything illegal, she didn't want to run her campaign that way.

"It's okay," she assured them, giving each a hug as she took the
posters.

"You didn't blow anything--you just got a little carried away.  It's
nothing that can't be fixed."

"You mean you're going to put them back?"  Clara gasped in
disappointment.

"All of them?"

"I'm afraid so," Becca said, barely managing to hold back a smile.

"I

think it's the only fair thing to do, don't you?  " Afraid of the
answer she might get to that, she added quickly, " Would one of you
mind staying with

?

Chloe?  She's zonked out, poor baby, and I hate to drag her out again.
"

"Of course," Margaret said.

"I can stay as long as you need me to.

Would you like Clara or Lucille to go with you to help?  "

"No, no, I can handle it.  Just give me a quick rundown of the routes
you took so I can put everything back where it belongs.  I'll be back
as soon as I can."  Apologizing repeatedly for their bad judgment, the
ladies rehashed their routes for her, then gave her a jumbled list of
all the places they thought they'd removed the sheriff's posters from.
But as Beeca raced through the night, retracing theft steps, she had to
stop and not only rehang Riley's posters, but check her own to make
sure one of his wasn't hidden behind it.  It was a tedious task.

Alone in the dark with not even a silver of moon to guide her, Becca
lost track of the number of times she braked to a quick stop and jumped
out of her Jeep to tack Riley's face up on a post.  It got so she knew
his rugged features as well as her own.

It was, she decided, damn irritating.  She barely knew the man and
wanted nothing to do with him.  He'd already made it clear he didn't
approve of women in law enforcement, and that alone was enough to make
her avoid him like the plague.  So why couldn't she get his attractive
face out of her head, damn his hide?  She hadn't looked at a single man
since Tom had died before Chloe was born, and she hadn't missed the
male attention.  Not once.  But there was something about Riley
Whitaker.  It had to be his smart mouth, she mused, scowling at the
printed image of the man staring her right in the eye.  He had a way of
getting her goat, of challenging her, that raised her hackles.  If she
was looking forward to locking horns with him again, it was just
because she enjoyed

41 sparring with him and putting him in his place.  The fact that he
was a good-looking son of a gun had nothing to do with anything.

Satisfied that she'd figured out her unwanted attraction to him, she
frowned critically at the poster she'd just tacked to the tree that
stood on the northwest corner of the courthouse square.  She'd hung it
too low.  Avoiding the knowing eyes of the one-dimensional man who
stared back at her, she jerked the poster down so she could rehang
it.

Heading for the jail after checking out a domestic- disturbance call
north of town, Riley turned from Main Street onto Third and hoped Lance
Carson, the deputy who'd drawn the eleven-to-seven shift that week, had
come in early for once.  Riley was beat.  Already anticipating at least
eight hours of uninterrupted slumber, he didn't notice the woman
standing in the dark shadows of the gnarled old oak tree by the
courthouse until she moved.

In the beam of his headlights, the white of a cotton blouse was as
bright as a candle's glow in the darkness, the cloud of reddish brown
hair curling around slim shoulders immediately snagging his attention.
Becca Prescott.

Even before he saw her face, he knew it was her--she had the kind of
hair a man didn't easily forget.  And if he wasn't mistaken, she was
holding one of his posters in her hand and looking guilty as simA slow
smile lit his eyes.  Never taking his gaze from her, he switched on the
lights on top of his patrol car, and suddenly the night was whirling
with color.  Pulling over next to the curb, he got out and surveyed the
lady across the hood of his car.

?

"Collecting souvenirs, Mrs.  Prescott?"  he drawled, one corner of his
mouth curling up in a devilish grin as his gaze met hers.

"And here I didn't think you cared."  Bccca would have dearly loved to
crawl in a hole.  Of all the times the drat ted man could have picked
to come across her, why did it have to be now, when she looked like a
thief caught in the act?

Her cheeks burning, she lifted her chin and gave him a sweet,
ingratiating smile.

"Like I always say, trust your first impressions.  This isn't what it
seems, Whitaker."  Amused, he arched a brow and started around the
front of his car toward her.

"Oh, no?  Then suppose you tell me what it is."

Fighting the sudden, crazy need to run, she stood her ground, but it
wasn't easy.  Looking up at him, she could actually see herself
reflected in his eyes, and the image shook her.

"I was putting your poster up, not taking it down ."  "Yeah, right. And
I'm Clint Eastwood."

It was a comparison Becca would have rather not had to make, but her
eyes were already traveling over him, noting the similarities in height
and rangy build, the don'tmesswith-me attitude.  He might not be Dirty
Harry, but she didn't doubt for a second that when it came to trouble,
he was the kind of man she'd want on her side in a fight.

Shifting uncomfortably at the thought, she quipped, "Well, Clint, I
wish I had time for an autograph, but I've still got a lot of posters
to rehang before I can go home.  Now, if you'll excus~ me..."  Avoiding
his gaze, she started around him.

His tone held a hint of warning, but it was the sound of her name on
his tongue that stopped her short.  Deep and

43 husky, it was a call in the night that refused to be ignored.

Suddenly realizing her pulse was thumping, her throat dry, she
swallowed.

"I'm not jerking your string," she said quietly.

"I got my posters from the printer this afternoon, and my neighbors
volunteered to help me hang them.  They, uh, sort of ran into a
problem, though."  Watching the color come and go in her cheeks, Riley
frowned, knowing from long years of experience the mischief Margaret,
Clara and Lucille could get into when they put their heads together.

"What kind of problem?"

"Yours."

"My posters?"  he demanded incredulously.

She winced, nodding.

"They took yours down."  Half expecting him to explode any second, she
added hurriedly, "They were just trying to help me, and your posters
were hanging where they wanted to put mine."

"So they took mine down."

Biting her bottom lip to hold back the sudden chuckle that was
threatening to strangle her, she nodded.

"That about sums it up."

"And you were hoping you could put them all back before I found out
anything about this.  By yourself?  In the dark?"

"That was the plan," she said, bristling at his tone.

"And of course I was doing it alone.  Is there any reason why I
shouldn't?  If you and your men are doing your job correctly, I should
be safe anywhere'in this county.  Isn't that right?"

"Of course."  The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him, and Riley
fought to hold back a smile.  How galling it must be to her to have to
rehang his posters.  His blue eyes crinkling, he taunted softly, "Does
this mean I owe you a public thank-you when I win the election?"

?

"Not at all," she snapped.

"Because you're not going to win."

Delighted with how easily he could set her temper simmering, he
grinned.

"You sound awfully confident for a lady who's new in town and has never
held public of- rice."

Somehow managing to look down her nose at him in spite of the fact that
he stood a head taller, she lifted a delicately arched brow.

"The definitive word being/ady, I presume?"

"Read it any way you like," he said easily.

"But this is cowboy country, honey."

"Meaning all the men are Neanderthals?  Where do you fit in that
category, Sheriff?"

Her eyes sparking like hot emeralds in the stark light from his patrol
car, she met his gaze head-on and had no idea how provocative she
looked, standing there sparring with him in the dark.  Unable to take
his gaze from her, Riley felt something that was an awful lot like
desire lodge low in his gut, surprising him.  Where the devil had that
come from?

Irritated, he reminded himself that he could handle the lady, and
managed to give her a needling look.

"Is this for private reference or professional, ma'am?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she said witheringly.

"I'm only interested for the sake of the campaign.  It helps to know
what kind of man I'm running against."

"Well, then, if a Neanderthal is someone who looks after a woman and
protects her, then I guess the shoe fits.

It's a fact of life that men are bigger and stronger, women smaller and
weaker.  So like it or not, when there's trouble in this neck of the
woods and a law-enforcement of- ricer is needed, people expect it to be
a man.  "

She didn't like that, if the sudden narrowing of her green eyes was any
indication, but Riley had to give her credit--her smile was as saucy as
ever.

"Then I'll just have to change their expectations won't I?"

She was gone before he could protest, leaving him staring after her
like a city boy who had never seen a butterfly before.  Not that there
was anything the least bit flighty about Becca Prescott, he reflected
as she disappeared into the dark interior of her Jeep.  The lady didn't
back down from a fight and tonight she'd proved she had the type of
ethics that were rarely found in politics.

He liked her, dammit.

He would have given anything to deny it.  She was going to be
trouble--he could feel it in his gut.  The kind of trouble that could
make a grown man lay in the dark and ache till he burned.  The kind of
trouble he wanted nothing to do with.  Woman trouble.

He had no reason to trust anything in skirts, not in this lifetime or
the next.  Not after the two women he'd trusted most in the world--his
wife, Genie, and his DEA partner, Sybil--had each managed to stab him
in the back within the span of a single week.  It had been ten years,
but he could still taste the bitterness of betrayal as if it were
yesterday.  And it didn't taste any better now than it had then.

In all the time since then, he hadn't let another woman get close to
him, hadn't let another woman stir so much as a second thought in him.
And he didn't intend to let Beeca Prescott change that.

His face set in harsh lines, he pushed the lady from his thoughts and
returned to work.  And for a while, as long as he was busy with the
paperwork that was growing into a mountain on his desk, he was able to
forget her.  Then he went home to the small house he'd bought on the
north side of town.

Only to discover a poster of Becca smiling at him from where it had
been tacked to his garage door.  After what had happened earlier in the
evening, he should have expected it.

Chuckling, he wondered who had dared to leave it there--Becca or one of
her geriatric friends.  He wouldn't have put it past any of them, but
as he took it inside and switched on the living room lights, he had a
feeling the lady herself had done it.  She smiled up at him sass'dy
from the poster, her dancing eyes just daring him to throw the handbill
out.  He should have.  But he didn't.  He couldn't bring himself to ask
why.

With the last poster hung, Becca went home and crawled into bed,
desperate for sleep.  But every time she slipped to the edge of
unconsciousness, a certain sheriff's slow, wicked smile intruded into
her thoughts, and she was wide awake again, her heart jerking to
attention in her breast.

Pounding her pillow, she cursed him with everything she had~ but it was
still nearly four in the morning before she dropped off into an
exhausted sleep.

Not surprisingly, the next day wasn't a good one.  Her eyes felt
scratchy, her head thick.  The students, excited about an upcoming
field trip, couldn't settle down, and it took all the energy she had to
deal with them.  By the time the final bell rang, all she wanted to do
was collect Chloe, drive home and hibernate for a while.

But Chloe was excited about the field trip, too, and could talk of
nothing else as she snacked on milk and cookies.  When she went outside
to play, Becca just had time to check the mail and wash the breakfast
dishes before she had to start supper.

Seated at the kitchen 'table, she tossed aside the junk mail and
advertisements, only to stop at what looked like an official-looking
letter from the county tax assessor's office.

Surprised, she tore it open.

Delinquent taxes.  $10,000.  Past due.  Foreclosure.  The words flew at
her like bats escaping from a cave, dark and threatening.  Confused,
her head starling to throb, Beeca stared at the jumble before her,
unable to believe what she was reading.

A mistake, she thought dazedly.  The letter claimed that she owed a
fortune in back taxes, but there had to be a mistake somewhere.  Her
grandmother had been dead only three months.

There was no way her simple house and acre of land could have ac rued
anywhere near that amount of taxes in such a short length of time.

Grabbing the phone, she quickly dialed the number at the bottom of the
letter.  Amy Rodriguez, the mother of one of her students, worked for
the tax assessor and would he able to answer her questions.

"Amy," she said with relief when the other woman came on the line.

"This is Becca Prescott.  I've got a problem."

"You got the letter."

Becca's breath lodged in her throat at the other worn- an's damning
words.

"Oh, God, I thought it was a mistake?

"I'm afraid not," Amy said regretfully.

"I'm sorry."

"But how is this possible?"  she cried.

"It's only been three months since Gran died."

"But she didn't pay taxes for years before that."

"What?"

"Oh, Lord, I thought you knew.  But then again, why would you?"  Amy
said, half to herself.

"You didn't move here until after your grandmother had her stroke, and
I'm

?

sure taxes were the last thing on your mind then.  Gosh, Becca, I'm
sorry.  I should have called and warned you.  "

"Just tell me how this happened," she replied.

"If Gran didn't pay taxes for years, how was she able to keep this
place?  The county should have foreclosed on her years ago."  "Maybe it
works that way in the big city," Amy said wryly, "but things are a
little different here.  Your grandmother had a lot of friends. Everyone
liked her and knew her circumstances.

She was an old lady, a widow with only a small pension to live on, and
no one wanted to be responsible for putting her out of the home she'd
lived in for fifty years.  "

"So they let her taxes slide?"

"It was the easiest thing to do.  But now she's gone and..."

"Somebody has to pay the taxes," Becca finished hollowly.

"Namely me."

"I'm afraid so."

Beeca stared blindly at the letter crushed in her hand, the pitiful
balance in her savings aCCOunt flashing mockingly in her head. Pennies.
What she'd been able to scrape together and squirrel away was nothing
compared to ten thousand dollars.

"Becca?  Are you okay?  I know this must be a blow .... " Becca
swallowed a sharp laugh.  Blow?  That was like calling the Grand Canyon
a ditch.

"Yeah, it is," she said huskily.

"But I'll find a way to handle it.  I have to.

Thanks for your help.  "

"Sure.  If there's anything I can do..."

Beeca appreciated her offer, but there wasn't anything anyone could do.
not when she needed a small fortune.

Dear God, what was she going to do?

Chapter 3

The only solution was to get a loan from the bank.  The thought came to
Becca in the middle of the aigh sometime between two and three in the
morning, whe worry drove her from her bed to pace the length of the of
rag rug of her bedroom in the dark.  Not even in the da} after her
husband's death, when she found out she w~ pregnant, had she felt so
alone.  Then, at least, she' known that her grandmother would he there
for her if st needed her--all she had to do was call her.  But now st
had no one.  No one but herself to depend on.  No one b~ herself to
provide a home for Chloe and give her the ~ curity that Becca was
determined she would have.

If she couldn't come up with the money, she'd lose t~ house.  and
probably end up having to go back to Da las and her old job.

Her stomach clenching at the thought of taking Chit back to the hostile
environment she'd thought they'd le for good in January, she stalked
over to the window an stared blindly out at the night.  Nothing moved
but the wind, a soft, cool breeze that whispered.  over the grass and
through the dry leaves of the lone cottonwood that shaded the front
yard.  Hugging herself, she blinked back the sudden sting of tears. She
couldn't lose this place!  It wasn't fancy, but it was home and the
only roots that she had.

When she was growing up, her parents had dragged her from one town to
the next, usually in an attempt to avoid the bill collectors they had
brought down on themselves with their loose spending and insistence on
living beyond their means.  They'd never accumulated anything but debt
and bad credit, and there was no way in hell Beeca was going to leave
Chloe that same legacy.  She wanted her to have the stability she'd
never had as a child, and she hadn't really been able to give it to her
until they'd moved to Lordsburg.  They were both happy here, and she
had to find a way to make it possible for them to stay.  If that meant
going to the bank and somehow talking an officer into giving her a
loan, then that's what she would do.  But later that morning, after
she'd gotten Chloe off to school and went into town herself, what had
seemed so easy in the dark of the night wasn't nearly so simple.  The
minute she filled out a loan application and looked at the pitiful
numbers she put down for income, she knew she was in trouble.

The loan officer, a starched and pressed middle-aged woman who
introduced herself only as Mrs.  Franklin, took one look at those same
numbers after Beeca explained what she needed the money for and could
offer little encouragement.

"I'm sorry, Mrs.  Prescott, but I don't think I'm going to be able to
get this approved at this time.  Since your job with the school is only
part-time,

51 you just don't make enough to qualify for an unsecured loan of this
amount.  "

Seated on the edge of her seat, Becca felt her heart sink all the way
to her knees.

"What about a secured loan?  I could put up the property" -- Mrs.
Franklin, all-business up until then, pulled off.  her bifocals and
leaned back in her chair to give Becca a sympathetic, motherly smile.

"You don't want to do that, honey.  Your home would still be at risk
because you wouldn't be able to make the payments.  Instead of losing
it to the county, you'd be losing it to the bank and ruining your
credit at the same time."

"But I've got to do something.  The county's only giving me thirty
days!"

"Call Charlene Erskine at the tax office and talk to her," the older
woman suggested.

"The county doesn't want to take your home any more than you want them
to.  If you could come up with some kind of payment' anything--Charlene
might be willing to work out a payment schedule with you.  That will at
least buy you some time .... Becca frowned, seeing little point in
putting off the inevitable:

"What good will that do?  You just said I couldn't afford to make the
payments."

"Now," Mrs.  Franklin stressed with a slow smile.

"But your circumstances are about to change, aren't they?"

"Change?"

"The election, dear," she said with a laugh.

"If you can buy some time, I'm sure I'll have no trouble getting your
loan approved after you're elected."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if the outcome of the election was a
sure thing.  Surprised, Becca stared at her.

Margaret and the others had talked of her winning the election in just
that tone of voice, but they supported her

?

because they loved her like family.  This woman had never laid eyes on
her before, yet she still gave her better than even odds to win.

Elated, Becca wanted to grab onto her prediction like a parachutist
grasping at a rip cord, but common sense forced her to say, "That
sounds good, but there are no guarantees in an election.  And Sheriff
Whitaker is the incurebent.  Beating him's not going to be easy."

"It will be if he keeps giving interviews like the one in this
morning's paper."  At Becca's blank look, the older woman gasped, "You
mean you haven't seen it?  Good Lord, girl, why didn't you say so? I've
got it right here."  Reaching into the bottom drawer of her desk, she
pulled out a slightly tattered copy of the morning paper and handed it
across the desk.

"I couldn't believe it when I read it," she confided.

"Talk about shooting yourself in the foot!  I thought Riley Whitaker
had more sense.  Every woman in the county is going to be up in arms
after seeing that--just you wait."

"That" turned out to be an in-depth interview with Sydney O'Keefe that
was prominently displayed on the front page.  Scanning it quickly,
Becca saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a few subtle references to
his days with the DEA, with most of the article focusing on the years
he'd been the Hidalgo County Sheriff.  until she got to the end.

The people of Hidalgo County know me.  They know what I'm capable of.
They know they can trust me to protect them.  They can't say the same
about Becca Prescott, however.  She's an outsider, a stranger.  And a
woman--a small woman.  She might have a degree in criminology, but
that's not going to help her when she has to arrest some thug who
out1

53 weighs her by fifty or sixty pounds.  She's just not physically fit
to do the job.

The_ words seemed to slap Becca in the face.  Taken aback," she stared
at them, her jaw slowly clenching until it was locked tight.  Not
physically fit to do the job.  A stranger.  ~ not physically fit.  The
criticism rolled around in her head, like the churning waves of a
stormy ocean breaking on a rocky beach.

How dare he!

Mrs.  Franklin saw the fire flash in her eyes and nodded, understanding
perfectly.

"I know, dear.  That's just how I felt when I read it.  So... what are
you going to do about it?"

"Do?"  Becca fumed, stuffing the offending paper into her oversize
purse.

"I'm going to show him just how much damage this small woman can do to
his very large body!  Then we'll see who's physically fit for the
job."

Seated in the last booth at the City Diner, his back to the wall and
his face toward the entrance of the long, narrow room, Riley frowned
down at the eggs he'd been served only seconds before.  They looked
like they'd just been cracked from their shells, and he knew they
couldn't have spent more than a second or two in a frying pan.

And while he didn't consider himself a picky man when it came to food,
even he had his limits.

Motioning for the waitress, he threw her a teasing grin as she moved to
his side.

"Hey, Wanda, what's wrong with Tootsie?  She have another fight with
Fred or what?  These eggs are raw."

Expecting a wisecrack and the flirtatious smile that Wanda had served
him with his breakfast for the last five years, he nearly dropped his
jaw when she gave him a

? scowl instead and snatched the plate of eggs from under his nose.

"If you think you can do any better, you're welcome to try," she hulled
and stalked off without another word.

"Well, hell," Riley muttered, staring after her in confusion.  What was
she so bent out of shape about?  In all the years he'd known her, she'd
never once snapped at him, let alone bitten his head off.  What had he
said?

Puz:"Jed, he watched her move across the diner, topping off coffee at
each booth, chatting easily with the customers, just as she did every
morning.  If she was upset about something, there was no sign of it.

Maybe he was just being touchy, he decided, frowning.  Considering the
morning he'd had, it wouldn't be any wonder.  A tractor-trailer rig had
jackknifed on the highway at four in the morning, scattering frozen
turkeys for a haft a mile.  Dartel Gabriel, one of his more experienced
deputies, could have handled that by himself, but not the three other
accidents the disaster later caused.  So only four hours after he'd
gone off duty, Riley had been dragged out of bed to take charge.  This
was the first chance he'd had to sit down since.

Pushing his mug toward the edge of the table, he patiently waited his
turn for coffee.  But when Wanda reached the booth next to his, she
started to turn away without sparing him a glance.

"Hey!"  he called after her in surprise.

"What about me?"

Considering her mood, he half expected her to ignore him, but she
turned back and set the whole pot on his table with a thump.

"Pour it yourself," she said with a smile that was too tight to be
anything but forced.

"You can probably do it better than me, anyway.  You're a big, strong
man."

Riley couldn't have been more stunned if she'd hauled off and slapped
him.  Giving him one last, hostile glare, she stalked off, leaving
behind a silence that stretched to the farthest corners of the diner.
Heat crawling into his face, he glanced up and only then noticed that
he was getting similar sour looks from every woman in the place.

What the devil was going on?

He almost strode into the kitchen then and there to demand an
explanation, but Wanda was back almost immediately with his eggs.  This
time they were closer to burned than raw, but he didn't spare them a
glance.

Grabbing the waitress's plumb wrist before she could turn away, he
growled, "All right, Wanda, you made your point.  You're madder than a
wet hen about something.  You want to tell me what it is, or do I have
to guess?"

Surprisingly, she laughed, but there was nothing humorous about the
sharp, strangled sound.

"I would have never figured you for dense, Riley Whitaker.  But then
again, I guess I don't know you at all, do I?  If anyone had told me
before this morning that you were a chauvinist pig, I would have said
he was a damn liar."

"A chauvinist?"  Riley echoed, his dark brows snapping together into an
intimidating ridge.

"Dammit, woman, what are you talking about?  I'm no sexist and you know
it."

"Oh, really?  Then how do you explain this?"  Jerking free of his hold,
she scooped up a copy of the daily Gazette from the long bar that
separated the kitchen from the dining area.

She slapped it down in front of him, barely missing the plate of eggs
he hurriedly pushed out of the way.

Glancing at the morning paper, Riley looked back up at her with a
frown.  "what?  My interview with Sydney?

What about it?  "

?

"Read it," she insisted.

"Then I dare you to look me in the eye and say what about it.t" He
didn't need to read it--he was the one who'd given Sydney the
information, for Pete's sake!  But Wanda looked ready to throttle him,
so with a shrug, he did as she asked.

Quickly checking the accuracy of the background information, he
couldn't for the life of him see what she was so steamed up about. He'd
never denied that he'd worked for the DEA, though the details of his
years with the agency weren't something he talked about with anyone.

That didn't make him a chauvinist pig.

Then the focus of the article turned to Becca Prescott and his opinion
of her.

"They know they can trust me to protect them.  They can't say the same
about Becca Prescott however.  She's an outsider And a woman .... The
last three words, printed in italics, appeared to be an out- and-out
accusation, and a fault that couldn't be overlooked.

Or tolerated in a sheriff.

His teeth clamped on an oath, Riley crumpled the paper in his fist,
trying to remember just what he'd said to Sydney.  There had been some
mention of women not being physically fit for law enforcement, but he
hadn't meant to imply that women as a sex were inferior.  No wonder
every female in the place was looking at him as if he'd just crawled
out from under a slimy rock.  Sydney had made him sound like a
puffed-up jackass who had nothing but disdain for anything in skirts,
when nothing could have been further from the truth.  Hell, he liked
women.  He just didn't want one backing him up.

She'd go for the knees, Becca decided.  Or a karate chop across the
bread basket.  Yeah, that would do it.  She'd teach the burn to mess
with her.  Not physically fit to do

57 the job, was she?  Like hell!  She might not be a giant, but when
she wanted to, she could make a man beg for mercy.  And Riley
Whitaker's time was coming.  The dog!  It was no more than he
deserved.

Stiffly thanking Mrs.  Franklin for all her help, she hurried outside,
intending to storm right over to the sheriff's office and confront
Riley then and there.  But the sturdy front door of the bank had hardly
closed behind her when she spied a tan patrol car parked across the
street i~ front of the City Diner.  All the deputies drove similar
vehicles, but only one had Sheriff painted underneath the county emblem
on the doors.

Nor all of ten seconds, she hesitated.  What she had to say to him
would be better off said in private.  Somewhere in the normally logical
part of her mind, she knew that.  But she was steamed up and not
thinking all that clearly.  Throwing caution to the wind, she darted
across the street.

The minute she stepped through the diner's front door, conversations
stopped in mid-sentence and silence rolled through the place like a
tidal wave, engulfing everyone in its path.

Becca never noticed.  Spotting Riley almost immediately at the far end
of the row of booths, she made a beeline for him and didn't care who
was watching.

"I want to talk to you, Sheriff."

Caught in the act of pushing his barely tasted eggs away, ~ glanced up,
only to groan at the sight of BeccaP~escott sliding into the empty seat
directly across the table from him.  Why hadn't he had the sense to
forget breakfast and go back to his office the minute he saw the damn
paper?

Now he was going to have to explain himself in public, and one look at
the lady's furious expression told him it wasn't going to be pretty.

?

Her eyes, sharp as new barbed wire, pinned him to his seat, daring him
to so much as squirm.  He didn't.  The lady might be a shrimp of
femininity, too small to hurt a gnat, but Riley had learned early on in
his career to respect a woman in a temper.  And Becea was, to put it
mildly, ready to skin him alive.  With her jaw set tightly and her
mouth a compressed, angry line, she could have intimidated a
linebacker.

But all Riley could think about was how pretty she looked with her eyes
flashing and hot color stealing into her cheeks.

You're losing it, man, a disgusted voice grumbled in his head, really
losing it.  In case you hadn't noticed, the lady's dying to string you
up by your thumbs right here in front of God and everyone.  Your mouth
got you into this--it better get you out of it.  So if you don't want
to come off sounding like the biggest redneck west of the Mississippi,
you'd better damn well get your act together.

Stiffening, he said tersely, "Fine.  Then let's walk over to my office
and you can talk all you want.  I'm sure Wanda has other customers who
could use this booth."

"Hey, don't leave on my account," the waitress called in passing as she
carried a plate of pancakes to diners at a nearby table.

"You're great for business."

With a toss of her head, she gestured behind her.  Riley took one look
and swore.  The diner was full of bank and city employees on their
morning coffee break who should have been preparing to go back to work.
Instead, the inhabitants of every booth seemed unusually interested in
what was going on at the far end of the restaurant.  A few of the more
daring ones were even staring openly.  Becca, as aware as he of their
audience, couldn't quite hold back a triumphant smile.

"You had your turn to

59 make your feelings public, Sheriff.  Don't you believe in
turn-about-fair-play?  "

"0~ course~" "So let's start with your criticism that I'm a stranger.
An outsider, I believe you said."

Though color seeped into his rugged cheeks, he didn't, to his credit,
shift in his seat as he longed to.

"I only meant that the people here know me."

"But they didn't when you moved here from Miami tell years ago," she
argued.

"No one knew you from Adam, and you didn't have family here like I did.
You still got elected, so I guess there's hope for me, isn't there?"

"Maybe."  He conceded the point grudgingly, but not before adding, "But
you're not me.  You don't have my background."

She gave him a smile that had an edge to it, her green eyes all too
knowing.

"Don't you mean sex?  Isn't that what this is all about?  I'm just not
the right sex?"  Every woman in the place seemed to be glaring daggers
at him, waiting for him to talk his way out of that one.  Scowling, he
gave Beeea a hard, irritated glance.

"Look, I'm not a sexist" -- "Oh, really?  Could have fooled me."

S~xuggling to hang on to his patience, Riley shot her a frown that
would have sent any one of his deputies scurrying for cover.  Far from
being impressed, Becca didn't even blink.  A muscle ticking along his
jaw, he said through his teeth, "If you'll just shut up for a minute
and let me explain" -- "I'm all ears," she said sweetly, the dimples in
her cheeks deepening.

"Please, go ahead."

Eyeing her taunting smile, Riley gave serious consideration to
strangling her right then and there.  He'd never met a woman who could
push his buttons so easily.

"I can

?

understand why you're upset," he began carefully.

"But somewhere between my interview with Sydney and this morning's
paper, my words got twisted" -- As if he'd conjured her up, Sydney
suddenly jerked open the front door and stepped into the diner, her
gaze immediately zeroing in on the last booth as if she'd already known
who was sitting there.  Her words, as she started toward the back,
confirmed it.

"A little birdie called me and told me I should get over here, and now
I know why."

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Riley wondered how a day that
had started out so badly could have possibly gotten worse.

"This doesn't concern you, Sydney," he said flatly.

"Mrs.  Prescott and I were having a private conversation."

Undaunted; she slid into the booth next to Becca and threw him a jaunty
smile.

"I believe I heard my name mentioned a few seconds ago.  That means I'm
invited to the party.  So what was thi.~ about me twisting your
words?

If you want to blame somebody for the hot water you're in, you'd better
take a good hard look at yourself.  I only reported what you told me.
"

"I never said" -- That's as far as he got.  Jerking open her purse,
Sydney pulled out her notebook and flipped to the notes from the
previous day's interview.  Transcribing her own peculiar brand of
shorthand, she read back his words to him verbatim, loud enough so that
everyone in the hushed diner heard them.  Except for the order in which
they were given, they were exactly the same as the ones in the morning
paper.

Snapping the notebook shut, she lifted an amused brow.

"You were saying?"

Everyone in the diner seemed to lean forward at once, like actors in a
Merrill Lynch commercial waiting for Riley to drop an insider stock
tip.  For a man who didn't especially like the limelight, it was a damn
uncomfortable position to be in.  And if he didn't find a way to pull
his butt out of the fire, the election was going to be decided here and
now, before the campaign had even started.  "Okay, so I made a mistake.
" He admitted it easily, but there was no doubting his sincerity.

"I spoke without thinking and ended up sounding like a jackass.  The
election isn't about sex, but I can't blame you ladies for thinking
that after what I said.  My words just came out wrong, and if I
offended anyone, I'm sorry.  That wasn't my intention."

The apology was extended to every woman there, but it was Becca he
spoke to, Becca he looked at unflinchingly.

Trapped in his gaze, she wanted to believe it was a' trick.  He'd been
elected sheriff time and time again, usually in uncontested races.  He
obviously knew what to say to win votes and keep his constituents
happy.

The thought should have stiffened her backbone and rekindled her
anger--and on the surface, it did.  But deep inside a dark, hidden
corner of her heart, she couldn't help but wonder if he was what he
appeared to be--an honest, candid man who could step out from behind
his ego and publicly admit he'd made a mistake.

Rattled by the thought, confused by the ambivalent emotions he stirred
in her so easily, she studied him unblinking~y.

"I don't mean to be cynical, Sheriff, but I find that a little hard to
believe.  Oh, I know you didn't intend to offend anyone," she added
quickly when he started to scowl.

"But I still think you meant exactly what you said.

You don't think a woman can handle your job.  "

?

unable to sit still, she jumped up, only to have the rocker swing
forward and sharply strike the backs of her knees.

The blow seemed to jar her thinking.  Suddenly she remembered something
her grandmother had said to her long ago.  I don't have much to leave
you, sweetheart.  Just the house and these old antiques that my mother
handed down to me.

Blinking as if coming out of a fog, Becca looked around at the
well-preserved furniture that had been a part of her grandmother's
house for as long as she could remember.  She'd never thought of
selling the antiques.  Had never given them a second thought, in
fact.

Steadying the rocker, she felt the smoothness of the beautiful cherry
wood under her fingertips, noting the graceful sturdiness that had
withstood over a century of use.  Becca didn't have a clue as to its
value, but surely it had to be worth at least as much as a new one. And
then there was the walnut breakfront, the pine library table, the
Victorian hall tree with its delicat~ carvings and brass fixtures.  And
that was just in the living room.  The rest of the house was full of
pieces that were just as old, just as beautiful, sly just as
valuable.

But could she sell them?  Could she part with the things that her
grandmother had dearly loved?  That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar
question.  And the _answer was so simple it hurt.  How could she not,
if it meant saving the house?

The decision made, she pushed away the painful ragr~ that accompanied
it and got down to the business of planning the sale.  The next two
weekends would he filled with activities for the election, but the
weekend after that was free.  That would give her plenty of time to get
erything ready and put an ad in the paper.  After that, all she could
do was sit back and hop~ that laeopl~ would

65 show up with their checkbooks.  If she was lucky, she'd make enough
to appease the tax office for a while and, as Mrs.

Franklin at the bank had suggested, buy herself some time.  Then all
she had to do was beat Riley Will- taker.  After her confrontation with
him at the diner, that didn't seem nearly as impossible as it had
yesterday.  Buoyed by the thought, she slowly made her way from room to
room, making a list of the pieces she planned to sell and what she
thought each one would bring.  By the time she finished and retired to
the kitchen, the list was two pages long, back and front, and included
just about every functional piece of furniture in the house.  If she
somehow managed to sell them all, the house would be stripped to the
bare bones.

She was frowning down at the list, trying to decide if she and Chloe
had to part with everything, when there was a knock at the back door.

"Oh, there you are, dear," Clara said, rushing into the kitchen like a
small whirlwind, smelling softly of perfume and powder.  As usual,
every hair was in place, her makeup carefully applied, her ___ glasses
hanging forgotten from a chain around her neck.  Today her cheeks were
flushed like a young girl's, and she was fairly dancing with
excitement.

"I.  hope I'm not in- tm ding--I know it's your day off and you have a
lot to do--but I just heard the most amazing thing and had to come over
and see if it was true.  I just got a call from Tallulah Gardner, who
heard it straight from Elizabeth Carlisle that you gave Riley Whitaker
what for at the City Diner.  Did you really challenge him to some type
of competition?"

Becca nodded, her smile rueful.

"That pretty much sums it up."

"Well, darn!"  the woman grumbled, pulling out a chair across the table
from her.

"And I missed it!"

?

Not surprised by her disappointment, Beeca laughed.  As far as Clara
was concerned, gossip made the world go round, and she made no
apologies for it.

"If I hadn't been so mad, I probably wouldn't have done it, but I'm
glad I did," she confided, after giving her the details of her
encounter with Riley.

"I've got to win the election, Clara."

Reaching across the table to pat her hand, the older woman gave her an
encouraging smile.

"I think you'll make a wonderful sheriff, dear.  And so do Margaret and
Lucille.  You have our vote, if that will help.;' Affection squeezed
Becca's heart, bringing the sting of tears to her eyes.

"The three of you have been such a big help to Chloe and me since Gran
died."  Suddenly needing someone to talk to, Becca knew she didn't have
to worry about Clara talking out of turn to other.  She might love to
gossip, but she also knew when to keep her mouth shut.  Reaching for
her purse, Beeca pulled out the letter from the tax assessor's office
and slid it across the table.

"I don't mean I just want to win," 'she said quietly.

"I have to."

With a frown wrinkling the parchment skin of her forehead, Clara
fumbled for her glasses and pushed them onto her nose.  The minute her
eyes focused on the letter, she gasped.

"Oh; my!"

The ticking of the old register clock in the living room was the only
sound in the house as Clara read the entire letter, then carefully
folded it and slipped it into the envelope.

When she looked up, her usually dancing blue eyes were dark with
concern.  She didn't have to ask if Becca had the money--she knew she
didn't.

"Maybe the bank will loan" -- Already shaking her head, Becca told her
about her meeting with Mrs.

Franklin.

"She wasn't totally negative.

If I can somehow manage to win the election, she was

67 sure she could get the loan approved.  But that'll be too little too
late if I can't scrape together enough cash to get the tax office off
my back for a while.  So I'm going to sell Cu'an's antiques.  "

She dropped the announcement like a bomb and didn't have to' wait long
for the explosion.

"Oh, Becca, no!

Surely there must be another way.  ". " If there is, I haven't been
able to come up with one.  "

"But your grandmother was so proud of her antiques and the fact that
she was able to leave them to you.  It would break her heart if she
knew you had to sell them."

"I know," Beeca said, sighing heavily.

"I don't want to do it, either, but I don't have much choice.  I'll
lose the house for sure if I don't."

"But what if you don't make enough?"

That was something she didn't even want to think about.

"I will," she said confidently.

"Otherwise, the whole sale would be for nothing, and I refuse to accept
that."

"We won't let that happen," Clara assured her.

"I'll talk to Margaret and Lucille.  Between the three of us, we're
bound to come up with some things we can contribute to help."

The offer was so like Clara--spontaneous, generous-- that Becca again
found herself blinking back tears.

"I

appreciate the offer, but you know I can't let you do that.  "

"I don't know why not," the woman retorted, letting her breath out in a
huff.

"We should be able to help you if we want to."

"But your things mean as much to you as Cyran's did to her.  You
haven't kept them all these years just to sell them to help me."

?

"You've helped us often enough," the older lady reminded her.

"Now it's our time to return the favor."

"Taking you to the doctor or running errands doesn't compare to
sacrificing something you love," Becca pointed out.  Squeezing her old
friend's hand, she shook her head.

"There are some things you just can't let anyone help you with.  This
is one of them."

Chapter 4

Given his druthers, Riley would have rather eaten dirt than give a
speech of any kind.  As far as he was concerned, speeches were for
slick-haired politicians who were full of hot air, men who liked to
hear themselves make fantastic promises that they never intended to
keep.  He'd never had much of a stomach for those kind of
shenanigans.

But unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of avoiding ~he spotlight.
Not in an election year.  And esp~ally not after Becca Prescott had
publicly challenged him two days ago.

People had been talking of nothing else since.

So he was stuck.  Every election year, the county sponsored Civic
Awareness Day at the rodeo grounds, and all candidates running for
office were invited to give speeches.  Nine times out of ten, the
organizers were lucky if a hundred people showed up, which was one
reason Riley was able to get by with just a few words about his
dedication to keeping the peace in Hidalgo County.

?

But not this year, he thought grimly as he turned into the rodeo
grounds and saw the cars that already filled the parking' lot.  half
the town had to be there, and it was still a full thirty minutes until
the speeches started.  And he didn't even know what he wanted to say.
Hell.  Finding a parking space in the area reserved for candida~, he
saw Becca's Jeep parked farther down the line.  So she was here.  He'd
known she would be, of course.

Every candidate running, from school-board member to mayor had been
invited to talk to the voters, and only a fool would have turned down
the invitation.  Whatever else Beam Prescott was, she was nobody's
fool.

"Hey, Sheriff, hang in there.  We're rooting for you."

"You'll beat that Prescott woman with one hand tied behind your back.
Like you said, she just ain't got what it takes."

As he strode toward the bleachers, comments flew at him from all sides,
words of encouragement from men he hardly knew.  After two days of such
support, it still amazed him that the whole county seemed to have taken
an interest in the shedff's race.  From the calls he'd gotten, husbands
had taken sides against wives, sweethearts against lovers, with each
heatedly arguing the merits of their chosen candidates.  It was
crazy.

Shouldering his way through the crowd milling around the entrance to
the stands, he knew the exact minute people reali~axl that both he and
Becca were there.  Anticipation seemed to hum in the air like static
electricity before a storm, and then the whispers started.  Without
warning, the crowd parl~, and suddenly, there she was.

Her daughter was with her, along with her three elderly neighbors who
were fussing over her like mother hens: But the only one Riley saw was
Becca.  She looked, to put it quite simply, downright elegant.  She was
dressed

71 conservatively in an unpretentious black knit dress, pearls, dark
stockings and heels, with not so much as a smidgen of bare skin showing
from her neck to her toes.  But there was something about that dress,
Riley decided, that should have been outlawed.  With a will of their
own, his eyes took a leisurely tour of her curves, lifting to her hair
and the intricate braid she'd confined it in, and he found himself
comparing the woman before him to the furious female who had taken him
to task at the diner the other day, her green eyes pitching darts at
him and her reddish brown curls flying.  Both, he discovered to his
annoyance, had the power to entrance him.  And he didn't like it.  He
didn't like it at all.

Nodding shortly to her, he touched a finger to the front of his Stetson
in an abbreviated salute.  All eyes were on them, including Sydney,s,
he noted, spying the reporter in the crowd.

But he had no intention of giving the gossips anything more to babble
over.

"Mrs.  Prescott," he said tersely.

"Glad to see you made it."

Her smile was as cool and distant as his.

"Oh, I wouldn't have missed it.  It's not every day you get to make a
speech in front of the whole town."

"I don't know about that," a male voice grumbled from the packed crowd
in the nearby stands.

"If you ask me, she seems to just step up on that soapbox of hers
wherever the mood strikes her.  A hardworking man can't even enjoy a
decent meal without her railing at him."

"Well, nobody asked you, Cyrus Bentwood," Lucille retorted bluntly,
recognizing the voice of the town's biggest grocer.

"So reserve your comments for the peanut gallery.  The rest of us
aren't interested."

The women in the crowd tittered, drawing more than a few hostile looks
from their husbands and boyfriends.

Fighting a grin, Riley made a concentrated effort to keep

? a straight face and thought he had the battle won.  Then he made the
mistake of glancing at Beeca.

Hastily biting her lip, she didn't smile, but she might as well have.

Her dimples deepening with ill-concealed amusement, she made a
strangled sound that could have been a quickly stifled giggle, and her
green eyes all but danced as they met his.

Suddenly just breathing was difficult.

Intimacy.  Between one heartbeat and the next, it was there in the
shared laughter that silently passed between them.  Transfixed, Riley
felt a fist close around his heart even as he told himself this was
nuts.  Attraction was one thing, but intimacy was a whole new kettle of
fish.  It implied a closeness, a shared understanding--tnzst,
dammit--that he wanted no part of.

Walk away.  The ieaxptation pulled at him, but even as he cousidered
it, he knew it was too late.  Trapped in the warmth of her eyes, he
wanted to ~ her.  Right there in front of half the town.  And he wasn't
talking about any simple peck on the cheek, either.  No, by God, when
he got the lady in his arms, he was going to lay a kiss on her that
would knock them both out of their socks.

When he kissed her, not if.

Not liking the direction of his thoughts, he scowled, motioning for her
and her party to precede him into the arena.

"We'd better find our seats.  Everyone's supposed to be in their places
before the speeches start."

The sudden coolness in his eyes hit Becca like a splash of ice water.

Unaccountably hurt, she reached blindly for her daughter's hand.

"Then we'd better get moving.  Come on, Chloe.

You're going to sit down front with the granni~ in the section
ref~-~Tved for family.  " She swept past him without another word, her
jutting chin leading the way, and found a seat for Chloe, then

73 made her way to the stage that had been erected in-the middle of the
rodeo arena.  The organizers, the local branch of the League of Women
Voters, had outdone themselves with the decorating.  in a frenzy of
democratic fervor, they'd strung red-white-and-blue bunting everywhere
and even hired a band to play patriotic music to liven things up.  The
crowd, buzzing with excitement, clapped enthusiastieally, waiting for
the speeches to be- gin.

Feeling like she'd stumbled into a Fourth of July celebration by
mistake, Beeca took her designated seat at the far end of the front row
and told herself she wasn't going to let Riley get to her. Insufferable
man.  For a second there, when she'd seen the laughter glinting in his
eyes, she'd actually found herself--God help her--liking him.

She must have been out of her mind.

Trying not to fidget as her nerves slowly began to rig hUm she
couldn't, unfortunately, stop her eyes from eat ting to where Riley sat
three chairs down from her.  Things would have been so much easier if
he'd been a Barney life type, she thought, piqued.  But with his height
and sinewy strength, no one would ever mistake Riley for the nervous,
jittea'y Mayheny character who couldn't even b~ trusted with more than
one bullet for his gun.  Rugged as native stone, his tanned skin
stretched tight across his ehiaeled cheekbones as if he'd been baked in
the New.

Mexican heat, Riley Whitaker was tough and hard and weathered.

Confidence rolled off him in waves.

Her throat as dry as the dust stirring on the dirt floor of the rodeo
arena, Beeca tried' to eli rig to her irritation with him, but she
found it imposmq~le as the emcee for the evening began to introduce
him.  To maintain impartiality, only the basi ca of each candidate's
background were given, but given Riley's former employment with the

DEA

?

and his nine-year tenure as sheriff, the basics were impressive.  You
never would have known it, however, from Riley's face.  He didn't bat
an eye.

Then it was his turn to speak.  After his slam against her in his
interview with Sydney, Becca half expected another attack on what he
l~?  ceived as her shortcomings.  But she braced herself for an assault
that never came.  Taking his place at the podium, he didn't even
mention his opponent.  for most of his speech.

He had no notes and, in fact, didn't even seem to have a speech
prepared.  Instead, he talked to the people in the stands like they
were old friends, practically family, immediately making the outdoor
setting seem more intimate.

As if he had all the time in the world instead of the ten minutes each
speaker was allowed, he told the crowd how he had moved to Lordsburg
seeking peace, and he had found it.  As sheriff, he'd made it his
personal goal to see that the low crime rate they all enjoyed stayed
that way.  He thought he'd done pretty well, but he gruffly admitted
that there was still room for improvement.  Fascinated, Becca couldn't
take her eyes from him.

With words alone, he wove a spell around everyone there, herself
included.  She could have listened to him for hours.

Then he brought up her name.

"As you all know, the sheriff's race isn't uncontested this year.  My
opponent, Becca Prescott, is hoping to convince a large majority of you
to vote for her."  Sparing a glance at her, he turned back to his
audience with a boyish grin.

"Now, I know what some of you ladies are thinking--that I ought to be
shot for what I said about her in the paper and that you can't wait for
her to teach me a thing or two."

"Shooting's too good for you.," Denise Allan, the high school h3rarian,
surprised everyone by grumbling from the second row of the stands.  A
mild-mannered woman who normally appeared to be afraid of her own
shadow, she glared at Riley in flustered annoyance.

"You ought to be hung by your ankles and left to twist in the wind."

The weathered lines at the corner of Riley's eyes crinkled.

"Actually, I was thinking of something a little less painful.  The lady
wants a chance to prove herself, which is only fair, so I've arranged
for a little competition in the high school gym next Thursday night at
seven."

"Like a wrestling match?"  someone yelled from the back of the crowd.

"Well, hell, Riley, I'd pay twenty bucks to see that.  You oughtta sell
tickets!"

Riley chuckled along with the rest of the audience and shook his
head.

"Sorry, Joe, but it's not going to be that kind of competition.  I'm
going to pretend to be a criminal and see if Mrs.  Prescott can
handcuff me."  A murmur went up from the stands and excitement rippled
like 'a breeze through the crowd.  Raising his voice, Riley added,
"Later on, we'll have a shoot-off at the f'u~ing range and a
long-distance run."

"And she's supposed to beat you?"  Margaret called out indignantly from
the front row.

"That's hardly fair, Riley Whitaker, and you know it!  Your legs are
twice as long as her~?  " Not beat me, Margaret," he assured her.

"Just meet the standards I set for my deputies.  If she qualifies to do
their job, then she can handle mine."  Glancing back over his shoulder
at Becca, he dared her with his eyes alone.

"Well, Mrs.  Prescott?  How does that sound to you?  Thing you can hack
it?"

Hack it?  Becca almost choked.  He wasn't asking any more of her than
he would one of his deputies.  The only trouble was, his deputies were
all men.  And that was something she could hardly object to since she
was the one

? who had claimed she could pass any physical test he could.

Too la~ she realized she may have bitten off more than she could chew,
but there was nothing she could do about it now.  He was calling her
bluff, and to admit any doubts' at all at this stage would just about
kill any chance she had of winning the election.  Aware of every eye on
her, she gave him a smile that was nothing but pure bravado.

"Of course.  I'll be there with bells on."

"Good," he said.

"Then it's settled.  Thursday night at seven in the high school gym.
I'll see you then."

His promise was met with a thunderous ovation.  Pleased, Riley returned
to his seat and made no attempt to hide the glint of satisfaction in
his eyes as his gaze met hers.

Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he shot her a grin that
all but said, Top that.

Not surprisingly, she rose to the silent challenge like a trout to the
bait.  She was quick, Riley had to give her that.

And so competitive, she made it all too easy for him to push her
buttons.  As soon as the emcee introduced her and gave the crowd a
brief summary of her educational background and work with the Dallas
Sheriff's Department, she was stalking toward the microphone like a
woman with a mission.

Sitting back, Riley crossed his arms over his chest and prepared to
enjoy himself.  But if he was waiting for her to let her temper get the
best of her, he was doomed to disappointment.  She had more
self-control than that and quickly concealed her irritation with him
behind a friendly grin that immediately caught the attention of
everyone in the stands.

Since she was fairly new to the area, she could hardly talk to the
crowd as if she'd known most of them all of her life, but she did point
out that Lordsburg wasn't completely foreigo to her.  She mentioned her
grandmother,

L/nda Turner 77 who had been well respected in the area, then did
something that Riley hadn't been willing to do in any depth about
himself--she spoke of her past.

~ If anyone else had told her story, they might have been accused of
trying to garner sympathy votes, but not Beega.  In a matter-of-fact
voice, she ~lked about losing h~ husband to cancer while she was
pregnant with her daughter, of being a single mother who got by on a
deputy's salary by living in a low-rent area that had more than il~
share of crime.  She'd known there was a better way of life out there
somewhere, but she hadn't known how to get to it until her
grandmother's illness brought her to New Metleo.

"This is my home now," she fini.  ~he'd in a soft voice that had the
whole audience riveted to their seats.

"Mine and Chloe's.  And like the sheriff, no one appreciates the peace
of thi.~ community more than we do.  If I'm elected, you can sleep
nights knowing that I'll do everything in my power to protect the
quality of life you have here.  Thank you."

-- to their feet, everyone in the audience cheered loudly, and try
though he might, Riley could fit shrug it off as just good manners on
the part of the home crowd to make Beeca Prescott feel welcome.  She'd
touched a chord, and people liked what they'd heard.  And that had him
worried.

Gable Rawlings was right--the lady was going to give him a run for his
money.  And if he didn't tort taking her seriously, he was going to be
out of a job

The campaigning began in earnest the very next day, and Becca loved it.
When she wasn't working at the achool, she was out canvassing the
county, meeting people, shaking hands, boldly asking for votes.  With
the first

? competition with Riley only days away, she wanted to make as much of
an impression as possible, so she didn't let any grass grow under her
feet.  And although she was fortunate not to run into her opponent, she
heard about him everywhere she went.

"Yeah, the sheriff was just out here yesterday," Buddy Gardner told her
when she stopped at his ranch to introduce herself.

"He said you weren't big as a peanut, and I gotta tell you, I think
he's right.  Girl, how in the world do you think you're going to
handcuff that man?  His arms are longer than your legs!"

"A peanut, hmm?"  Becca said, a slow, dimpled smile playing about her
mouth as she looked down at herself.

"Well, I can't very well lie about my size, can I?"

"Nope," the rancher retorted with a lopsided grin.

"You're short, girl.  You might as well admit it."

"But I'm quick," she retorted, her green eyes sparkling.

"And I can hide in a crowd.  Which is more than Riley Whitaker can
say."

Laughing, the grizzly old gentleman had to agree.

"I'll tell him you said so."

He didn't have to, however.  Becca did it herself.  As soon as she put
Chloe to bed that evening, she sat down at her grandmother's old
rolltop desk and jotted him a quick note.  So he thought she was a
peanut, did he?

~I'm surprised at you, Sheriff.  A peanut?  And here I thought you'd
learned not to call me names.  I must be making you nervous.  And you
should be.  I'm zcoming after your job.

So enjoy it while you can.

~Your days are numbered .  you just don't know it yet.

'~:"With a slow smile spreading across his rugged face, Riley leaned
back in his office chair and stared down at

79 the simple, feminine B scrawled at the bottom of the note he'd found
on his office desk when he'd come into work that morning.

He didn't have to ask how it had gotten there--he was quickly
discovering that with Becca Prescott there was no telling where she'd
show up next.  Everywhere he went, she had already been them or had
made plans to show up later that day.

Laughing suddenly, he pictured her face when she heard what he was
saying about her and found himself enjoying the image.  Grabbing a
piece of paper with the county letterhead, he began to write.

A peanut by any other name is still a peanut.  So don't make the
mistake of thinking I'm worried, small fry.

I've got you right where I want you--eating my dust.  You just don't
realize it yet.

Copying her format, he scrawled an R at the bottom, then stuffed the
letter into an envelope.  With a quick flick of his he sealed it and
grinned.  If thi.  q didn't get a , nothing would.

The minute they got home from school, Chloe was out '~ out of the car
like a shot, running for the mailbox.  I'll get the mail!  " she cried.
It was the highlight of her day, even though she never ~lived anything
herself.

~ Standing on the porch, Becca watched indulgently as ~Chloe charged
out to the big box set back from the road, her small legs pumping.  She
couldn't get over how her daughter had changed since they'd moved to
New Mexico.

Tanned and full of energy, she'd become less wary and more spontaneous,
and Becca sent up a prayer of thanks every night for that.  New Mexico
agreed with her.  with both of them.  ~,~,~ ~

?

"Hey, Mom, you got another one of those funny letters."

At Chloe's call, butterflies fluttered in anticipation in Becca's
stomach.  She didn't have to ask what kind of funny letter; she knew.
It was another note from Riley.  She'd never dreamed that the teasing
message she'd sent him three days ago would be the start of a full
scale game of tit for tat, but that was exactly what had happened.

Every morning she dropped off a letter at the sheriff's department for
him, commenting on the accuracy of the remarks that were filtering back
to her, and every evening she came home to find an answer with his
distinctive scrawl waiting tauntingly for her in her mailbox.  She
couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed herself more.

As Chloe raced back to her and handed her the day's mail, Becca told
herself that it was the letters themselves she was enjoying.  Riley was
a worthy opponent, and matching wits with him as they tried to top each
other kept her on her toes.  If she woke each morning with a sense of
expectancy that she hadn't felt in years, it had nothing to do with the
man himself.  And if her heart started to pound the second her fingers
closed around his letter, it was because she never knew what to expect
from him.  That was all it was.  All it could be.

Dancing impatiently beside her, Chloe shifted from foot to foot.

"Can I set up cans for target practice now, Morn?

Huh?  Please, please, please?  If you don't practice, how are you gonna
beat the sheriff?  "

Laughing, Becca ruffled her hair and pushed her toward the house.

"Okay, okay.  Go change out of your school clothes and we'll get
started."

"All right!"  Grinning from ear to ear, the five-year-old darted into
the house.  ~ ~:'~ :,~ ~

Following more slowly, Becca glanced down at the letter she still
clutched like a present, her thumb toying with the sealed flap as her
eyes started to dance.  She had a few minutes while Chloe changed.
She'd just read it now .  "Good news, dear?"  Margaret called from next
door, stepping outside to retrieve her own mail.  Outlandishly dressed
in a flowing purple robe decorated with golden stars, she could have
easily passed for a gypsy in search of a carnival.

"Your eyes have the most wonderful sparkle."

Becca flushed just like a teenager caught mooning over the new boy in
town, then wanted to kick herself.  Quickly shoving the letter into the
pocket of her skirt, she forced a smile.

"Oh, it's nothing--just a note.  I can read it later.

Chloe and I are going to go out back for some target practice, so don't
be alarmed if you hear shots.  In fact, you might want to call Lucille
and Clara and warn them, tOO.  " " Oh, of course, dear.  No problem. So
how is the campaigning coming?

You wouldn't believe how many people have stopped me in town and told
me how impressed' they were with your speech the other day.  " Behind
her glasses, her brown eyes started to twinkle.

"Riley Will- - et taker has met his match.  He just doesn't know it y .
Something about the way she slipped in the last two sentences made
Becca glance at her sharply, but Margaret only returned her searching
look with an innocent smile.  Then Chloe came slamming out the back
door and the moment was lost.  Sure she must have imagined any
innuendo, Becca said, " He will on election day," then excused herself
to retrieve her gun from the locked cabinet in the study.  ~ ~

?

Riley was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot in the staff
room when the call came into the sheriff's of rice John Sanchez,
playing dispatcher for the day for Myrtle, who was home with a sick
granddaughter, took the call.

"Firecrackers?"  he said in surprise, after identifying himself and
listening to the caller's complaint.

"Are you sure?  It's a little late in the year for that sort of
thing."

It was obviously the wrong thing to say.  Moving to the open door of
the main office area, Riley struggled with a grin as he watched his
usually unshakable deputy slowly flush with color.  Shifting in his
seat like a schoolboy taking a scolding, John rolled his eyes at him
and said into the phone, "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure you know the sound of
firecrackers when you hear them.  I didn't mean any offense.  It's just
that sounds carry in the desert, and it's kind of hard to tell what
they are or even where they're coming from.  But we'll get someone out
there right away."

Visibly sweating, he hung up with a sigh of relief.

"Let me guess," Riley said with a chuckle.

"That was either Evelyn Dryden or Priscilla Vickers.  They're both as
spooky as old cats."

"Actually, it was Lucille Brickman and she didn't take too kindly to me
questioning her.  Damn, that woman's got a sharp tongue."  Shaking his
head, the deputy said, "I guess I'd better get someone out there before
she calls back.  Mark was patrolling in that area about an hour ago.
I'll get on the horn and see if he's still close by."

Riley, who had straightened like a poker at the mention of Lucille's
name, didn't like the sound of that.  The old lady lived right next
door to Becca Prescott and was one of Becca's biggest supporters.  A
strong-willed woman with a reputation for speaking her mind, she
wouldn't hesitate to bring up the election with Mark and no doubt
rattle him into saying something he shouldn't.

Making a snap decision, Riley set aside his coffee and retrieved his
hat from the hat rack.

"I'll go.  Round up Mark and send him out to the Teen Canteen.  The
seniors have a big bash planned and someone's bound to show up with a
bottle of something they shouldn't.  As soon as I've mimed Mrs.

Brickman down, I'll swing by and help him keep an eye on those kids so
they don't do anything stupid.  "

He strode out the door before he could question the wisdom of his
decision, but not before he saw John hastily conceal his surprise.  The
younger man didn't say anything, but then again, he didn't have to.
Riley knew as well as his deputy that Mark could have handled Mrs.
Brick- man with patient finesse.  The teenagers at the student can~x-n
were another matter, however.  Riley was far more effective at keeping
the kids in line and they both knew it.

Face it, the voice in his head needled him.  You saw a ~ chance to run
into Becca again, and you jumped at it.

~ You'd better watch it, man.  You'replaying with fire, and if you're
not careful, you're going to get burned.  ~ ~___2~ Out of habit, his
first instinct was to dismiss the idea ~with a snort of harsh laughter.
He liked her--he readily admitted it.  And there was no question that
sparks flew' between them every time their eyes chanced to meet.  if
he~ ever got her into his bed, they'd probably set the sheets on fire.
But it wasn't going to happen.  He only had to look at her to know she
wasn't the type of woman a man turned to for a one-night stand, and he
wasn't interested in anything else.

That, however, didn't stop his heart from kicking into overdrive just
at the thought of possibly tangling with his green-eyed opponent again.
~:: ~ :~:,~

?

Fifteen minutes later, when he turned into Lucille Brickman's driveway,
he couldn't stop his gaze from swinging to the white clapboard house
next door.  Becca's Jeep was there, but nothing moved in the yard.
Sunset was thirty minutes away, and the place looked deserted.
Reminding himself that he had business to take care of, he stepped from
his patrol car and started up the porch steps to Lucille's front door.
It was then that he heard the sounds the old lady had called about.
Shots, not firecrackers, he noted, stopping to listen.  A .  38.  And
coming from the rear-of one of the one-acre tracts Lucille and ~. ~:~?
-'~ .  each of her neighbors owned.

~. ~. :_ Skirting the house, he strode quickly toward the desert
wilderness in the distance, his booted feet kicking up dust.

His gaze focused straight ahead, he never saw Lucille watching him from
her kitchen window, her lined, angular face softened by a slow smile of
satisfaction.

Becca took one last look to make sure Chloe hadn't moved from her
position on a boulder a safe distance behind her, then turned her
attention to the empty tin cans she'd set up on a weathered log fifty
feet in front of her.

Her feet spread slightly apart, both hands clasped around the cold
metal of her .  38, she took aim and slowly squeezed the trigger.  One
of the cans--the one she'd been aiming at, thankfully--went flying with
a satisfying ping.

~"All right, Mom!"  Chloe cried, her hands clamped protectively over
her ears.

"Hit another one."

"I.

Complying, Becca did, hitting the next five in succession.  Laughing,
she reholstered the pistol in her shoulder harness, her gaze on the
scattered cans that lay like fallen soldiers in the dirt.

"Now we're cooking with gas, sweetheart!

And I was afraid I'd lost my touch.  Wait'll Riley

Whitaker gets a load of my fancy shooting.  The poor man'll never know
what hit him.  "

"You think so?"  a familiar masculine voice drawled from behind her.

"Anybody can hit a can from spitting distance.  That's baby stuff."

Startled, Becca whirled to find Riley leaning against a big boulder a
few steps back from Chloe, a crooked grin hitching up one corner of his
sensuous mouth.  His eyes, dark and slumberous, slid over her lazily,
taking in every inch of her without seeming to move at all.  Suddenly
hot and breathless and disgustingly aware of the raggedness of the old
T-shirt and cutoffs she'd changed into before trekking out into the
desert, Becca would have given anything to deny the wild, welcoming
lurch of her heart.  Damn the man, but she was glad to see him.  She'd
eat ants before she'd let him know it, though.  Her smile mocking, she
said, "Better watch it, Sheriff.

You're beginning to sound just the teeniest bit worried.  What's the
matter?  Afraid I'm going to beat you?  "

His eyes laughing at her, he snorted.

"Not a chance, sweetheart."

The endearment slipped out as naturally as if he'd been calling her
that for years, stunning them both.  As his blue eyes locked with her
green ones, neither Riley nor Becca noticed Chloe watching wide-eyed
from the rock where she still sat, until she asked, puzzled, "Why does
he call you that, Mama?  Sweetheart's what you call me."

Startled, her cheeks aflame, Becca couldn't for the life of her think
of an explanation.

"Well, uh, I" -- "It just sort of popped out, sweetie pie," Riley said,
coming to her rescue.

"I guess I could have called her peanut or curly top or even Fred, but
I thought sweet86

heart sounded better.  It's got a nice ring to it, don't you think? "

']

Chloe giggled.

"You called me sweetie pie."  , ,7

He grinned.

"It's my favorite nickname for special ladies."

',"I'm not a lady!"

:

"You will be one day," he promised, tugging at one of her soft curls.

"And then the boys better watch out.

You're going to break a lot of hearts.  "

Recovering her voice at last, Becca said quickly, "Why don't you
collect the cans for me and set them up again,

honey?  This time farther away.  We don't want the sheriff to accuse us
of baby stuff.  "

As competitive as her mother, chloe didn't have to be told twice.

"All right!  We'll show him!"

She skipped off, grinning, and as soon as she was out of earshot, Beeca
drawled, "Okay, sweetheart, what are you doing here, anyway?"

~

"Lucille thought some kids were back here' shooting off fireworks, so I
drove over to check it out."  He glanced at the gun holstered in her
shoulder harness, his eyes glinting with devilment as they lifted to
hers.

"You got a permit for that thing?"

She did, but she had no intention of telling him that just yet, not
after that crack about her shooting.  Cocking her head at him, she
lifted a delicately arched brow.

"Why?

You going to haul me in if I don't?  "

He wanted to haul her in, all right .  right into his arms.

And if he didn't get out of there damn soon, he was going to do just
that.

"Don't tempt me," he growled, and meant it.

"So let's have it, Becca.  Do you have a permit or not?  You know the
law as well as I do."

Linda Turner

"Which is why I have a permit," she replied, her green eyes
twinkling.

"So you don't have to read me my rights.

I'm legal.  "

"Then I'll get out of here," he said gruffly.

"See you around, peanut."

"You can count on it, sweetheart.  I'm not going anywhere."  She
watched him walk away, the heat from the touch of his eyes sparking a
glow deep inside, an ache she would have sworn she wanted no part of.
Shaken, she didn't hear Chloe return until the little girl leaned
against her and slipped her small arms around her waist.

"Are we going to move back to Dallas, Mama?"

"What?"  Surprised, Beeca frowned down at her, smoothing her wild curls
back from her face.

"Why would you think that, honey?"  ~'::.  *~ She shrugged.

"Some of the kids at school said you can't beat the sheriff.  So I
thought we might have to move .... " Oh, no, honey!  " Squatting down,
Becca gave her daughter a fierce hug.

"I don't know who's going to win the election--no one does--but this is
our home now.  You heard me tell the sheriff I'm not going anywhere and
I meant it.  So don't you worry about what the kids at school say. They
don't know what they're talking about.

Okay?  "

Relief easing the worried lines of her little face, Chloe nodded.

"Okay."

Praying she wouldn't have to eat those ~words'fate3," Becca sent her
inside to clean up for supper, promising she'd be in herself in just a
second.  Then she went looking for Lucille.

Since only strangers used the front door, she cut across her own
unfenced yard to the older woman's back door,

?

where she heard murmured laughter.  Suspicion stirred, and with nothing
more than a, sharp knock, she quickly let herself in.

If she lived to be a hundred, she'd never forget the identical
expressions on the three old ladies' faces: guilt, pure and simple.
Suddenly wanting to laugh, she said easily, "Sorry to interrupt,
ladies, but the sheriff was just here.  It seems Lucille thought
someone was shooting off some fireworks out back.  Didn't you warn the
others about my target practice, Margaret?"  Margaret, to her credit,
couldn't quite look h~r in the eye when she fibbed.

"Target practice?"  she repeated vaguely, as if she'd never heard the
words before.

"I must have forgotten.  You know how my memory is, especially when I'm
working with my clay."

It was a good excuse, but Beeca wasn't buying it.  Margaret was sharp
as a tack when she wanted to be.  And so were the others.  If Lucille
could tell which dog was barking at the Cavender Ranch a quarter of a
mile down the road--which she could--she should have been able to
distinguish between gunshots and firecrackers.

"I know what you're doing," she warned them.

"And it's not going to work."

"Doing?"

"We don't know what you'~ t~alking about, Becca, honey.  Is something
wrong?"

"You're darn right something's wrong.  The three of you think you can
throw the sheriff and me together and stir up a romance and it's just
not going to work."  All talking at once, they assured her they'd never
even considered such a thing, but Becea knew them too well.  Romantics
right down to the the tips of their soft-soled shoes, they'd made it
clear on numerous other occasions that they thought she was too young
to spend the rest of

89 her life alone.  It was just like them to take matters into their
own hands and decide that Riley Whitaker was just the man she needed.
They couldn't have been more wrong.

Chapter 5

The clock on the stove read 11:43.  "Almost midnight.  And the
loneliest time of the day, as far as Becca was concerned.  Restless,
with thoughts of Riley, of the grannies' plot to throw them together,
pushing in on her, she settled at the kitchen table to work on the
speech she would be giving early next week to the local garden club.

But her mind wasn't on the task and kept drifting to the following
evening, when she would have to handcuff ~ley.  and in the process,
touch him, manhandle him.  ~ Images stirred.  Hot, erotic, totally
unacceptable.

Flushed, cursing her overactive imagination, she tossed down her pencil
and headed upstairs for a bath.  But a hot soak didn't do a thing for
the tension knotting the back of her neck, and an hour later, she was
still up, prowling the house in the dark, checking on her neighbors to
make sure they were safe and sound.  : :. ~ It was a habit she had
started the first night she'd moved in with her grandmother, when she'd
realized she and her three elderly friends had no one within shouting
distance but each other.  If there was trouble, no one would hear, so
Becca had made it a practice of making sure the neighborhood was quiet
each night before she went to bed.  '~ ~ Glancing out the east window
of the kitchen, she grinned at the sight of the lights blazing in
Margaret's studio.  When she was working with her beloved clay,
Margaret had been known to stay up all night.  " Figuring she was okay,
Becca moved to the opposite end of the house to check on Lucille, then
Clara, who lived at the far end of the row of four houses.

" Lucille's place was dark, as was Clara'~s.~ Relicvent, Becca started
to turn away from the study window, only to catch a whisper of movement
out of the corner of her eye.

Surprised, she froze, her narrowed gaze searching the darkness.  It was
a moonless night and quiet, without a breath of a breeze.  If there was
anything out there, she couldn't see it.

~ }'-~ "It's late," she told herself.

"You're imagining things."  But just as the words left her lips, she
saw something white and flowing drift from the deep shadows engulfing
the house two doors down.

"Oh, God!"

It was Clara.  She was sleepwalking, wandering through the night as if
she were out for an afternoon stroll.  and headed straight toward the
road.  Dismayed, Becca ~ipped on the floodlights and ran for the door.
lad ,i:-Or:

Running late because of some rowdiness he'd had to settle at the County
Line Lounge in the far northern corner of the county, Riley took a
shortcut back to town and told himself he was only taking the two-lane
ranch road to save time.  The fact that Becca lived on the road was
just

? a coincidence and had nothing to do with his decision to go that way
instead of the main highway.

"Yeah, right," he muttered.

"Tell another one."  His chiseled face was grim in the darkness as he
approached the string of four houses sitting in the middle of nowhere,
and he thanked God that he wouldn't have to stop.  For hours now, he'd
thought of not~g but her and the glint in her eyes when she'd teasingly
called him sweetheart.

She'd just been giving him back some of his own, and he should have
forgotten all about it by now.  But there were some things a man
couldn't forget, like it or not.  And Becca laughing up at him, the
endearment slipping naturally from her lips, was one of them.

"It's time you took another little trip.  up to Silver City, Whitaker,
and found someone to scratch this itch for you," he said tightly into
the darkness of his patrol car.

"You've been without a woman too long."

It was a damn good idea, but one, he was irked to note, that held
little appeal.  Lately, when he thought of a woman, there was only one
that seemed to come to mind.  And she had a sassy mouth and wanted his
job.

He would have raced right by her house without sparing it a glance, but
the damn place was lit up like a Christmas tree.  Floodlights blazed
from ~very corner of the two-story structure, stripping the night away.
And right in the middle of the front yard was Becca--in her nightgown,
if he wasn't mistaken!  --apparently herding Clara Simpson, who was
also in her nightclothes, back to her house.  Riley never 'remembered~t
slamming On the brakes~~ but suddenly he was struggling to avoid a
skid.  Keep on going, the voice of reason in his head ordered sternly.
If the ladies want to have a pajama party and walk in the starlight,
it's none of your business.  93 The thought registered; he just ignored
it.  Cursing a blue streak, he was out of his patrol car before he'd
barely rolled to a stop in the middle of the road in front of her
house.

"Dammit, woman, what the hell are you doing?

Do you know what time it is?  What's wrong with Clara?  " He threw the
questions at her like darts, the last coming out less harshly as his
eyes narrowed on Clara, who seemed to be in a daze.  Frowning, he
stepped forward quickly in concern.

"Is she okay?"

"She's sleepwalking."  Desperately conscious of how her thin cotton
nightgown left little to the imagination in the stark glare of the
floodlights, Becca prayed that Riley would be too worded about Clara to
give her and her lack of clothes a second thought.  Quickly slipping
her arm around the older woman's narrow shoulders to guide her toward
her own house, she said quietly, "She'll be fine as soon as I get her
back inside."

As far as hints went, it wasn't a very strong one, but he should have
seen that she had the situation under control.

He didn't.  Standing his ground, he eyed Clara warily and lowered his
voice to a rough whisper.

"Can't you just wake her?"  ~ Becca shook her head.

"I'm afraid I'll startle her, and her heart's not all that strong.
Don't worry, though.  She's done this before.  I can handle her.  So
there's no reason for you to stay.  I'm sure you have more important
things to do."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when Clara suddenly moved,
quietly slipping free of her hold.  Swearing, Riley jumped to intercept
the octogenarian before she could once again step toward the road,
spreading his arms wide so she couldn't get past him.

"Yeah, I can see you've really got things under control," he drawled,
his blue eyes mocking as they met hers

~ ?

over the top of Clara's white head.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?

You trying to get rid of me just ~because I caught you outside in your
nightie?  "

Oh, God, he'd noticed!  With heat flooding her cheeks, she resisted the
urge to wrap her arms around herself and snapped, "Don't be ridiculous.
I'm sure you've seen hundreds of women in their nightclothes before."

His lips twitched.

"Well, I don't know about hundreds.  But if you wanted an exact number,
I could probably sit down and figure it out for you.  If you were
interested, of course."  ': :: ~ The look she shot him was withering.

"Don't strain your brain, Whitaker.  I'm not."

"Fine.  Now that we've got that settled, why don't we see about getting
Clara inside?  There might be a woman in her nightclothes somewhere
waiting for me."  He gave her that wicked grin of his, the one that
women from six to sixty, herself included, couldn't resist--and Becca
found it impossible not to laugh.  Damn him, how was a woman supposed
to deal with a man who could tease like the devil himself?

"Then God forbid we should keep her waiting," she retorted as she moved
toward her friend.  Slipping her arm around her waist again, she
motioned for him to take up a sunilar position on the other side.

"If we keep her pinned between the two of us, she'll have to go where
we go," she said quietly.

Short of waking her, there was little else they could do.  Nodding,
Riley moved closer to Clam.

"Let's try it."

Carefully placing his arm around the older woman's shoulders, he
accidently brushed the tissue-thin sleeve of Becca's pale green gown.
Just that quickly, the night was suddenly hot, charged, humming.  ~"L
I- v~

'

The uneven beat of her heart an erotic rhythm in her ears, Becca had no
idea how long she stood there, for time seemed to grind to a halt.
Something that neither wanted to acknowledge passed between them,
something that wasn't going to go away no matter how hard they tried to
ignore it.

Then, just when she thought she couldn't stand the hushed silence
another second without saying something, anything, they both stepped
forward at the same time.

Clara, all but unaware of their presence, hesitated, then moved with
them.

"Thatta girl," Becca whispered softly' to her, dragging her gaze away
from Riley's.

"Let's get you back to bed."

It took a while, but together they managed to get her across Lucille's
yard and then her own to her house, where they were presented with
another problem.  How were the three of them going to maneuver through
the open front door?  Riley wondered with a frown.  But Clara,
obviously sensing that she was home, stepped over the thresh and
immediately headed for her bedroom.

Becca hurried to catch up with her to make sure she run into anything
in the darkened house, but her was on familiar turf and smoothly
avoided any obstacles in her path, finally reaching her bed.  With a
sigh that seemed to come from deep in her soul, she stretched out,
adjusted her pillow, then pulled the covers up to her chin.  Within
seconds, she was snoring loudly enough to rattle the windows.

Becca laughed softly, half expecting Clara to pop back up again, but
whatever worry had sent the woman out -into the night had obviously
eased--she was in a deep sleep and wouldn't, Becca knew from
experience, move so much as a muscle the rest of the night.  Relieved,
Becca

' ?

quietly wished her good-night and returned to the living room, where
Riley was waiting for her.

Wishing she had a robe, she contented herself with folding her arms
across her chest.  The second her eyes met Riley's, however, she knew
it was a wasted effort.  The knowledge was them in his hot gaze--he'd
had ample opportunity to look his fill outside in the revealing light
of her own floodlights.

Lifting her chin defiantly, she cursed her fair skin and the blush that
burned so readily in her cheeks.

"Her head hardly hit the pillow and she was snoring to beat the
band."

He didn't miss the mutinous set of her jaw.  or her blush.  God, she
had beautiful skin!  Tracing the color in her cheeks and throat with
his eyes, he found himself wondering how deep it went, how hot it
burned.  It was not, he reflected, as his blood started to warm, the
kind of thing a smart man would consider when a lady was all but naked
before him.  Right now, however, he didn't feel like a particularly
smart man.

His throat desert dry, he swallowed and had to force himself to
concentrate on the conversation.

"I can't believe she was heading right for the road.  If you hadn't
seen her and tried to stop her, she probably would have stepped right
out in front of my car.  Does she do this often?"

"Too often for comfort," Becca replied.

"Though it's usually when she's had an especially tiring or upsetting
day.  I'll talk to Lucille and Margaret in the morning and see if they
know of anything that might have set her off."

"Do you think she should be left alone?"  he asked worriedly as Becca
started to turn the lights out and lock up.

"What if she gets up again after you've gone to bed?

She could wander out into the desert and get lost.  " ~

"She'll be fine," she assured him, understanding his concern.  The
first time she'd seen Clara walking in her sleep in the middle of the
night, it had scared her to death.  She'd taken her neighbor home with
her and had watched her like a hawk for hours, afraid to take her eyes
off her for fear she'd disappear when her back was turned.

"She's gotten her exercise for the evening.  She won't budge again
until morning."

Following him out, she pulled the front door shut behind her, then
checked to make sure it was securely locked.  When she turned around,
she expected to find Riley heading for his patrol car.  Instead, he was
waiting~,.

patiently for her, standing so close that she drew in the' faint, clean
scent of his cologne with every breath she took.

"I'll walk you home," he said huskily.

"Oh, you don't have to do that" -- "I know I don't.  But you shouldn't
be walking around like that at this time of night."  Or any other time,
he almost added, taking her elbow in a firm grasp.  Touching was a
mistake, of course, He knew it the minute he felt the silken softness
of her skin under his fingers.  She would ~?  feel like that all over.
or better.  Somehow he knew it in r~his soul.

Later, Becca never knew how she managed to walk the short distance to
her house.  Her legs had this strange tendency to tremble and she
couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs.

What little breath she was able to drag in was released in a ragged
sigh of relief when they finally reached her front porch.

But when she turned at the steps to thank him for helping her, he kept
walking, and she either had to back up the steps or find herself
plastered to his chest.  Shocked and panicked, she abandoned the need
to stand her ground

?

and shot up onto the porch like a scalded cat.  She had only to catch
the hot, purposeful glint in his narrowed eyes, however, to know that
wasn't going to stop him.  Taking another step away from him, she
backed right into her front door.  And that stiffened her spine as
nothing else could have.  She wasn't some inexperienced young thing who
let a man take what she wasn't willing to give.

"I think we need to get something straight right now, Whitaker," she
said with a coolness she was darn proud of.

"I've married and buried a husband.  I'm not looking for a man."

His hands settled on the door on either side of her shoulders, allowing
him to trap her in front of him without so much as laying a finger on
her.  In the deep shadows of the porch, untouched by the floodlights,
he was as serious as she.

"Good,"

" he growled.

"Because I'm not looking for a relationship, either.  Once was
enough."

So he'd been involved with someone in the past, someone who had burned
him badly enough that he didn't want to repeat the experience.  Becca
didn't know why she was so surprised--the man was in his mid-thirties,
and you could look at that wonderful, rugged face of his and see that
he hadn't lived in a vacuum.  But in a small town like Lordsburg, where
gossip was as free as the wind that blew off the desert, she'd never
heard so much as a whisper about his love life.

Stifling her curiosity, she let out the breath she hadn't realized she
was holding.  He was going to be reasonable about this.

"Then we finally agree on something.  Will wonders never cease?"

He nodded curtly.

"Just so we understand each other."  And with no more warning than
that, he snatched her away from the door and into his arms, taking her
mouth

99 the way he'd been aching to from the moment he'd first laid eyes on
her.

He'd lain awake nights wondering what she would taste like, feel like
in his arms, his bed.  And it was a hell of a thing, wondering.  It
took control of a man's thoughts and drove him crazy, until he found
himself acting like a green kid who wouldn't know what to do with a
woman if he had one.  And he didn't like it, damn it!

So it had to end.  Now.  He was going to kiss her till her knees melted
and he got his fill of her.  Until he ended the mystery that was Becca
Prescott and the fascination she held for him.

It was that simple.  Maybe then he'd be able to sleep nights.

Nothing, he quickly discovered, was that simple when it came to the
woman in his arms.  From the second his mouth swooped down to hers, she
wasn't what he'd expected.  She was always so sassy with him, so sure
of herself, that he'd have sworn she'd either jerk out of his arms with
a stinging rebuke or return the kiss with a passion that seemed to be
as much a part of her as her dancing green eyes.

But she did neither.  The minute his arms closed around her, she went
as still as a deer caught in the scope of ~ ~ hunter's rifle, her mouth
parting in a gasp of surprise, her lips trembling with a hesitancy that
nearly cut him off at~ the knees.  And against his chest, he could feel
the sudden rush of her thudding heart.

In the blink of an eye, the heat she stirred in him was ten times
hotter, the ache he'd attributed to lust changing to something far more
dangerous.  Something that resembled the lost innocence he'd never
expected to feel again;

something that called to him in the night and whispered of softness and
trust and sweetness of spirit.  Something that was impossible to walk
away from.

:

Murmuring her name, he dragged her closer, and could no more stop
himself from deepening the kiss than he could have stopped the rising
of the moon.  Too long, he thought with a groan, his mind clouding as
her tongue shyly greeted his.  It had been too long since he'd held a
woman, too long since he'd lost himself in the touch and feel and taste
of one.  And even then, it hadn't felt anything like this.  One taste
of Becca Prescott's intoxicating mouth, and he knew the lady could take
him apart and put him back together again.

The thought cut through the desire clouding his brain as nothing else
could.  Jerking back suddenly, he stared down at her as if he'd never
seen her before.  Dammit, who was this woman who'd walked into his life
and turned it upside down?  As stunned as he, she gazed up at him with
wide, dazed eyes, her lips still parted from his kiss, her breath
revealingly uneven in the tense silence.  And it was all he could do
not to reach for her again.

Biting back an oath, he took a quick step away from her.  while he
still could.

"Next time you go chasing after Clara in the middle of the night," he
growled, "throw some clothes on first.  You shouldn't be walking around
like that."

Thoroughly rattled, Beeca sank back against the solid wood of the front
door.  Her knees boneless, her heart thundering, she watched Riley walk
away with the long,

quick, agitated strides of a man who should have been
someplace--anyplace--else ten minutes ago.

Hugging herself, she desperately tried to shrug off the entire incident
as just a kiss.  But if what she and Riley had just shared was nothing
more than a kiss, then Niagara was just another waterfall.  Suddenly
struggling with hysterical laughter, she pressed her hand to her mouth,
but she might as well have tried to hold back a flood with a couple of
sandbags.  Dear God, what had she done?  She'd kissed him, really
kissed him, and she still didn't know what had possessed her.

She hadn't been lying when she'd told him she didn't want a man.

There'd been a time when she'd thought the sun rose and set in Tom
Prescott's shoes, but because of his unreasonable possessiveness, that
love hadn't survived their marriage.  He hadn't trusted her out of his
sight, and even though she'd fought against the restraints he'd tried
to put on her, once he got sick, she'd found herself giving in just to
keep the peace.  And in the process, she'd lost part of her soul.

Never again, she'd promised herself.  Never again would she let a man
and her love for him control her.  She had her daughter, her' home, and
answered to no one.  That was all she needed--she'd make sure of it.

Given the chance, she would have gone five miles out of the way to
avoid Riley after that, but the competition at the high school gym was
scheduled for the following evening.  And although she spent most of
the rest of that night and all the next day racking her brain for a
graceful way to back out, there simply was none.  If she expected to
have even a staidgert of a chance of winning the election, she had to
go and do what she'd promised to do-prove herself to Riley Whitaker and
everyone in Hidalgo County who had doubts about her.  "

But how, dear Lord, was she supposed to face the man without
remembering the feel of his arms around her and the heat of his mouth
on hers?  she wondered wildly as she dressed for the event in a
shortsleeved cotton blouse, jeans and tennis shoes.  Just thinking
about it made her breath hitch and her heart do crazyttip-flops in her
breast.

And her face.  God, She had a face that registered her every

?

thought, eyes that reflected her volatile emotions like a mirror.  The
second he looked at her, he'd know she'd thought of nothing but him
since he'd kissed her.  How was she supposed to touch him, handcuff
him, after that?

"You look funny, Mom," Chloe said suddenly from the bedroom doorway.

"Are you sick?"

Hearing the horror in her daughter's voice, Becca laughed.  Chloe was
so excited about her competition with Riley that she'd hardly talked of
anything else for days.  She'd never understand if Becca had to back
out.

"No, sweetheart, I'm fine.  Just a little nervous.  Have you got your
overnight bag packed?"

Chloe nodded and held up the Garfield duffel bag she'd packed for a
sleep-over at her friend Karen's house after the competition.  Her eyes
wide, she confided, "Karen's dad said you might be on TV."

Since the nearest television station that might be interested in the
election was in Santa Fe, Becca couldn't see that happening.

"I'm sure Mr.  Jacobs means well, honey, but I doubt that Channel 5 is
going to send a crew all the way out here.  In fact, I'll be lucky if a
hundred people are there tonight, but that's okay.  I can use all the
votes I can get."

Her hair braided in a long plait down her back, she checked her
appearance in the mirror one more time, then squared her shoulders and
flashed her daughter a grin.

"If somebody does show up with a camera, at least I won't look like a
wild woman with my hair dancing all over my head.  C'mon, let's go."

With Chloe at her side in the Jeep, Becca headed for town, telling
herself she was ready for anything.  But/ nothing could have prepared
her for the cars that filled the parking lot at the high school and
spilled out onto the surrounding streets.  It looked like everyone in
the county was there.

"There's Margaret's car," Chloe exclaimed.

"And Mr.  Jacobs's.  And... wow!  Look, More!"  Straining against her
seat belt, she pointed to a van with the call letters of a Santa Fe
television station painted on the side.

"Mr.  Jacobs was right.  You are going to be on TV!"

"It certainly looks that way," Becca agreed, stunned.  Running late
because of the unextx~ted traffic jam around the school, she finally
parked in a loading zone next to Riley's patrol car, then hurried
toward the gym with Chloe's hand firmly tucked in hers.  People who had
not yet found seats inside greeted her like an old friend, making her
feel not only as if she were welcome, but as if she belonged.

With excitement skittering along her nerve endings, she stepped into
the gym, only to stop short, a surprised grin spreading across her
mouth.  She'd thought she'd known what to expect, but nothing could
have prepared her for the sight of the rowdy crowd that packed the old
building to the rafters.  Like opposing schools at a championship
basketball game, they'd divided the gym down the middle, with the women
taking possession of the stands on the right, the men on the left.

Becca's first instinct was to laugh, but there really was nothing funny
about what was going on here.  She hadn't challenged Riley because she
was abra burner trying to make a statement.  She just wanted a job; it
was that simple.

But somehow, without her quite knowing how it had happened, she'd
become the champion of women's rights in a part of the country where
male chanvinlsm was alive and well.

The women of Hidalgo County were looking to her to make some changes in
the status quo, and she couldn't let them down.

?

Someone spotted her then and the cheers began.  And the boos.  Becca
chuckled, not the least offended.  Like her or not, at least most of
the voters now knew who she was.  Turning to Chloe, who was starting to
look apprehensive, she leaned down to give her a big hug.

"Don't worry about the booing, honey.  Remember, this is all just in
fun.

Nobody's mad.  "

"Will they be when you win?"

Becca chuckled, hugging her again.

"I don't know.  We'll have to wait and find out.  Now, why don't you go
sit with Karen and her mom and I'll see you later?  I saw them in the
front row right where we came in, and it looks like this shindig's
about to get started."

The crowd, too, had sensed the beginning of the evening's
competition.

Excited whispers rose in volume at the exact moment Becca spied Riley,
already in the middle circle of the basketball court.  He wore his
uniform, but had removed his boots and stood in his stockinged feet
near several gym mats that someone had laid out earlier.

Flanked by a number of local ranchers, who were slapping him on the
back, he had apparently seen her the moment she stepped into the gym.

You wanted a fight, lady.  You got one.  It's time to put up or shut
up.

He didn't say a word, only nodded to her in greeting, but the message
came across loud and clear, not only to her, but to everyone in the
gym.  This was going to be a fight, all right.  No holds barred.

For just a second, doubt clutched at Becca's stomach, irritating her no
end.  Now was not the time to let the man see how easily he could
rattle her cage.  Forcing a cheeky grin, she was rewarded with his
quick scowl. So he thought he could beat her, did he?  she thought,
chuckling as she started toward him.  When toads flew.  Okay, so the
odds were against her.  That didn't mean she was beaten before she'd
even stepped on the mat.  All she had to do was catch the darn man by
surprise.

At her approach, he turned and raised his hands to quiet the crowd.

"Ladies and gentleman, if I could have your attention, please," he
began, glancing past her to the bleachers as she reached the edge of
the mat.

"I'm sure you all know why we're here .... " With the handcuffs she'd
brought ready and waiting in her pocket, Becca didn't wait to hear
more.  He half turned away from her to address the crowd in the
opposite bleachers, and she knew this was the only chance she was
likely to get.  Moving swiftly, she grabbed his left arm and jerked it
behind his back, snapping the cuffs into place before he could do
anything but stiffen in surprise.  A split second later, she had the
other arm dragged into position and cuffed.  The entire procedure had
taken less than ten seconds flat.

"What the hell!"  Riley snarled, whirling to face her as pandemonium
broke out in the stands.

"You want to tell me what the devil you think you're doing?"

' "Yeow, doggie, boy!"  Margaret yelled from the stands, as every woman
in the gym jumped to her feet to cheer wildly.

"She's got you hog-tied, just like she said she would."

"Only because she caught me off guard," he retorted over the loud
cheering of the women.

"A criminal wouldn't make the mistake of turning his back on her."

"Yeah," one of the men yelled from the bleachers.

"Take the cuffs off and try it again.  Let's see how good you are, Mrs.
Prescott, when your man's ready for you."

It was an out-and-out dare, one that the rest of the men quickly
seconded.  Riley, more than willing to shamelessly use his friends
grumblings to his advantage, shot her

? a tight grin.

"Yeah, Mrs.  Prescott," he taunted in a soft voice that didn't carry
past her ears.

"Take the cuffs off.  This time I guarantee I'll be ready for you."

She wouldn't stand a chance and they both knew it.  But what other
choice did she have?

"All right," she finally agreed, loudly enough for both him and his
supporters to hear.

"But just for the record, a good law-enforcement officer takes her
breaks where she can get them."  Moving behind him, the thunder of her
heart picking up speed, she unlocked the cuffs, then sprang back before
he could even think about reaching for her.

But Riley had no intention of playing the' game that way.  He wanted
her to anticipate this, to know that no matter what she did, there was
no way she was going to win.  His eyes gleaming at the thought, he
motioned for her to take a position opposite him on the gymnastic mat.
Hushed silence fell over the crowd.

"You're going down, lady," Riley promised with a grim smile as they
circled each other like wrestlers looking for a weakness.

"So just get ready."

"Oh, yeah?"  she teased, hoping to distract "That's pretty big talk
from a man who just got his butt whipped by a shrimp of a woman in
front of half the county.  Maybe you should get one of your deputies
to

As far as digs went, it was a good "One.  Riley should have been
furious.  Instead, he found himself wanting to laugh.  Damn her, how
was he supposed to concentrate when he was constantly fighting a
grin?

"Don't worry, sweetheart.  I can handle you just fine all by myself.

Watch out.  Here I come.  "

It was the only warning she got.  He lunged toward her, feinted to her
left, then quick as lightning hooked his right

II

foot behind hers.  Gasping, she started to fall .  and threw her arms
around his neck.

"Son of a..."  Caught off guard, his arms suddefiy full of Becca's
womanly curves, Riley felt the groun~ shift under his feet as he took
her weight, but it happened so fast, there was nothing he could do to
save either me of them.  Swearing, he crashed to the mat like a fallen
log, managing at the last second to throw himself to tie side so that
he wouldn't crush Becca like a grape.  With ~ grunt of discomfort, he
landed hard on his side with her still in his arms.

Laughter erupted around them, but all Riley head was Becca's startled
gasp and the sudden roar of his blood in his ears as his eyes dropped
to hers.  With her legs tangled with his, her arms still tight around
his neck and every sweet inch of her molded to him, all he could think
about was kissing her.  Again.

He now knew what she tasted like, would go to hi~ grave remembering the
way she'd melted all over him las~ night like a man's worst fantasy.
Twenty-four hours laer, he was still burning.

':

~ He never remembered movin-~', but suddenly he was on his feet and
leaning down to help her up.  Over his outstretched hand, turbulent
green eyes locked with blue, and a blind man could have seen she was as
shaken as 12e.  But she didn't hesitate to accept his help, not when a
thousand people were watching their every move.

It was a mistake, touching her again.  He.  knew it the second his
fingers closed around hers.  Heat swept fl: rough him, scorching him
from the inside out.  Needing so,he air, he dropped her hand as soon as
she was on her fee~.

"Well, I don't know about you, ladies and gentlemen," he told the crowd
gruffly, "but I think we're going to have to call this a draw."  That,
of course, didn't go

? over well with half the crowd.  Raising his hand, he stopped the
boos with a charming grin.

"Come on, guys, gimme a break.

I'm in a no-win situation here.  I can't hurt the lady just to prove a
point.  And she did manage to get the cuffs on me.  So that makes
tonight's competition a draw.  We've still got two more to go.  "

"Well, hell, Riley," Wade Sellars drawled in disgust.

"Why do you want to put yourself through the hassle of all that? You've
already proven you're more physically fit.  It looks to me like you
win, hands down.  " "You just stop right there, Wade Sellars," his
wife, Amanda, ordered sternly from across the gym.  Usually a meek
woman, she planted her fists on her thin hips and stared at her husband
in growing indignation.

"All the sheriff proved is that he's bigger than Becca.  Well,
surprise, surprise.  Tell us something we don't know.  She'll hold her
own in the cross-country run--you just wait."  Flushed at being scolded
in public, Wade scowled right back at her.

"Hell, Mandy, she's a woman.  There's no way she can outrun him and you
know it."

"Are you saying a woman can't beat a man in a foot- race?"

The whole gym seemed to hold its collective breath.  Poor Wade, too
irritated with his wife to realize that he was standing on the edge of
a cliff, foolishly jumped off.

"You're darn right.  Isn't that just what I said?"

It was, unfortunately, the wrong thing to say.  Every woman in the
place rose to her feet in protest.  Amanda Sellars, huffing in outrage,
declared loudly, "I'll have you know I can outrun you any day of the
week!  And if you don't believe me, I just dare you to show up at the
cross- country race in your running shoes.  Because I'll have mine on.
Then we'll see who's faster, hotshot.  Just you wait."

In the blink of an eye, other wives were publicly challenging their
husbands, demanding that they be given a chance to prove themselves.
Stunned, Becca could only stand at Riley's side, struggling with the
laughter that suddenly bubbled in her throat as normally peaceful men
and women argued over who was stronger and faster.  Before all the
jawing died down, the cross-country run that had originally started out
as a competition between her and Riley had turned into a hotly debated
community-' wide race.  If she hadn't seen it with her own two eyes,
she never would have believed it.

Chapter 6

Everyone should have gone home soon after that, but no one seemed to
want to be the first to leave.  The women streamed down from the stands
to surround Becca, all talking at once as they congratulated her on
holding her own with Riley, who, like the rest of the men in the gym,
needed to be brought down a notch or two.  Laughing, touched by their
support, Becca tried to tell them that she'd never intended to stir up
trouble between them and their husbands--she just needed a job.  But no
one seemed to listen.

Shrugging off her concerns, several women assured her that not only
could they handle their men, they'd beat their butts on race day.

With her eyes frequently drawn like magnets across the gym to where
Riley stood surrounded by his own supporters, Becca didn't feel quite
as cocky.  Some of the women probably would beat their beer-drinking,
couch potato husbands.  But those men weren't in the same league with
Riley.

Where they were soft and out of shape,

he was as tough as a cedar fence post that had been hardened in the
blazing sun.  And quick.  Her pulse still racing, she didn't think
she'd ever forget how quickly he'd tripped her.  or the strength of his
arms when he'd wrapped her close as they were falling.

He looked up once and caught her watching him, and for a moment, she
could have sworn he knew what she was thinking.  He didn't smile,
didn't move a muscle, but something in the depths of his knowing blue
eyes told her he was remembering, too, what it was like to hold her.
and not just tonight.  Blushing, she quickly turned her back on him,
only to find herself facing Lucille and her two buddies across the gym.
Their knowing gazes swung back and forth from her to Riley, and they
were practically glowing with approval.

Groaning, she knew she should go over to them and tell them not to get
any ideas that their little plan was going to work.  But the television
reporter from Santa Fe stuck a microphone in her face then, wanting a
few comments about Riley, and Sydney needed her prediction on the
outcome of the competition still to come.  By the time Becca turned
around again, her neighbors were gone and the crowd was starting to
disperse.

Chloe, anxious to get on with her sleep-over at her friend's now that
the excitement was over for the evening, kissed her good-night and
happily darted off to join Karen and her parents.  But it was still
another fifteen minutes after that before Becca was able to get away
from the handful of excited women who wanted to linger.

Escaping outside, she waved to a few teachers from the elementary
school who called good-night to her, then made her way to the loading
zone where she'd left her Jeep.  The lot was emptying quickly, but
Riley's patrol car was still parked next to her, which wasn't
surprising.  He'd

? been deep in conversation with the Rawlings brothers and some of the
other local ranchers when she'd slipped out of the gym, and she doubted
he was going anywhere fast.

That was just fine with her.  Her senses were still vibrating from that
fall to the mat with him, and the last thing she needed was to run into
him in the dark.

But when she dipped behind the wheel of her Jeep and turned the key in
the ignition, nothing happened.  Absolutely nothing.

"Oh, no!"  she cried.  It couldn't be the' battery--she'd bought a new
one.

"You can't quit on me now," she declared, jiggling the key.

"Please!  Just get me home and you won't have to move for the rest of
the night."

But the Jeep wasn't going anywhere any time soon under its own power.

As silent and cold as a rock, it just sat there.  Muttering a curse,
Becca pushed open the driver's door, praying that Margaret and the
grannies hadn't left.

But when she looked around at the few cars left in the dark lot, none
of them were familiar.

"Damn!"

"Problems?"

Riley stepped out of the shadows, his voice a low ramble in the night,
sending her heart slamming against her fibs.

"Oh!  You scared me!"

"Sorry about that.  I thought you heard me walk up.  What's wrong?"

She didn't want to tell him, didn't want to ask him for help, not when
just the sound of his voice in the darkness turned her knees to water.
But the few people who hadn't left yet were parked at the other end of
the lot and total strangers to her.  Stuck, she blurted out, "I can't
get my Jeep started."

"Do you need a jump?  Is it your battery again?"  She shook her head.

"No, I just bought a new one, so it can't be that.  I don't know what
it is.  It's just dead."

"Try it again," he suggested, moving around to the front of the
four-wheel-drive vehicle to lift the hood.

She did as he asked, but just as before, nothing happened.  The motor
didn't so much as whimper when she turned the key.  Stepping back,
Riley let go of the hood, letting it slam back into place.

"I'm no mechanic, but it sounds to me like your starter's gone," he
told her, pulling his handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his
hands.

"Juan Martinez can tell you for sure in the morning when he opens his
garage."

"In the morning?"  she echoed in dismay.

"" Fraid so," he said.

"You can leave it here for the night and I'll give you a ride home.
Tomorrow you can call Juan and ask him to stop by and check it out for
you.  A starter's not all that complicated to install, and if you're
lucky, he'll be able to put one in for you right here."  With every
instinct shouting at her that she was in no condition to be alone with
him, she opened her mouth to politely refuse the offer, but the words
just wouldn't come.  They both knew it was the only logical solution,
and unless she was prepared to tell him why she didn't want to ride
with him, there wasn't much she could say.  Without a word, she
collected her purse and keys and joined him in his patrol car .  Within
seconds, they were headed out of town and swallowed up by the night,
the silence that separated them deeper than a chasm.  Aware of Riley's
every move, Becca stared straight ahead.  She was searching for a way
to break the quiet when his radio suddenly crackled to life.

"You got your ears up, Boss?"

Wincing at Myrtle's radio etiquette, Riley reached for the mike.

"I've got the rest of the night off, Myrtle.

Whatever the problem is, call Mark.  He can handle it.  "

?

"Not this one he can't," she retorted in disgust.

"Hank Crawford's on the rampage again."

His face carved in harsh lines, Riley swore.

"What set him off this time?"  ~ ~. :

"Dunno, but it's the same old same old.  He blamed Connie, just like he
always does.  Only this time, he threw a bottle at her and she ended up
getting cut."

"What?  Is she badly hurt?  Get an ambulance out there" -- "She's
already driven herself to the Rawlings Clinic," Myrtle said, cutting
in.

"But she said Hank was still raging when she left.  I thought you'd
want to know.  You're the only one who can handle him when he's like
this, and there's no telling what he's liable to do if I send Mark over
there."

Becca, blatantly eavesdropping, saw him hesitate and said quietly,
"Don't let me stop you from taking the call.

Chloe's spending the night with a friend from school, so I'm in no
hurry to get home.  And this sounds important.  "

It was, but she was the last person he wanted to take with him on a
call, especially when that meant tangling with Hank Crawford.  But
Myrtle was right--he did know just how unreasonable a drunk the man
could be, and' there was no time to waste.

"I'm on my way," he said into the mike.

"Call Connie back at the clinic and tell her not to go anywhere until I
get there."

"I thought you'd see it my way," Myrtle retorted with the smugness of
an old employee who knew her position was secure.

Riley scowled at the radio, but before he could respond, she'd cut the
connection.  Switching on his flashing lights, he warned Becca to hang
on.  ~' ~

The Crawford place was fifteen miles south of town and consisted of a
desolate trailer on a rough plot of land that seemed to be growing only
rocks and cacti.  Stripped of color by the night and Riley's
headlights, it was hardly a welcoming sight.  Someone had tried to
brighten the place up with pots of hot pink bougainvillea, but nothing
could help the peeling metal of the mobile home or the screen door that
hung unevenly on its rusted hinges, creaking to the rhythm of the
wind.

Surrounded by the emptiness of the desert, it was the most depressing
place Becca had ever seen in her life.

Hugging herself, she wondered what kind of people would cling to a plot
of dust that looked like it should have blown away years ago.

"Stay here," Riley ordered as he threw the car into park and pushed
open his door.

"Hank doesn't take kindly to strangers, especially women, when he's
drinking."  He was gone before she could object, his long legs quickly
carrying him to the trailer's open front door, where light from the
bare bulb hanging from the ceding sp'filed out onto the weathered
porch.  Hesitating there, he frowned at the silence that shrouded the
place, not liking it one little bit.  Hank had a tendency to yell and
throw things when he was in a rage, and the quiet just didn't feel
right.

"Hank?  You home?"  he called, knocking on the doorjamb.

"It's Riley Whitaker.  I heard you had a little trouble out here.  I'm
coming in."

Becca watched him cautiously disappear into the trailer and had to
consciously remind herself that this wasn't Dallas or her call.  She
was a civilian, and Riley knew what he was doing.  He'd made it clear
he didn't need any help from her, and she wasn't going to interfere.

?

But seconds turned into minutes, and her ears started to ring with the
creepy silence that surrounded her.  Still there was no sign of Riley
or the notorious Hank.  Frowning, Becca couldn't stop thinking about
what Myrtle had said about Hank--that he'd just cut his wife, and Riley
was the only one who could handle him .  Refusing to question the
wisdom of her actions, she pushed' open her door.  She didn't care if
Hank Crawford disliked strangers or women, she wasn't going to just sit
there and twiddle her thumbs while Riley walked into possible danger.

And if he didn't like it, that was tough!  She didn't knock at the
front door as Riley had, but simply stepped over the threshold as
quietly as possible.  The living room--or what was left of it--was in
shambles and deserted.  Following the rumble of male voices, she
soundlessly made her way to what turned out to be the kitchen.

"I didn't mean to hurt her," the grizzly faced man seated at the small
kitchen table cried, tears streaming down his unshaven cheeks.

"You know I would never harm a hair on her head, Riley.  I love her."

"I know you do," Riley told him.

"Connie knows it, too.  Now put the gun down, Hank, before you hurt
yburself.  You've done enough damage for one night."  It was only then
that Becca saw the shotgun cradled in the drunken man's arms like a
baby.  She swallowed a quick gasp, but it was too late.  Riley didn't
spare her a glance, but his back was suddenly as stiff as a fence post
and she knew he'd heard her.

Ignoring her, Riley slowly approached the older man and held out his
hand.

"Give me the gun, Hank.  You know Connie will have my hide if I let you
blow your head off."

"She's a good woman," the other man sniffed, meekly handing over the
gun.

"Too good for the likes of me.  Oh, God, I love her?"  And with that,
he burst into tears and buried his head in his hands.

Quickly unloading the shotgun, Riley set it out ~)f reach by the back
door.  The second he straightened, his narrowed eyes swung to Beeca in
the doorway.

"Get out of here," he mouthed before turning his attention to the
blubber hag drunk at the table.

"C'mon, man, let's get you to bed.

Then I'm going to drive over to the Rawlings Clinic and check on
Connie.  "

Stunned, Becca realized that instead of arresting Crawford, he was
going to put him to bed!  Outraged, she opened her mouth to protest,
but after one look at Riley fierce expression, she choked back the
words.  She wouldn't push the issue.  for now.  Not when Crawford was
likely to explode into another rage if he caught sight of her there.
But this discussion wasn't over.  Not by a long shot.

Retreating to the car, she waited impatiently for Riley join her, but
it was several long moments before he finally stepped out of the
trafier.  The minute he slid in be- inside her, she turned on him.

"I can't believe you did rot hat

~ "Did what?"

"Put that man to bed when you should have been reading him his rights!
He hurt his wife, for God's sakes!

Don't you think you should have at least taken him in to sleep it off?
What's he going to do when she comes home?

Throw another bottle at her?  "

"It won't do any good to take him in," he retorted as he turned around
and headed down the rocky driveway.

"Connie won't press charges."

"But he cut her!  She had to go to the doctor."

Becca was so outraged, she could hardly sit still, and high school and
Riley was giving me a ride home when he had the circumstances been
different, Riley would have got the call about the Crawfords.  "

grinned.  He couldn't imagine any man, drunk or sober,

"Oh, that's right," Josey said, snapping her fingers as being stupid
enough to throw a bottle at her.  not if he she remembered the
competition that had been the talk of wanted to live to tell about it.
But not all women were as the county all week.

"Tonight was the big event.  So who

- feisty as Becca Prescott.  A hell of a lot of them--too won?  "

many--not only took the ugliness their men dished out to

Becca's eyes started to dance.

"I handcuffed him just them, but kept coming back for more.  He'd seen
it hap like I said I would."

pen time and time again, and for the life of him, he still ii~ "It was
a draw and you know it," Riley argued.

couldn't understand it.  or do a damn thing about it.

Just then, the door to one of the examining rooms

"I know it doesn't make sense, but you'll understand opened and Connie
Crawford stepped into the hall that what we're up against when you meet
Connie Crawford.

went to the waiting area.  A pale slip of a woman with wiry,

It's hard to help a woman who doesn't want to be iron gray hair, she
wore a shapeless housedress that was helped.  "

splattered with blood.  Hugging her stitched left arm to her flat
breasts, she started to sputter excuses the minute she

The Rawlings Clinic was a converted farmhouse out in i looked up _a,n.
d saw _"Ri_'ley.  , .... the middle of ranch country and the brainchild
of Jose- ii

It wasn't Hank's fault, she whimpered.  I didn't phi ne Rawlings and
her sister-in-law, Tate, who together :'l have supper ready when he got
in, and I should have.  He offered the on!  medical service for for
miles The two :

works hard out in all kinds of weather, and the least I can yy ty

;

,

en had established the clinic close to home so at least worn do ~s make
sure he s got something to eat when he comes

in at night That's not too much for a man to ask, you one of them was
always available, and it was a godsend to ~:~!  ~'~; ,i '

the ranchers and cowboys who lived south of town.

Josey Rawlings, on call that night, met Riley at the?  [:~~ ms c'm,
se~en race carven m narsn trees, muey g~ancea at -front door.

"She's in the examining room getting

~Jo~y.

How badly ,d!  d he cut her?  "

Twenty stitches, she replied promptly "She claims ores seAl she salo,
obviously expecting him.

I trlell to

~ 'l _

"'

"' II

It was an accident.

talk to her, but you know how she is.  When she slid "It was," the
older woman insisted stubbornly.

"You demy noticed Becca, her eyes widened slightly in rccog know how
Hank gets when he's disappointed with me.  He nit ion before her lips
twitched in a slow smile.

"I'm not was waving his arms around, and the beer bottle he was going
to ask what the two of you are doing together--it's

~. holding just happened to slip and crash' into the wall next a full
moon and we've had all sorts of crazies in here toto me.  He was as
sick as I was when a piece of glass acci night.  "

dentally stuck in my arm.  "

Becca laughed.

"I know it looks strange, but believe it

"If that bottle slipped, it slipped on purpose, sweet or not, there is
an explanation.  My car broke down at the heart," Riley told her
gently, escorting her over to one of

?

the plastic chairs that lined the waiting area.  Squatting down
directly in front of her, he took her hand and patted it like she ~as a
child who needed soothing.

"You've got to quit making excuses for him, Connie.  This time he
didn't just yell at you, he hurt you.  And that's inexcusable-" "He
didn't ~nean to" -- Ignoring the interruption, Riley squeezed her
fingers.

"You don't have to let him get away with it.  Not this time.

We've finally got something more than Verbal abuse against him.  All
you have to do is just press charges.  "

"Oh, but I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he insisted patiently.

"I know you don't want to believe it, but he's abusing you, and you're
the only one ~who can stop it."

"But he'll 10e so ashamed in the morning," she murmured, her big brown
eyes begging him to understand.

"He was already crying when I left."

"Tears come easily to a drunk, Connie.  They aren't worth the water
they're made of."  ~ He might as well have saved his breath.  Lost in
her misery, she could only shake her head and rock back and forth
pitifully.

"I can't.  Don't ask this of me.  I can't do it."

She barely spoke above a whisper, but after all the fights he'd
refereed between her and Hank, Riley knew when she'd made up her mind.
He could talk until he was blue in the face, but he wasn't going to get
anywhere with her tonight.

Sighing in defeat, "he gave her hand one last consoling pat and rose to
his feet.

"If you can't do it, then you can't."

"She's going to spend the rest of the night here in the back room,"
Josey said quietly.

"I'm on call till seven, SO I'll be here to make sure no one bothers
her."  A haven for the night.

It seemed like a pitiful offer for a woman who had just been
brutalized, but it was the most Connie would let any of them do for
her.  Frustrated, Riley said to Josey, "If you have any trouble, don't
hesitate to call me.  When I left Hank, he was blubbering like a baby,
but there's no telling how long that's going to last.

Once he gets tired of feeling sorry for himself, he could be mad at the
world and come looking for someone to blame all his troubles on.  "

More than capable of taking care of herself, Josey nodded, her eyes
glinting with promise.

"His wife might take that kind of crap from him," she retorted in a low
voice that didn't carry to Connie, "but he'd better think twice before
he tangles with me.  And if Gable finds out he so much as looked at me
wrong, he'll make him wish he'd never been born."

Knowing how protective her husband was of her, Riley couldn't help but
grin.

"Even drunk as a skunk, Hank's ~'-~ ~of that stupid."

:~~ Minutes later, they were back in the patrol car and heading
cross-country, taking small, deserted two-lane ranch roads to Becca's
house rather than going the longer route back through town.  This time,
however, there were no static-filled calls from Myrtle on the radio to
break the silence, which seemed to stretch for miles.

Shooting Becca a quick look, Riley tried to read her expression, but it
was impossible in the dark.  She was too quiet, too still.  What was
going on in that head of hers, anyway?  he wondered, scowling at the
empty road in front of him.  Was she already trying to find a way to
use to122 ?

night against him in the campaign?  Hell, he'd never even thought about
that when he'd taken the call.

Cursing himself for forgetting even for a moment that she was his
opponent, he drove all the way to her house without saying a word. Half
expecting her to let him have it then, he almost dropped his teeth when
she suddenly turned to him and said into the silence, "I'm sorry I
jumped all over you at the Crawford place.  After seeing the wife, I
realize you handled the situation the only way you could."

Stunned, Riley made no attempt to hold back the devilish grin that
twisted one corner of his mouth.

"You hit your head when I tripped you in the gym, didn't you?  Damn, I
should have had Josey take a look at you ihstead of Connie.  You've
obviously scrambled your brains."

"I did not!"  she said, laughing.

"Darn you, Riley, I'm serious."  "Then it must be a fever," he replied,
surprising them both when he playfully reached over to feel her
forehead.

"One of those quick things that sneaks up on you when you're not
looking and flattens you.  You know the kind."

With his hand brushing her hair back from her brow, heating her skin,
she knew exactly what he meant.  Every time he touched her, she felt as
if she'd been run over by a train.

Already her heart was racing, her breath short, and she couldn't seem
to think straight.  otherwise, she would never have been sitting here
in his car in the dark," letting him charm her.  -~ ~ Fore'rag herself
to shake off his hand, she warned, " It's not every day I sing your
praises, tough guy.  If I've got a fever, I just might not remember any
of this tomorrow.  "

"Oh, yeah?"

Grinning, he switched off the motor and turned in his seat until he was
facing her, his back wedged comfortably against his door and his arm
stretched out across the top of the seat.

"So you're singing my praises, huh?  I like the sound of that.  Tell me
more."  Thinking more clearly now that he wasn't touching her, she
copied his position and settled back against the passenger door, the
mischief in her eyes hidden by the darkness

"Okay, so you impressed me.  I admit it.  But I should also warn you
that I thought Slinky toys were pretty nifty things, too, when I first
came across one.  Then I discovered they weren't good for much."

"Watch it, short stuff," he growled, giving her braid a quick warning
tug.

"I'm bigger than you are.  And in case you've forgotten, I can trip you
up whenever I want.  And I'll bet that's something very few men can say
about you.

You're one tough customer, lady.  "

He was teasing, his blue eyes glinting with smug amusement, and had no
idea that truer words had never been spoken.  Since her husband's
death, she hadn't made it easy for a man to trip her up--physically or
emotionally.

But Riley had a way of sneaking up on a woman, she decided, the back of
her neck tingling from the sweep of his fingers as he slowly released
her braid.  Steady as a rock, he was incredibly easy to lean on, to
trust, to like more than she should.  She could turn to him, laugh with
him, kiss him, and not once give a thought to the fact that they were
both running for the same office.

Her pulse started to throb and she fumbled for the door handle.

"It's late.  Thanks for the ride."

He should have let her go.  The air in the car was suddenly thick with
tension, close with expectation, and she wanted to run from it as badly
as he did.  But he'd learned a long time ago that there were some
things you just couldn't run from.  Giving in to the need that seemed
to come from the depth of his soul, he reached out to her.

?

"Don't," he said hoarsely, closing his hands over her shoulders.

"Stay awhile longer."

She wanted to--he could see it in her eyes.

"I shouldn't.  Dammit, Riley, this isn't smart!"

Smart or not, he wasn't letting her out of there until he kissed her.

"Do you always do what's smart, Mrs.  Prescott?"

He knew just h w to push her buttons.  Her eyes flashing at the mocking
taunt, she glared at him, and that was all the invitation he needed.
Tightening his fingers, he tugged her across the seat and covered her
mouth with his.

He'd promised himself he'd be satisfied with just one kiss.  A
thorough, possessive, toe-curling kiss.  But every time he tasted her,
it was like the first time all over again.

Surprise, heat, need .  emotions came out of nowhere like a tidal wave
to swamp him and drag him underlie couldn't think and didn't give a
damn.  Only one need registered: more.  He wanted--craved--more.  Just
that easily, one kiss drifted into another.

She was going to stop this nonsense any second now.  The thought
whispered through Becca's dazed brain only to fizzle into steam like a
single drop of rain on hot pavement when his big, strong hands slid
down to her waist, her hips, silently urging her closer.  Somehow, she
should have found the strength to resist.  But Riley was a man who
could tempt a woman to take a risk with nothing more than a kiss, a
caress, a murmur of need.  His sure hands cupped her breasts, tenderly,
gently, and every nerve ending in her body tightened in response.  He
made her want.  more than she should.

"Riley..."

Riley had never heard his name called with such longing.  Or panic. She
suddenly seemed to be churning with agitation, and it was that
vulnerability, not his own come

mon sense, that brought him abruptly back to earth.

"Easy," he whispered.

"Take it easy.  It's okay, honey."

But she was trembling, hardly listening.

"I can't do this.  I can't take the risk.  I just can't."

She tried to push out of his arms then, her breathing-.  ragged, but he
wasn't letting her go anywhere.  Not until he got some answers.  But
when he caught her face in his hands, `?45.' refusing to let her look away, he
was stunned to see tears in her eyes.

"You want to tell me what's going on here?"  he asked quietly.

"It was just a couple of kisses, sweetheart.  Nothing to get upset
about."

Feeling miserable, she would have given anything to believe that, but
she knew better.  She'd never been the type of woman who was free and
easy with her kisses.  If she let a man get that close, she was in
trouble.  And Riley was the first man she'd let touch her in years.
Shaken, she wiped impatiently at the tears that spilled over her lashes
and struggled for control.

"You don't understand.  I don't want to get involved.  With anyone.  I
won't go through that again."

Something in her tone had his eyes narrowing.

"Through what?"  ~. ~ -i~ "The possessiveness, the distrust.  I
couldn't go to the ~store without having to account for every second I
was gone."

In her distress, she told him more about her marriage with those few
words than she'd ever told anyone, and that horrified her.  She saw
understanding dawn in his eyes and could have died of shame right there
and then.  Stiffening, she said, "Don't look at me like that.  I'm not
another Connie Crawford.  I'm not one of those women who has to have a
man, even a jerk, rather than no man at all."  Even if he hadn't known
she'd been the sole support of her daughter for the last five years,
Riley would have

?

known that.  You only had to look at her to tell that she didn't let
men dump on her.  But she'd obviously had major problems with her
husband.

"I know that.  So what happened?"  ;

"I loved Tom," she said simply.

"And at times I hated him.  He had this problem with control, and we
fought about it all the time.  I thought if I just loved him enough,
was patient enough, he would learn to trust me out of his sight.  But
he never did."

"Yet you stayed with him."  ~ She didn't deny it.

"He got sick."

And her conscience wouldn't let her walk out on a man with cancer.

She didn't say the words, but the knowledge was there in her eyes.

"Not every man is like Tom, Becca."

She knew that, but she didn't need it pointed out by a man who made her
strong-willed husband look like a wimp.

"Maybe not," she agreed, jerking open the door.

"I'm not a very good judge of that kind of thing.  I fell in love with
Tom and married him before I ever knew what he was really like."

With that parting shot, she was gone before Riley could stop her,
bolting inside and slamming the door as if he was the one who was a
threat to her.  And it hurt, damn it!  He wasn't Tom Prescott.  He
wasn't so insecure that he had to have his woman constantly in sight to
be sure of her.  His woman.

Like a switchblade between the ribs, the thought brought him up short.
Sucking in a sharp breath, he stared at the dark windows of her house,
his thoughts whirling.  When had he started to think of her as his?

From the first moment he'd laid eyes on her.  r~ Snarling a came, he
started the car with a savage twist of his wrist and shot out of her
driveway, deliberately dredging up memories to rebuild the protective
walls around his heart.  Even after ten years, they were all too vivid.
A night much like this one.  A female partner who should have been
there to back him up but was nowhere to be found.  A blast of gunfire,
an agent--a friend-- dead.  He'd still been reeling from the shock of
it when he'd come home to find his wife gone, his bank account
emptied.

No, he told himself grimly as he headed for home.  He had to be wrong
about his feelings for Becca.  If she thought her dead husband had been
a distrustful bastard, then she sure as hell didn't want to tangle with
him.

His mood sour, he pulled into the driveway of the small adobe house
he'd bought years ago on the north side of town and tried to remember
if he had any beer in the fridge.  It was a good night to get polluted.
Lost in his grim thoughts, he didn't see the unfamiliar blue sedan
parked across the street or the man waiting for him on the porch until
he was almost upon him.  Suddenly realizing he wasn't alone, he glanced
up and immediately recognized the long, tall figure slouched in one of
the metal patio chairs on the porch.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," he drawled, his rotten mood
forgotten as a slow smile spread across his face.

"You always did have a lousy sense of direction.  What happened?

You take a wrong turn at Tallahassee or what?  "

His broad grin flashing in the darkness, Dillon Cassidy pushed himself
to his feet.

"I guess you could say that.  I was in El Paso for a trial and figured
that was as close as I was ever going to get to your neck of the woods.
So I rented a car and drove over.  I tried calling, but you're a hard
man to track down.  Where the hell you been?"

?

"Playing the Lone Ranger," Riley said, chuckling as he unlocked the
front door.

"Come on inside.  Damn, how long has it been, man?  Six ... seven
years, maybe I think the last time I saw your ugly mug was at that
lawenforcement convention in Tucson."

Dillon nodded, his gray eyes glinting with wry humor.

"Yeah, we got into a discussion with those two thick headed FBI agents
who couldn't stop talking about how great they were.  God, I'd
forgotten about that.  Talk about a bunch of jerks."

That was all it took to start a trip down memory lane.  Riley
discovered he did have a couple of beers in the refrigerator, after
all, and they settled in two overstuffed recliners in the den to catch
up on all the news--agents they had both worked with, the lifers who
suffered through the bureaucracy and danger rather than give up their
badges, the hotshots who thrived on the risks they took.

Unstated was the knowledge that no matter what sacrifices were made,
they hardly put a dent in the drug trade.

"I've got to tell you, I thought you were crazy when you quit all those
years ago and ended up here, a million miles from nowhere," Dillon
confided as he leaned back in his reelinet and crossed his booted
feet.

"You'd been with the agency a lot longer than I had and could have
probably headed up a field office if you'd gone after it, but you just
walked away."

"I didn't have the stomach for the job anymore," Riley said flatly.

"Not after what Sybil pulled."

Dillon nodded, not surprised that it took only the mention of Riley's
former partner to turn his friend's jaw as hard as granite.  The trust
between partners had to be as strong as that between spouses, and
Sybil's betrayal had hit Riley and the agency hard.  His square face
pensive, he

1. shifted in the recliner and admitted gruffly, "I can't s that I
blame you.  In fact, I've been giving a lot of through lately to
chucking it all roy serf

In the process of washing Sybil's name from his long with the last of
his beer, Riley nearly choked.  One of t few men he would have trusted
with his life, Dillon w hard edged and tough and damn good at what he
did.  "You're going to quit?  You?  Mr.  Gung-ho Governme Job?  Mr.
Security?"

Dillon had to laugh.  Riley had him pegged, all rigl But then his
expression turned somber, his gray eyes dark as storm clouds.

"What security?  You and I be know that every day you step out on the
street with badge in your pocket is a day you could walk into an m
bush.  I'm sick of it.  Sick of the drugs.  Sick of the lowlifes
smugglers who have more firepower than an army."  Understanding
perfectly, Riley nodded.

"You can fig a losing battle only so long before you get burned out.  E
the quitting's not easy.  It's hard to walk away."

"Did you ever regret it?"

"No."  Riley didn't even have to think about it.

"Wh to see the light.

If I'd handed my resignation three years earlier, I might not have lc
He'd never admitted that before, not even to him se but looking back
with the objectivity that time aiwa brings, he found the truth right
there in front of his fac refusing to be ignored.

"She hated what I did.  I knew: but I was so caught up in the job that
I thought she wou adjust."

"She was awfully young."

It was a convenient excuse, one that Riley would ha latched on to in
the past.  But not tonight.

"No, I was jackass.  She accused me of caring more about the agen~

?

than I did about her fears, and she was probably right.  I'll never
forgive her for the way she left me, but I don't blame her for
divorcing me.  I deserved it.  " Surprised by the admission--in all the
years that he'd known him, Dillon had never heard him mention the end
of his marriage with anything but bitterness robe studied him
thoughtfully, trying to figure out what had caused the change in him.

"You're different.  What's going on?  It sounds like you've finally let
go of the past, and a man only does that when another woman comes on
the scene.

What's her name?  "

Caught off guard, Riley scowled, an image of Becca flashing before his
eyes, that saucy grin of hers softly teasing him.

"There's no one," he snapped, but Dillon's.  knowing grin told him he
might as well have saved his breath.  He knew him too well.  Disgusted,
he growled, "Becca.  Her name's Becca Prescott, and she's driving me
nuts."

Chapter 7

The coffee was hot enough to melt Icad and strong enough to strip the
paint from metal.  Hunched over her kitchen table, her favorite mug
cradled between her palms, Becca sipped at the steaming brew cautiously
and waited for the caffeine to slip into her bloodstream and jolt her
awake.  But it was a two-cup morning, and she had a feeling that
nothing short of battery acid was going to get her moving anytime soon.
And she had only one man to thank for that.

Riley.

Every time she'd closed her eyes last night, she'd felt the
intoxicating weight of him covering her like a blanket as he'd pinned
her to the mat in the high school gym.  And then there were his kisses.
Kisses that haunted her, tormented her, enticed her.  Kisses that she
desperately tried to convince herself were nothing out of the
ordinary.

But plain, ordinary kisses didn't keep a woman awake half the night.

?

That thought had driven her from her bed near dawn and hadn't given her
a moment's peace since.  She'd lost control somewhere and she had no
idea how it had happened.  She'd spent the last six years of her life
clinging to the conviction that she was through with romance and men,
relieved that she would never have to risk her heart again.  And it was
all a lie.  The reason she hadn't lost sleep over someone before now
wasn't because she'd written men off her list, but because she simply
hadn't met one who could tempt her.  Lord, what was she going to do?

Before she could even begin to come up with an answer, there was a soft
knock at her back door and Clara's sweet, familiar voice called out,
"Yoo-hoof Becca?  Are you up, dear?"

"No," she called back with a weak laugh, "but come on in anyway.  The
door's open."

That was all the invitation Clara needed.  The screen door squeaked
open and she rushed in like a ball of energy, completely unmindful of
the fact that it was barely eight o'clock in the morning.  Already
decked out in her favorite pearls and a dove gray dress that draped her
plump figure becomingly, she looked as neat as a bandbox, her cheeks
softly colored with rouge and every one of her white curls in place.

With a smile as bright as the sunshine that streamed in through the
east windows, she said, "I'm so glad you're an early bird like I am,
dear."  Making herself at home, she took her favorite mug from the
cabinet and poured a cup of coffee.

"I've been dying to talk to you ever since the competition last night,
but I knew you were busy with people afterward and I didn't want to
disturb you.  And then you didn't get home until late--I wasn't
spying," she quickly assured her, "but I would have sworn I heard
something outside.  You know, I really think one of us should get a
dog.  I don't know why I haveryt thought of it sooner, but we are very
isolated out here.  x.."

She was wound UP and excited and in the ~nood to talk.

Becca's head was starting to throb, and she knew that if she didn't
stop her, it would take another thirty minutes to get around to the
main subject of conversation' whatever that was.  As soon as Clara
paused for a breath, she quickly cut in.

"What did you want to talk t% me about?"

"Why, the cards, dear," Clara replied, ~s if it should have been
perfectly obvious.  Pulling them from the pocket of her dress, she sank
into a chair across the table _~,from Becca and grinned at her, all but
beaming' "I've been reading your fortune, and you'll never believe
what's in store for you!"

Becca barely swallowed a groan.  Oh, God, not the cards.  Not now.
Sweet, grandmotherly Clarra put great stock in the information she got
from her tarot cards, and

Beeca usually got a kick out of watching h~r read them.

But she was in no shape for it this morning.

~'i~ "Right now, I'd just be happy with a little sleep," she

~i~!  i:?  " said lightly, hoping to discourage her.

"I'm beat and the day hasn't even started."

But Clara, once started on the subject of her beloved cards, wasn't
easily derailed.

"Well, I don't know about that dear," she said with a chuckle.

"You s%, there's this man"

"Isn't there always?"  Becca said dryly.  Knowing it would be pointless
to remind Clam that she wasn't holding out for a prince, she went along
with the game, teasing, "So where is this paragon of virtue?  If he's
going to ride to my rescue, he'd better do it with a pocketful of cash
because that's what it's going to take to rescue me.

All others need not apply.  "

?

So excited she could hardly sit still, the older woman's softly lined
face crinkled into a delighted smile.

"That's just it, dear.  I know you've said you're not interested in
anyone, but some things are just meant to be.  And you already know
this man.  It's Riley!  According to the cards, you two were made for
each other!"

The indulgent amusement in her eyes abruptly dimming, Becca told
herself this was just another matchmaking stunt, and the wisest thing
she could do was shrug it off.  But her voice wasn't as light as she'd
hoped when she said, "This time I think you screwed up, Clara.  The
sheriff and I aren't exactly friends, you know."

The older woman dismissed that rationalization' with a careless wave of
her hand.

"Oh, but that's just temporary.

The cards don't lie.  " Not the least discouraged by Becca's negative
response to her news, she sighed, " Isn't it wonderful?  I knew you
were too young to spend the rest of your life alone, and Riley's just
perfect for you.  Of course, there's this thing with the election to
get around, but fate will take care of that.  And Riley's not an
unreasonable man.  Once he realizes that the two of you are meant to be
together, he'll come around.  Just give him a little time and
everything will work out fine.  " Feeling as if she had just stepped
into a nightmare, Becca had a horrifying image of Clara flagging Riley
down in town somewhere and having this same conversation with him. 
Dear God, she'd never be able to look the man in the eyes again!

"Clara, please," she begged, "let's just keep this between us, okay?
Riley doesn't need to know about this."

"But why not?  He's got his future all spelled out for him.  Wouldn't
life be a lot simpler for both of you if he knew what to expect?"

Becca almost laughed, but there was nothing the least bit humorous
about the hysteria bubbling up inside her, threatening to choke her.

"No!"  she nearly shouted, startling them both.  Her cheeks fiery with
color, she struggled for control.

"No," she said more calmly.

"That wouldn't make things simpler at all.  I don't think Riley's the
type of man who likes this kind of surprise.  If he's interested in me,
I'm sure he'd like it to be his own idea."

Unperturbed, Clara laughed warmly.

"Well, of course he's interested.

Haven't you noticed?  It sticks out all over him, just like a rash.
Isn't love wonderful?  "

"But this isn't love, Clara," she said stubbornly, desperately.

"It isn't anything.  Promise you won't mention this to Riley.  What you
saw in my cards is none of his business."

She wanted to argue--Becca could see in her blue eyes the struggle
going on--but some of her panic must have finally struck a nerve.
Reaching across the table to pat her hand, Clara smiled sweetly.

"Well, of course, dear, if that's the way you want it.  I won't say a
word.  It is, after all, your future, not mine.  And I know how to keep
my when I have to.  Your secret's safe with me."

"But there isn't a secret!"  she protested.

Gazing off into space, Clara hardly heard her.

"Men can be so stubborn about these things," she said, half to herself.
Cradling her coffee cup between her hands, she smiled fondly.

"Even my Alfred needed a push--and he knew he loved me from the moment
he first laid eyes on me.  He just wouldn't admit it until he was good
and ready."  When she glanced up, her blue eyes were twinkling.

"There was no way I was going to let him get away, of course.  He just
didn't know that."

Alfred had been the love of her life, her husband for forty-three
years, and even though he'd been dead for ten,

she still missed him terribly.  Becca envied her that, but there was no
way she was going to make the mistake of taking her predictions about
Riley seriously.  A dyed-in the-wool romantic, Clara hummed love songs
like mantras and cried over old Doris Day movies.  She thought everyone
should be blessed with the kind of love she'd found with her Alfred, so
she saw in the cards what she wanted to see.  Anyone who took her
seriously was just asking for trouble.

"But Riley's not Alfred," she began, only to frown in surprise at the
sound of a car suddenly honking from the drive.

"Now, who could that be?"  Stepping over to the window over the sink,
she glanced out just in time to see Chloe step out of the Jacobs's car,
her pillow clutched to her chest and her freckled face ashen.

"Chloe's home early," she told Clara, already starting toward the front
door.

"Something must be wrong."

With Clara right behind her, she reached the front porch just as Chloe
struggled up the steps.

"What are you doing home so early, sweetie?"  she asked in concern.

"I thought you were going to stay at Karen's until after lunch.  It's
barely eight-thirty."

"I don't feel so good," the little girl mumbled.  Her eyes huge in her
pale face, she walked straight to Becca and buried her face against her
waist, her pillow squashed between them as she clung to her.

"My stomach hurts."

"Oh, dear," Clam clucked, frowning worriedly.

"Why don't I go upstairs and pull back the covers on her bed?"

she asked Becca.

"And maybe run a warm bath?  That might help."

"Thanks, Clara," she said, and turned to Karen's more, Laura, carrying
Chloe's overnight bag up the steps.

"It looks like somebody had too much pizza."

"Not to mention ice cream, popcorn and peanut-butte rand-jelly
sandwiches," the woman said with a sympathetic smile.

"Chloe wasn't the only one who was green around the gills this morning.
Karen's miserable.  I tried to warn.  them last night that they were
going to be sick if they kept stuffing themselves with everything they
could get their hands on, but they wouldn't listen."  Becca bit back a
grin.

"Sometimes we have to learn the hard way.  Thanks for bringing her
home, Laura.  I'm sure she'll be fine once the pepperoni and peanut
butter quit fighting each other in her tummy."

But after the other woman left and Becca urged Chloe upstairs for the
tepid bath Clara had run for her, she soon discovered that there was
more to her daughter's upset stomach than what she'd eaten.  Heat
radiated from her small body in waves.

"My God, you're burning up!"  she exclaimed, frowning.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"I told you I didn't feel good," Chloe muttered, only to gulp as she
suddenly turned a funny shade of green.

Mama!  "

Beeca got her over to the toilet just in time.

"Easy, sweetheart," she soothed, wiping at her tears when she collapsed
weakly against her at last.

"It's okay.  You're going to be fine now.  Look, Clara's got your
favorite jam as for you," she coaxed, pulling back so the five-year old
could see the older woman, who hovered nearby like an anxious mother
hen.

"Let's get you changed and into bed, and I'll bet you'll feel a whole
lot better."

But she didn't.  Not that morning or that afternoon.  Everything she
put in her stomach, even the smallest sip of juice, came right back up
again.  Worried, Beeca changed her sheets and sponged her down, and
then,

?

when nothing else seemed to help, just held her daughter and rocked her
for hours.

Thankfully, Clara stayed to help and proved to be a godsend.  Ignoring
Becca's admonition to leave the soiled bedding and towels for her to
take care of later, she washed and dried everything, then puttered
around in the kitchen to see if she could come up with something Chloe
could keep in her stomach.  She cooked a pot of chicken soup, stirred
up two kinds of jell-o, and even vanilla pudding, which in the end
stayed down.

After only a few bites, an exhausted Chloe was out like a light.

Relieved, Becca and Clara collapsed at the kitchen table.  It had been
nearly twelve hours since Laura had brought her home.

Pressing a hand to her lower back, Becca sighed tiredly.

"Thank God her fever broke.  I was beginning to get worried."

"If the poor little thing can just manage to sleep for four or five
hours, she might have this thing licked," Clara said, rubbing at her
temples.

"She's got to be exhausted."

Suddenly noticing the pain in the older woman's eyes, Becca sat up
straighter, the beginnings of a frown knitting her brow.

"You're looking a little pale yourself.  Are you all right?"

Never one to complain, Clam immediately dropped her hand from her
temple and forced a smile.

"You've got enough to worry about without bothering about me.  I'm
fine.  Just a little tired."

But Chloe had complained of tiredness, too.  And a headache.  Alarmed,
Beeca stepped around the table to press her hand to the older woman's
forehead, which was more than a LITTLE warm.

"Okay, that does it," she said.

"You're spending the night.  Tell me what you need from your house and
I'll get it for you."

"Oh, no!  That's not necessary" -- "Yes, it is," Becca insisted
firmly.

"Chloe's been in and out of your house a half dozen times this week,
and she probably infected you with this darn bug days ago.  If I let
you go home now, I wouldn't sleep a wink for worrying about you.  So
it's settled.  You're staying.  What do you want me to get you for the
night?"

She used her mother's voice, that no-nonsense tone that warned lit He
girls and sick old ladies not to mess with her.

Too old not to know when she was beaten, Clara gave in graciously.

"Just the gown and robe lying across the foot of my bed.  And my
heating pad, so my feet won't get cold.  during the night."

"Good girl," Becca said, grinning.

"Pick out a bedroom upstairs and I'll be right back."

After checking on Chloe to make sure she was still sleeping and would
be okay for the few minutes she'd be gone, Becca went out, finding
Clara's things right where she'd told her they'd be in her bedroom.
Gathering them up, she only took time to make sure the house was locked
before hurrying back across the shadowy yards to her own house.

She'd barely reached her own property line when Margaret and Lucille
stepped out of the darkness.  Startled, Becca pressed her hand to her
suddenly galloping heart.

"Lord, you scared me!  What are you two doing outside in the dark?"  ~
"Is something wrong with Clara?"  Lucille demanded bluntly.

"I haven't seen her all day and she's not answering her phone."

?

"When we saw all the lights on in your house and you heading over to
Clara's, we thought there might be a problem," Margaret added.

"What's going on?"

"It's nothing serious," Becca said quickly.

"She and Chloe just seem to have picked up some kind of flu"

"Oh, dear.  What can we do to help?"  -"You should have called us. Both
of us could have come right over."

"No!  I appreciate the offer, but I think it would be better if you
stayed home.  This thing seems to be pretty contagious, and I wouldn't
want you two to get sick, too."  Lucille, knowing she was right, gave
in reluctantly.

"I

just hate for you to go through this alone.  You will call if you think
of any way we can help, won't you?  "

"Even if it's just to run to the store," Margaret added earnestly.

"All you have to do is call."

"I will," Becca said.

"But right now I've got to get back before Chloe wakes up or Clara
starts.  feeling worse."  Promising to keep them posted on the
condition of her two patients, she hurried inside and upstairs. 
Stopping at the open doorway to Chloe's room, she sighed in relief when
she saw her daughter hadn't moved so much as a muscle since she'd left
her.  Two steps across the hall, however, she discovered that Clara
hadn't fared nearly as well.  In fact, a single glance was all it took
for Becca to see that in the short time she'd been gone, all the color
seemed to have drained from Clara's face.  Pale but for the two spots
of rouge on her cheeks, she was shaking with a chill.

"I'm so s-sorry about this, d-dear," she said through chattering teeth
when Beeca took a quick step into the room.

"You've got e-enough to worry about without having to m-mess with a
sick old w-woman."

Hiding her concern, Becca forced a teasing smile.

"Are you kidding?  I can handle you and Chloe with one hand tied behind
my back.  Here, let's get you into bed before you freeze to death. With
a little rest, you're going to be just fine."

Clara's chills, however, turned out to be the calm before the storm.

Nausea hit her twenty minutes later, along with a fever.  Cldoe's own
temperature started to spike again, at one point shooting up to a
hundred and four, and Clara's wasn't far behind.  Worried, Becca rushed
back and forth between the two patients' rooms, urging fluids on them
even when they didn't want them so they wouldn't become so dehydrated.
They couldn't keep anything down, though, and by eleven o'clock, Becca
was frantic and called.

the Rawlings Clinic.

"I know it's probably just the flu," she told Tate Rawlings when she
came on the line.

"But their fevers are so high, I'm really starting to get concerned.
Chloe's so little, I just don't see how she can afford to lose any more
body fluids, and I know how dangerous the flu can be for the elderly.

Clara doesn't like to think of herself as old, she's eighty-one, and
this has just about wiped her out.  "

"I know what you're going through," Tate assured her.

"We've been getting calls since last night, and right now, the clinic
is packed.  I'm holding down the fort here, while Josey is out checking
on those who can't come in.  I'll give her a call on her car phone and
tell her to stop by your place when she gets a chance.  It could be
awhile, though," she warned.

"The whole county's been hit hard by this, and we're short-handed. Just
hang in there."

Becca tried, but it wasn't easy.  Chloe, hotter than ever to the touch,
couldn't do anything but cry, and poor Clara was too weak to make it to
the bathroom without assistance.  By the time the doorbell rang an
hour later, Becca was more than a little frazzled.

"Thank God you're here!"  she exclaimed when she opened the front door
to find Josey Rawlings standing on the porch with her medical bag in
hand.  Dragging her inside, she almost fell on her in relief.

"I've tried everything, but nothing seems to be working.  I don't know
what else to do."

Well used to frantic parents and caretakers, Josey said calmly, "It's
okay, Becca.  This garbage is going all around the county, and there's
not much anyone can do but hang on and last out the storm.  By this
time tomorrow, you'll wonder what you were so worried about.  Now
where're my patients?

Upstairs?  Good.  While I'm checking them out, why don't you take a
minute to sit down and put your feet up?

You look like you could use a break.  "

She didn't give her a chance to object, but simply started up the
stairs like a woman who was used to hawing her orders obeyed.  Smiling
for what seemed like the first time in hours, Becca dropped onto the
couch and stretched her legs out, suddenly so weary she found it
impossible to keep her eyes open.

Ten minutes or an hour could have passed.  The next thing Becca knew,
Josey was bending over her, gently shaking her awake.  Horrified that
she'd actually fallen asleep, she scrambled up, pushing her hair from
her eyes.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry!  I didn't sleep much last night and it's starting
to catch up with me.  How's Chloe?  And Clara?"

"Resting as comfortably as possible," Josey assured her.

"The fever seems to have dropped off for the moment, so the main
concern is dehydration.  Get as many fluids down them as possible,
preferably grape juice if you've got it.  There's something in it that
attacks bugs like

' 143 this, and even if it comes back up, the body retains more than
you think.  It wouldn't hurt you to drink a few glasses yourself.  "

Reaching into her black bag, she handed Becca a small bottle of
medication.

"This will help with the nausea, but in some cases, it's better to just
let patients get the bug out of their system.  So try to hold off
giving this unless the vomiting really gets worse.  And don't hesitate
to call the clinic if you need help.  Tate will be there all night. She
can track me down if you need me to stop by again later."  Unable to
take so much as ten minutes for herself, Josey was gone as quickly as
she'd arrived, and once again Becca was left to handle the crises
alone.  Knowing she had the nausea medication close at hand was
infinitely reassuring, though she didn't, thankfully, have to use it.
After several cautious sips of grape juice, both patients dropped off
into a restless sleep, and for a while, at least, Becca was able to
relax.  Sitting at the kitchen table, she poured herself a bracing
glass of grape juice and drained it.  She wouldn't do anyone any good
if she got sick herself.

When the phone rang suddenly, the jarring sound ripping through the
quiet of the night, she knew it meant trouble.  No one called after
midnight for anything else.

"Hello?"

"Becca?"

Alarmed, she tightened her grip on the phone and pressed it closer to
her ear as she realized the faint voice on the other end of the line
was Lucille's.  In all the months she'd known her, she'd never heard
her neighbor speak with anything less than gruff confidence, but she
definitely sounded shaky now.

"Lucille?  What's wrong?

I can hardly hear you.  "

?

"I think I've got Clara's stupid crud," the woman whispered in
disgust.

"I've been tossing my cookies for the last hour."

If the situation hadn't been so miserable, Becca would have laughed.

"Dr.  Rawbrigs was here a couple of hours ago and said to take grape
juice.  It's supposed to help.  Have you got any?"

"No."  She started to say more, but then she groaned and the receiver
clattered down in its cradle.

Worried, Becca had hardly hung up when the phone rang again and
Margaret, sounding as bad as Luffdie, said, "Hullo?  Becca?"

Her worst fears realized, Be.  ~a paled.

"Oh Lord, you're sick, too, aren't you?  Why didn't you call me?"

"You've got Chloe... and Clara to t-take care of.  I d-didn't want to
b-bother you."

Later, when she was feeling better, Beeca would scold her for that, but
for now, she had other problems to deal with.

"Lucille's got it, too, so I think it would be better if you both came
over here so I can take care of you.  Do you think you'll be able to
make it up the stairs if I help you?"

"Oh, I don't think so," the potter said with a groan.

"The way I'm feeling right now, I don't think I could make it outside
by myself, let alone all the way to your house."  That wasn't the kind
of news Becca wanted to hear.  She considered herself a strong woman,
but there was no way she could lift two old ladies who each outweighed
her by a good twenty pounds or more and get them upstairs to the other
empty guest rooms.  She'd have to have help.  Not wanting to disturb
Tare Rawlings at the clinic, who undoubtedly already had her hands
full, Becca quickly called James Carender, the rancher who lived a
quarter of a mile farther down the road.  He had, on occasion, helped
her in the past, but as the phone rang hollowly in her em it was
obvious he wasn't home.  Hanging up, she trie, Laura Jacobs, Karen's
more, only to discover that she too, was in bed with the flu and that
her husband couldn' leave her.  Understanding perfectly, Becca called
the teacher she assisted at school, hoping that her husban wouldn't
mind helping out, but no one was home.  Fifteen minutes later, Beeca
had called everyone she knew.  The few friends who were at home on a
Saturda, were either sick themselves or dealing with someone wh{ was,
and no one could 8be spared to drive all the way out to Becca's and
carry two old ladies upstairs.

Getting desperate, she called Tate back, who assure~ her that she'd
send one of the men from the Double R out to help her as soon as
possible, but that it might tak, awhile--at least forty-five
minutes--since the ranch was on the opposite side of the county from
her.  Afraid that Lucille and Margaret were as sick as Clara Beeca knew
she couldn't leave them alone that long.  There was only one person
left to call, the one person she'd ha~ to force herself not to call
first.  Riley.

But when she rang the sheriff's office, Myrtle'-~lfi her, "Nobody's
here right now.  This flu bug has hit everybody hard, and every
available man is out in the field helping wherever he can."

"Oh.  I should have realized..."  Becca hadn't knowr how desperately
she'd counted on Riley being there until then.  Fighting the sudden,
stupid urge to cry, she tolC herself not to be an idiot.  Of course
Riley would be busy.

In a town the size of Lordsburg, any kind of medical crisis would put a
strain on the town's limited medical set.

vices, especially the only local ambulance.  Riley and him 8en would be
needed to ferry people to the Rawlings, Clinic or the hospital in
Silver City.

?

"Well, if he or one of his deputies gets a minute, I could use some
help," she said, explaining the situation.

"It'll take only a few moments, just long enough to get two old ladies
upstairs to bed."

"I'll send out the word to the next deputy in that area," Myrtle
promised.

"We'll get someone out there as soon as we can."

Considering the magnitude of the present crisis, that could mean ten
minutes or five hours, but Becca knew the woman was doing the best she
could.  She heard Chloe cry out upstairs, and that effectively ended
the phone call.

Thanking the dispatcher for her help, she hung up and ran for the
steps.

Leaving the scent of antiseptic and sickness behind, Riley stepped out
of the Rawlings Clinic and tiredly rubbed the back of his neck.  He
never should have stayed up talking to Dillon half the night, but his
friend had had to get back to El Paso this morning, and they'd had a
lot of catching up to do.

He was paying for it now, though.  It had been a hell of a night so far
and it was a long way from being over.  He'd just run Janice Lamont and
her three-month-old baby in to see Tate, and it looked like they'd both
be staying awhile.  Tate had taken one look at them and quickly told
him they wouldn't be needing a ride back home anytime soon, which
wasn't surprising.  The baby hadn't stopped crying from the moment he'd
answered Janice's frantic call an hour ago.

Cursing the bug that had swept through his county like a swarm of
locusts, Riley slid behind the wheel of his car and reached for the
mike to his radio.

"All right, Myrfie," he said in a voice that was rough with
exhaustion.

"Janice and her baby have been taken care of.  Where to next ?  " Old
Man Fulbright out on McCauley Road thinks he's having a heart attack
and can't get Eddie to answer his call," she retortexl, referring to
the town's only ambulance driver.

'"Course that might have something to do with the fact that he claims
he's having a heart attack every Saturday night, only tonight Eddie
hasn't got time to fool with him.  You'd better check on him, just to
be sure, though."

"I'm on my way," Riley said, already backing out of the clinic parking
lot.

Oh, and while you're out that way, you'd better make a run by Becca
Prescott's place," Myrtle added.

His mind already on Old Man Fulbright, Riley jerked back to
attention.

"What?  Is Becca sick?  When did she call in?"

"About ten minutes ago.  She asked for you specifically, and no, she's
not the one who's sick.  It's those old lady neighbors of hers.  She
needs help moving them to her house so she can take care of them."  . ~
Switching on his lights, Riley didn't '~'flit to be'aFmore.  I'll stop
by there first.  Fulbright's waited this long, he can wait another
fifteen minutes.  "

"I had a feeling you'd say that," Myrtle said dryly.

"I guess the rumors I've been hearing are true."

Promising himself that in his next lifetime he wasn't going to tolerate
mouthy dispatchers who didn't know how to mind their own business, he
growled, "Stuff it, lady.  You know I don't listen to rumors."

"Maybe you should," she said with a chuckle.

"They're mighty interesting."  Anticipating a scathing retort, she
signed off, denying him the last word and leaving him wondering what
people were saying.

?

Muttering over her boldness--he really was going to have to have a talk
with her--he flattened the accelerator and flew over the back roads
toward Becca's.  Seeing her again so soon after last night wasn't a
smart move on his part, but for now, she needed him.  Nothing else
seemed to matter.

Every light in her house was ablaze as he braked to a sharp stop in her
driveway.  Striding up the walk, he didn't bother to knock at her front
door, but simply pushed it open and walked in.

"Becca?"

He was going to have to caution her about leaving her door unlocked for
just anyone to walk in, he reminded himself as he glanced into the
kitchen and found it empty, with the sink and counter full of dishes
that she obviously hadn't had time to do.  But then he saw her hurrying
down the stairs and the thought flew right out of his head.

She looked tired.  And beautiful.  Her green eyes dark with fatigue in
her pale face, she faltered at the sight of him, her hand automatically
lifting to the wild mane of hair that had escaped the confines of the
ribbon she'd tied around it.  Something flashed in her eyes, something
that looked an awful lot like need before she, too, remembered last
night.  Her smile was suddenly friendly, but impersonal, as she said,
"You can't possibly know how good it is to see someone who's not, as
Clara put it, tossing his cookies."

His mouth twitched, but his eyes were serious as they searched hers.

"Everybody's sick?"

She nodded.

"Chloe got it this morning, then Clara around eight-thirty tonight.
She's already upstairs.  Margaret and Lucille are still at home,
though.  They're too weak to walk over here, and there was no way I
could leave Chloe and Clara to help them."

"Get their beds ready," he said, starting for the door.

"I'll be right back."  .

He was as good as his word, returning with Lucille first, who was as
white as the prim nightgown she wore buttoned all the way to her
throat.  Holding herself stiffly as he carried her up the stairs, she
complained weakly, "I'm not an invalid, Riley Whitaker.  I'm perfectly
capable of getting up these stairs by myself."

Over her iron gray head, Riley grinned.

"I never doubted it for a minute, Lucille.  If you put your mind to it,
you could probably make it all the way to Tucson and back before
sunrise.  So just indulge me, huh?  I like rescuing old ladies.  It
makes me feel good."

She sniffed at that, trying not to smile in spite of the fact that she
had to be feeling miserable.

"Who are you calling old?  And if you want to hold someone, what's
wrong with Becca?"  she asked as he deposited her in the bed that Becca
had already turned back for her.

"She's just the right size for you and looks like she could use a
little TLC right now.  The poor girl's worn out."

"Lucille!"

Ignoring Becca's gasp of protest, Riley winked.  '"Don't worry about
Becca--I'll take care of her.  Behave yourself while I go fetch
Margaret."

Chuckling, the older woman hardly waited until he was out of earshot
before telling Becca, "You've got yourself a good man there.  And a
fine-looking one, too.  Make sure you hold on to him."

With heat climbing into her cheeks, Becca tried and failed to look
stern.

"Don't start that matchmaking malar ky with me, Lucille Brickman.
You're supposed to be sick, remember?"

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

"I'm trying not to think about it.

God, I hate being sick!  "

?

Concerned, Becca hovered over her, adjusting the pillow behind her head
and tucking the covers more closely around her.

"I know.  I'm sorry.  Is there anything I can get you?  Some grape
juice or something?"

"No, nothing.  Thank you, dear."  Her eyes drifted shut and she sighed
tiredly.

"Maybe if I lie here awhile without moving, it'll go away."

After tending Chloe, then Clam, for hours, Becca knew the flu bug
wasn't something that could be ignored for long, but she didn't have
the heart to disillusion her.

"Maybe," she agreed, patting her hand before moving to the door.

"I've got to help Riley get Margaret settled.  Call if you need me."

Hearing Riley's footsteps on the stairs, she went into the hall just as
he emerged with Margaret, who looked like a wilted rose in a pink
nightgown that dashed horribly with her red hair.

"In here," Becca said quickly, motioning them into her own bedroom,
where Riley gently laid the older woman on her old-fashioned iron
bed.

Margaret forced open her eyes and smiled up as Becca pulled the covers
over her so she wouldn't get chilled.

"Thank you, child.  I was just telling Riley how wonderful it was to
have a man around.  Don't you think so?"

"What I think," Becca said, her dimples flashing before she could
summon up a frown, "is that you need to get some rest.  I'll be back in
a moment with some juice."  She hurried down the stairs with Riley
right on her heels, intending to make some comment about the fever
scrambling her incorrigible neighbors' brains.  But the second she
turned to face him in the living room and her eyes met his, she forgot
all about the old ladies upstairs, who would still be matchmaking on
their deathbeds.  She wanted him to hold her .  just for a second.  She
hadn't realized how much until just now.

The yearning he saw in her eyes nearly drove him to his knees.  But he
couldn't reach for her, not if he intended to make it to Old Man
Fulbright's anytime soon.  Dillon was right, he thought, staring at the
sweet curves of her mouth and aching to taste her.  He'd changed, and
the woman responsible was standing right in front of him.  And not a
damn thing could come of it.

"I've got to go," he said hoarsely.

"I know," she answered softly, but she never moved toward the door.

Seconds passed, long, agonizing moments when just breathing became a
chore.  Unable to stop himself, Riley reached out and trailed a finger
down her cheek.  Then he was gone.  ~

Chapter 8

It didn't take much to throw a five-deputy office into a panic,
especially when the flu was spreading through the southwest corner of
the state like wildfire across dry grasslands.  So when John Sanchez
wasn't able to relieve him the following morning because he, too, was
"tossing his cookies," Riley simply worked a double shift.  But things
always got worse before they got better, and by the middle of the
afternoon, he'd lost Lance Carson.  He handled it the only way he
could--by calling in Mark Newman and Darrel Gabriel and working out a
schedule they could all live with until the crisis passed.  Shortening
and staggering their shifts, they would each work four hours, take four
off for sleep, then report back in again.  Then he lost Myrtle.

One minute she was there and the next she wasn't, and suddenly the
whole damn place was going to hell in a handbasket.  Phones were
ringing off the wall with no one to answer them, the paperwork to
transfer the county's

~ 15~ lone pdsoner--a bail jumper--back to Santa Fe was misplaced and
Riley didn't have a single deputy patrolling the county roads.

Trying to juggle the phones and find the transfer papers for the
prisoner at the same time, Riley fill all3 roared, "Mark!  Take over
for Myrtle.  Darrel, go home and get some sleep.  I want you back here
in four hour sand not a minute later."

Both men jumped to follow orders and quickly got out of his way.

Muttering curses, he was finally able to line the transfer papers and
unload the prisoner on the Santa Fe deputy who'd been pacing the office
for the last hour, complaining that he had to get out of there before
he caught the damn flu.  The phone stopped ringing, the place settled
down, and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Riley was able
to hear himself think.

For all of thirty seconds.

"Mrs.  Hester out on Mockingbird Lane called to say the Johnson's dog
is barking again and waking up her baby," Mark called from the dispatch
room, shattering the silence.

"I

told her we were shorthanded and couldn't send someone out there right
now, but that I'd give Mr.  Johnson a call.  "

Concentrating on clearing his desk of the paperwork that covered it,
Riley never looked up.

"Fine."

Two seconds passed.

"Mr.  Johnson said he was sick and didn't give a damn what his dog was
doing--he wasn't going to do anything about it.  I guess I'd say the
same thing if I was sick."

Riley only granted.  If he didn't answer, maybe the rookie would get
the message that he was too damn tired for chitchat.  But Mark's head
had always been thicker than granite and Riley should have known
better.

?

"They say the flu hasn't been this bad since that influenza epidemic in
the twenties, when all those people died.

Nobody's died yet, but they say the hospital over in Silver City is
filling up fast and school's already been canceled for tomorrow and
Tuesday.  "

The thin reign he had on his patience snapping, Riley grabbed his hat
and jammed it on his head, then strode toward the door.

"I'm going out," he said between his teeth.

"If anything comes up, give me a call on the radio."

He meant to hit the main trouble spots and make sure no one was taking
advantage of the absence of lawenforcement officers.  But he'd never
seen the streets so empty, and it didn't take long to figure out that
most people were lying low and staying home.  With nothing left to do,
he should have gone back to the office.  But just the thought of
dealing with Mark again, listening to his account of every call that
came in, l~ad him turning his patrol car in the opposite direction.

Toward Becca's.

He didn't even try to talk hind self into not stopping.  He'd managed
to tear himself away from her before, but the yearning he'd seen in her
eyes had haunted him ever since, calling him back.  Even in the midst
of the biggest crisis of his tenure as sheriff, he hadn't been able to
push her from his thoughts.

Feeling like a man who suddenly found quicksand under his feet instead
of unmovable rock, he promised himself he wasn't going to stay long.
He'd just check on her and her patients and make sure eve~ thing was
okay.  He'd have done the same for any other woman who found her- serf
nursing three senior citizens and a child.  Then he was getting the
hell out of there.  It was that simple.  ~.

Dirty dishes were piled on every available inch of counter space, and
the only dishwasher in sight was Becca.

So tired even her toenails ached, she would have liked nothing better
than to leave the chore until later and zonk out somewhere, preferably
on a bed.  But ~ii her patients were napping at the same time for once,
and this was the first chance all day she'd had to clean up the
kitchen.  If she didn't do it now, she might not get another chance
for

God only knew how long.  Wearily, she plugged the sink,

adjusted the hot water until the temperature was bearable and added a
generous squirt of liquid

Later, she couldn't say how she knew she was no longer alone.  The only
sound was that of water filling the sink,

but suddenly her pulse s-lopped a beat in warning and she looked up to
find Riley standing in the doorway to the living room, watching her
every move.  Dressed in his uniform, with his black Stetson pushed back
from his forehead and his rock-hard jaw unshaven and shadowed,

he looked good enough to eat.  Caught in his searching gaze, Becca lost
her grip on the dish she'd just picked up.

It slipped with a clatter into the sink, and she never even blinked.

"Hi," he said quietly.

"I hope you don't mind me letting myself in, but I knocked."  Crossing
t~ her with that lazy, loose-limbed stride of his, he reaci'~d over and
turned off the water just as the bubbles t!  ~reatened to

~ overflow onto the floor.  "

- you didn't hear.  "

~ I guess

"No.  I--I guess I ddidn't."

He leaned against the counter as if he intended to stay awhile,
standing so close she could see herself reflected in the blue depths of
his eyes.  Her throat suddenly dry, she swallowed, wondering if the
heat climbing in her body could possibly be blamed on the flu.
Considering the way

? all her senses sprang to life just at the sight of him, she didn't
think so.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was out this way and thought I'd drop in and make sure everything
was okay.  You feeling all right?"

All right?  A strangled laugh rose in her throat.  She'd had maybe
three hours of sleep maximum in the last thirty hours, and that in
snatches rather than all at once.  She was so exhausted she couldn't
see straight, her hair was dirty and she would have traded her Jeep for
twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep and clean sheets that she didn't
have to wash herself.  Yet he only had to walk in and smile at her to
make her heart start thumping like an eighteen year-old's.  That should
have worried her, but she no longer had the strength to fight a need
that seemed as natural as breathing.

Dropping her gaze back to the dishes awaiting her attention, she
dismissed with a shrug the fatigue that pressed down on her.

"Oh, yeah.  I guess all that grape juice I'v~ been drinking is paying
off.  I'm healthy as a horse."

"And ready to drop where you stand," he replied shrewdly.

"How much sleep have you had?"

"Enough."

"Liar."

"I'm not!"

"Look me in the eye and say that."

She tried--he had to give her that.  But even with her chin jutting at
that stubborn, challenging angle that always made him want to grin, she
couldn't say the words.  Staring down at her, Riley felt something he
wouldn't put a name to squeeze his heart.  She was tired, asleep on her
feet, her eyes shadowed with dark circles of exhaustion.

The need to soothe, to comfort, rose up in him, and he settled his
hands on her shoulders, just barely stopping himself from dragging her
closer.

"You're not going to do anyone any good if you worry yourself into the
ground," he said gruffly.

"I'll finish u1 in here.  You go upstairs and relax in the tub for a
whik A good soak'll do you good."

"Oh, but I can't" -- In no mood to argue, Riley turned her abruptly an
marched her toward the stairs.

"I'll take care of the 1~ dies if they wake up, so I don't want to see
your face dove here for at least forty-five minutes.  Now, go!"

Just about every dish and glass in the house was dirt~ ~__but Riley
hardly noticed.  Methodically cleaning a soul bowl, he found himself
listening for sounds of activit upstairs that the rational part of his
brain told him h~ couldn't possibly hear.  the creak of Becca's step on
the bathroom floor, the sound of her clothes falling awa, piece by
piece, the whisper of her sigh as she slipped into the tub.

It was an exercise in self-torture--he knew that, but i was a damn good
night for it.  Erotic images played be his mind's eye.  Becca lounging
lazily in a tub full of bubbles, her hair piled on top her head in
unruly eurh skin flushed and rosy from the heat of the water.  Jus
thinking about it made him hard.

Swearing, he reached for another dirty bowl, but there weren't any.

The drain board was overflowing with dishe he hadn't even realized he'd
washed, the counters o the old-fashioned kitchen clean and bare.
Frowning, h~ glanced at the clock on the stove and realized that Becel
had taken him at his word and used the entire forty-few minutes, which
surprised him.  She was usually so defiant, he'd half expected her to
storm back down stair twenty minutes ago just to prove to him that she
didn"

? take orders from him or any other man.  So she either had to be
exhausted.  or sick.

He wasn't going up there, he told himself firmly.  The lady was a big
girl and could take care of herself.  If she needed help, all she had
to do was holier.  Satisfied that he was worrying over nothing, he
pulled the plug from the sink, then wrung out the dishcloth and hung it
up to dry.  Ten seconds later, he was heading for the stairs.

A quick check of the bedrooms assured him that the three old ladies and
Chloe were sleeping peacefully, but he still hadn't heard a sound from
the bathroom.  Concerned, he tapped softly at the door.

"Becca?  You okay in there?"

His only answer was silence, and he didn't like the sound of it.

Throwing caution to the wind, he tried the door handle and found it
unlocked.  If he caught her in the act of dressing, she was probably
going to chew him out royally, but he didn't care.  At least he'd know
she was okay.  Pushing the door slowly open, he peaked inside.

"Becca?"

The sight that met his eyes nearly stopped his heart.  She was still in
the tub and sound asleep, her hair piled prettily on her head just as
he'd imagined, her skin damp and pink, the bubbles that concealed her
breasts and hips from him slowly dissipating.  His throat dust dry, he
reminded himself that he wasn't a man who took advantage of a
vulnerable woman.  But she looked better than his wildest fantasy, and
it was all he could do not to look his fill.

Swallowing a groan, he stepped inside the bathroom and shut the door
behind him as he looked wildly around for a towel.  Finally finding one
hanging on the back of the door along with her robe, he thought only
about getting her out of that damn water and safely covered.  Now!

Moving to the big, claw-footed tub, he eased down on his knees next to
it.  Knowing he had to keep his gaze on her face or he'd never be able
to get through this without going quietly out of his mind, he laid his
hand on her bare shoulder and gently shook her.

"Becca?  Come on, honey, wake up.  We've got to get you out of there
before you turn into a prune."

Moaning, she refused to open her eyes, but a frown worked its way
across her brow when he shook her more insistently.

"Can't," she mumbled, slumping toward him.

"Too tired."

More asleep than awake, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder,
dampening his uniform and drawing a low moan from him.  God, she was
killing him and she didn't even know it!

Muttering an oath between tightly clamped teeth, he swept one arm
behind her back and dragged her into a sitting position, fumbling for
the plug to the tub with his free hand while bubbles slid down her
breasts to reveal every sweet, beautiful inch of her to his hungry
eyes.  Sweat popping out on his brow, he dropped the towel and snatched
it up again, as ham-fisted as a kid who'd never seen a naked woman
before.

With need a hard knot in his gut, he coaxed hoarsely, "Up you go,
sweetheart.  On your feet.  Let me dry you off some and then we'll get
you into your robe.  Stand there like a good girl."

"Riley?"  Frowning, she blinked dazedly as he roughly draped the towel
around her, patting her dry with a stiff efficiency that cost him more
than she could possibly know.  Forcing her eyes open a crack, she
stared up at him in confusion.

"Whad're you doin'?"

"Saving you from drowning and driving myself crazy," he said tersely,
guiding her hand into the sleeve of her robe.

"You fell asleep in the tub."

?

"Tired... s'tired.  Be all right.  Gimme a moment."  Given the
opportunity, Riley didn't doubt that she'd somehow summon the strength
not only to dress herself, but to march down the hall and check on her
patients.

Stubborn little fool.  Didn't she know when she was beaten?

"Forget it," he retorted as he pulled her robe together and belted
it.

"You're going to bed."

"Oh, no!  I can't" -- Shaking his head over her bullheadedness, he
settled the matter simply by sweeping her up in his arms and striding
out of the bathroom before she could do anything but drop her head to
his shoulder with a sigh.

"That's right, honey.  You go to sleep.  I'll be here to look after
things until you wake up."  '~ The upstairs bedrooms were all full, so
he carried her downstairs and looked around until he found the room
that had probably been h~r grandmother's before she died.  Side rails
had been added to the carved Victorian bed, and there was a wheeled
hospital table pushed into one corner.

Sepia-toned pictures from another age cowered the walls, and the
keepsakes of a lifetime littered every available space on the dresser
and table tops

Tenderly laying Becca on the spread, he waited for her to protest, but
she only turned over and buried her face in the pillow.  A heartbeat
later, she was out.  Staring down at her, Riley fought the need to
touch her, to bend over her and smooth her hair back from her face, to
lie down with her and hold her while she slept.  If she'd opened her
eyes then and smiled at him, he'd have been lost.  But she didn't.  Not
sure if he was relieved or disappointed, he turned on his heel and
quietly walked out.  There was no question after that that he was
staying, and he didn't ask himself why.  He just knew that Becea needed
him, whether she would admit it or not, and there was no way in hell he
could turn his back on her.  Striding into the kitchen, he called the
office.

Knowing Mark, he figured he'd probably tried to raise him a half dozen
times on the radio already and was now close to panic.

"Hi, Mark, it's me," he said as soon as the younger man came on the
line.

"I'm out here at the Prescott place" -- "Beeca Prescott's place?"  the
rookie interrupted in surprise.

"Do you know another Prescott, Newman?"

"Uh ... no, sir."

"Then I'm at Becca Prescott's.  The fill's hit pretty hard out here and
she's got her hands full with three sick old ladies and her daughter. I
thought I'd stay and help her awhfie.  You got any problems to report. 
"No, sir.  It's been pretty quiet."  Good.  With half the county sick
in bed, it should be a slow night.  Call me if anything crops up.  Oh,
and,

Mark?  "

"y 9"

~ "I don't think it's anyone's business where I am to- ~0~ight."

~ "Oh, no, sir," he agreed quickly Too uickl i i~:";:~: j Hanging up,
Riley wasn't fooled.  As big a gossip as Myrtle was, the younger man
was probably already on the pl~ one spreading the latest news.  It was
damned irritating, but he couldn't worry about it now.

"Mama!"

'

Chloe's soft cry hardly carried from upstairs, but Riley didn't doubt
for a minute that it would take nothing more than a whispered call from
her, however faint, to ~ake her m. other from the _s,o_undest sleep.
Thankful that he d closed the door of Becca s room, he hurried up the
stairs into the

. ~ ?  large, airy room where he'd spotted Chloe sleeping ear "Hey,
kiddo," he said from the doorway, greeting her with an easy smile.

"How you feeling?"

She looked so small sitting in the middle of the big bed, her piquant
face, so like her mother's, scrunching into a frown at the sight of
him.

"I want Mama."

"I know you do, sweetie, but she's sleeping right now.  Can I get you
something?"

Her lower lip started to tremble while big tears welled in her eyes.

"I want my mama."

"Hey," he exclaimed softly.

"What's this?  Tears?"  Crossing the room to her, he took a seat on the
side of the bed and pulled his clean handkerchief from his back pocket.
But instead of offering it to her, he picked up the tattered, obviously
well-loved teddy bear reclining on her pillow next to her and pretended
to wipe its fuzzy cheeks.

"Don't cry, sweetie.  Your mascara's going to run."  Surprised, Chloe
giggled, swiping at her cheeks.

"Bears don't cry.  And they don't wear mascara.  Only ladies do."

"Are you sure about that?"  he teased, frowning.

"This hear's got something all over his face."

"That's fur, silly!"

Holding the stuffed animal up so that it was nose-to- nose with him, he
widened his eyes and grinned.

"You know something?  I think you're right."

"That's because I know bors," she confided, flashing her dimples at him
as she claimed the toy and gave it a big hug.

"I've had this one since I was a little girl."  Since she was scarcely
as big as a minute now, that couldn't have been too long, but Riley
wisely refrained from pointing that out.  Taking advantage of her
distraction with the bear, he searched her upturned face for signs of
fever.  She was still pale, her color washed out, but her eyes were
clear, her laughter easy.  He hadn't had much experience with sick
kids, but she looked like she was on the mend, thank God.  With a
little food and rest, she'd be back to her old self in no time.

"Hey, I don't know about you," he said, ruffling her dark haft, "but
I'm as hungry as that bear of yours.  What about you?  Think you could
eat something?"  ~: Her blue eyes impish, she considered the suggestion
for a long moment, then nodded.

"Teddy likes mashed potatoes."

Riley blinked.  Cooking anything more complicated than a scrambled egg
was a stretch for him, and that included mashed potatoes.  What the
hell was he supposed to do now?

"Potatoes, huh?  You sure about that?"  ~;:~ ~ "Oh, yes.  Mama keeps a
bowl for him in the refrigerator all the time."

"No kidding?"  Sending up a silent prayer of thanks for Becca's
foresight, he rose to his feet.

"Then today's Teddy's lucky day."  And his.

"Sit tight, sweetheart, and I'll be right back with the grub."

As good as his word, he was back within minutes with the requested
potatoes, which he'd taken time to warm slightly in the microwave.  And
although Teddy showed no interest in them, of course, Chloe cleaned the
bowl and was, Riley was relieved to note, able to keep them down.
Almost immediately after that, her eyes began to droop.

But she didn't nod off.  Fighting drowsiness, she looked up at him, her
expression serious.

"Mama reads me a story after I eat."

Amusement spilled into his eyes.

"Oh, she does, does she?  Well, I guess I can manage that."

"This one," she insisted, pulling a well-worn book from under her
pillow.

"The one about the duck who lost his quack."

?

Riley laughed.  Chloe Prescott might be only five years old, but she
was definitely her mother's daughter and went after what she wanted.
God help the boys around town when she reached her teens.  They'd never
know what hit them.

"All right, little bit.  Move over and I'll sit next to you and read
for a while."  , "But Mama always sits in the rocker and holds me in
her lap."

So without quite knowing how it happened, Riley soon found himself
comfortably ensconced in the wooden platform rocker by the window with
Chloe curled in his lap as trustingly as if they'd done this a thousand
times before.  Touched by the little-girl scent of her, he smiled
crookedly.

It was a good thing his deputies couldn't see him They'd never believe
he could be such a softie.

"Okay," he said, thumbing to the beginning of the story.  The Duck Who
Lost His Quack.

Cradling her in one arm, his free hand holding the book, he began to
read, but he'd hardly started when she turned to frown at him
indignantly.

"That's not the way Mama does it."

Riley glanced from her to the book and back again.  ~He'd read exactly
what was printed on the opening page.  :~ What other way was there to
do it?

"Sweetheart, I only know one way to read."

"With an exaggerated patience that delighted Riley, Chloe took the book
from him.

"Mama says every character has to have his own voice.  Like this."
Raising the tone of her voice an octave, she recited the words the
mother duck in the story said to the baby duck.  Her smile.

triumphant, she then handed him back the book.

"See?"

Struggling to hold in a smile, he nodded solemnly.

"My mistake.  Shall I start over?"  At her nod, he checked the.

165 open door to make sure he didn't have an audience of more than one,
then began to read in an affected falsetto that soon sent Chloe into a
fit of giggles.

It was the silence that finally woke Becca.  Rested for what seemed
like the first time in days, she swam up from.

the depths of sleep and stretched languidly, her cheek rubbing against
soft chenille.  Distracted, she opened her eyes to find herself lying
on top of the bedspread of her grandmother's bed downstairs, dressed in
her robe.  In nothing but her robe.  How.  ?

Before the question fully formed in the mush that was her brain, vague
images swirled before her mind's eye, bits and pieces of tantalizing
scenes that could have been real or the haunting remnants of a dream.
Riley, his husky voice coming from a long way off, coaxing her to wake
up.  Riley leaning over her, lifting her out of the tub.

His hands, so strong and sure, patting her dry with a towel.  and
trembling.

"Oh, God!"

Heat firing her cheeks, she sat bolt upright in the bed, her eyes wide,
her heart pounding madly in her breast.  It hadn't been a dream, but
all too real.  How could she have fallen asleep in the tub?  Or let
Riley find her like that?  He must have dressed her, put her to bed.
She seemed to have some hazy recollection of him promising to stay for
a while, but that had to have been hours ago.  Surely Chloe or the
others must have stirred by now.

That brought her out of bed as nothing else could.  Lord, what was she
thinking of, lying here dwelling on what had happened in the bathroom,
and leaving Riley to watch over a houseful of sick females?  He might
be able to handle just about anything from drug smugglers to domestic
disputes when it came to his job, but somehow

? she didn't think he'd be too comfortable in a sick room.  especially
if everyone woke at once and needed help.

Tightening the belt of her robe, she hurried up the stairs, her hair an
unruly mass streaming behind her as she reached the upstairs hallway.
Expecting to find Riley hustling from bedroom to bedroom with juice and
words of sympathy, she was greeted with silence instead.  Surprised,
she started down the hall, checking each room as she came to it.
Margaret and Clara were snoring softly in the first two and seemed to
be resting comfortably.

Lucille, however, didn't appear to be quite so lucky.  Dozing fitfully,
she was still ashen, with a grimace of pain wrinkling her brow. Knowing
from experience that she would soon wake with another bout of nausea,
Becca moved quickly on to her daughter's room at the end of the hall.

She expected to find Chloe sleeping, too, or playing quietly with the
dolls and books she'd left within reach of her bed.  What she didn't
expect was Riley napping in the rOcking chair with a sleeping Chloe
sprawled across his chest, the book he must have been reading to her
lying facedown on the floor.

Stopping abruptly in the doorway, hex heart shifting at the sight of
them, Becca blinked back the sudden sting of tears.  Chloe had never
known her father--he'd died months before she was born--so she'd never
known what it was like to have a big strong man rock her to sleep or
hold her close and protect her from he dark.  She hadn't known what she
was missing.

~ ~ ~ ~ Until now.

They looked like they belonged together, their same dark hair close
enough in color that they could have easily passed for father and
daughter.  And Becca wasn't at

167 all sure how she felt about that.  Chloe was an open book, trusting
and sweet and vulnerable.  She'd never had to deal with a man in her
life because there'd never been a man in her mother's life.  But all
her friends had daddies, and she'd openly prayed for one of her own.
The more Riley became involved in their life, the more she would expect
him to be there.  Always.  She was too little to understand that there
was no such thing as always in the real world.  And that was a lesson
Becca didn't want her to learn anytime soon.  Life would teach it to
her quickly enough.  Crossing the room on silent feet, she bent over
Riley and gently eased her daughter from his arms.  Chloe, a deadhead
once she was out, was as limp as a noodle and didn't move so much as a
muscle when she was laid on her bed.  Smiling fondly at her, Becca
straightened and only then realized Riley was awake and watching her.
Not aware of what she was doing, she pressed a finger to her lips,
motioning for silence, and watched his gaze move to her mouth. Suddenly
hot, as aware as he of the electricity thickening the air between them,
she stepped out into the hall.

He followed her, as she knew he would.  all the way down the stairs to
the living room.  Feeling as if she were standing in the path of an
oncoming truck that was going to flatten her if she didn't get out of
the way, she knew she had to tell him about Chloe, about how she
couldn't take any chances about her daughter being hurt, ever.  But
when she turned to face him, she found herself saying huskily, "You've
been here for hours, You must be hungry.

I'll get you"-- ':

"You," he said thickly, catching her arm as she started to turn away.

Slowly, oh, so slowly~ he drew her toward him.

"The only thing I want is you."

?

He spoke nothing less than the truth.  He'd fought it with everything
in him, had lain awake nights telling himself why he couldn't want her,
but nothing had driven her from his thoughts.  She'd kept his blood hot
for longer than she had any right to, and he couldn't, wouldn't, deny
it any longer.

But that didn't mean he'd taken complete leave of his senses.  Not sure
if he was going to push her away or drag her closer, he slid his hands
to her waist, the feel of her robe under his fingers reminding him all
too clearly of the heated moments when he'd wrapped the garment around
her earlier.  Now all he could think of was getting her out of it.  His
hold instinctively tightening, he rasped, "I need to get the hell out
of here before I do something stupid."

The warning was for her as much as for him.  She should have pushed
free of his arms and shown him to the door.

She should have done anything but look up at him with green eyes that
were dark with wanting.  And she damn sure shouldn't have simply leaned
into him and whispered, "Yes."

Yes to what?  ;. ~. ~_.  :~;.

"Becca ... honey."  Closing his eyes for a second, he 'tried to hold on
to his common sense, but it was too late.

He'd lost his chance of walking away the second he'd touched her.  Her
name a prayer and a curse on his lips, he felt something inside him
snap.  Jerking her against him, he crushed his mouth to hers before she
could even think about changing her mind.

Passion.  White-hot and wild, it hit them both like a see ring wind
racing out of the bowels of hell, catching them up in a swirling vortex
of emotions that had no beginning or end.

Need, hunger, frustration, joy--senses whirling, hearts hammering in
time to an erotic rhythm ll

169 that throbbed like a drum in their blood, they felt them all in a
span of seconds.  -. ~. ~' ~ His head in a spin, Riley tried to tell
her that a 'man could only stand so much from a woman.  so much
teasing, so much need.  but his hands were in her hair, and she was so
sweet, so giving.  Devouring her, he scattered kisses over her face and
throat, stealing her breath, making her shudder, making her burn.

Dizzy and panting, Becca clung to him, boneless.  He knew just where to
touch her to make her groan, just where to rub to make her mindless.
Sure and possessive, his hands swept over her, measuring her hips and
waist, teasingly skirting her breasts, until every sensation seemed to
focus there.  , Aching, burning, she nipped at his mouth and grabbed
his hand, dragging it over her breast where she wanted it, turning his
chuckle into a moan.  But the thickness of her robe denied her the
touch she really wanted.  Whimpering in frustration, she tugged at the
belt blindly.  Lost to everything but him and the needs screaming in
her blood, she didn't hear the phone at first.  But suddenly Riley
stiffened and muttered a curse against her mouth, his hands coming up
to gently untangle her arms from around his neck.

"No!"  she moaned.

"Ignore it.  It's probably just Laura Jacobs calling to see how Chloe
is."

He wanted to.  God knew he wanted to.  For the first time in his
career, he wanted to ignore the rest of the world and his
responsibilities and just take some time for him- serf with the only
woman he'd ever known who could push him over the edge.  But he
couldn't, and he didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse.

"We can't, sweetheart.  It could be Mark.  I left your number with
him.

You've got to answer it.  "

?

For a moment he thought she was going to flat out refuse.  Defiance
flashed in her eyes, and it was clear that with the least
encouragement, she would have told Mark to take a flying leap.
Reluctant amusement skimming his mouth, he couldn't say he blamed her.
He hurt--God, did he hurt!

Given the least incentive, he'd have yanked the damn phone off the wall
and thrown it out the window.  But it would have bought them only a few
moments, at most.  The ringing of the phone was every bit as effective
as an alarm clock, and any second now, one of the patients upstairs was
going to wake up and need Becca for something.  And she knew it as well
as he did.

Her mouth suddenly tight with frustration, she turned on her heel and
strode into the kitchen.  Snatching up the phone, she snapped,
"Prescott residence.  And this better be good."

"Uh, Mrs.  P-Prescott?  This is, uh, Mark Newman," the flustered rookie
stuttered in her ear.

"Is the sheriff there?"

"Just a minute."  Holding out the phone to Riley, She found little
consolationin the sudden laughter sparkling in his eyes.

"It's for you."

She would have walked out then and left him to take the call in
private, but he had no intention of letting her out of his reach.  Not
until he had to.  Snagging her around the waist with his free hand, he
pulled her close until her hip bumped his.

"What's the problem, Mark?"

"You gotta come in, Boss.  I'm sick."

With John and Lance already out, and Darrel catching up on a few hours
of sleep, Riley knew he should have been expecting it, but the news
caught him completely by surprise.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry.  Can you drive yourself home?"  "Yeah, I guess."
~ .

"Then go on and leave now."  .  " ~.~ ~ " But there's no one here to
answer the phone"-- I'll be there in ten minutes," Riley said firmly.

"If anybody calls, they'll call back.  Go home and take care of
yourself.

The place won't fall apart if there's no one there for a few minutes.
"

When the younger man meekly gave in without further protest, Riley knew
he had to be sick--usually it took a crowbar to get Mark out of the
office before the end of his shift.

Replacing the receiver in its cradle, he glanced down at Becca
regretfully.

"I've got to go."

She nodded, her eyes on the buttons of his shirt.

"I know."

They had to talk.  About tonight and a need that they both knew wasn't
going to go away.  About the trouble they were headed for.  And an
election that was only weeks away, an election one of them was going to
lose.

But there wasn't time.  ~+f Slowly dropping his arm, he stepped back
while he still could.  /"I've only got one deputy left: so I don't know
when I 11 be able to get back out here.  :t, , ~' '~,~: .  " We'll be
fine.  " ........ :zw'~ There was no question of that--she was a tough
lady who had proven she could handle practacally anything.  He should
have been relieved--for the last ten years, he'd gone out of his way to
make sure no woman looked to him to be her hero.  He'd finally found
one who didn't have a problem with that, and all he could feel was
regret.  She didn't need him.

Chapter 9

By the next morning, the worst of the crisis was over.  With the
resilience of youth, Chloe bounced back with a speed her elderly
neighbors could only envy, and keeping her quiet so that the others
could rest turned out to be a real chore.  She wanted to visit--and
play--with their houseguests, and over the course of the day, Becca
lost count of the number of times she found her in one of the guest
rooms, ensconced on the bed and chatting happily.

Convinced she had a budding talk-show host on her hands, Becca
convinced her to come downstairs--again-and tried to explain that
Margaret and the others needed more time to get over being sick than
she did and that they weren't here for a visit.  Chloe listened
solemnly to every word, then said, "But Mama, I was just talking.  And
Clara said I made her laugh."

"I know, honey.  But I think they need a nap now.  Why don't you help
me make supper instead?  We're having your favorite."

"Chicken and dumplings?  Oh, boy!  Can I make the dumplings?"  .

"I'm counting on it," Becca said, grinning.

"I've already got everything set up for you."

Thrilled, Chloe rushed into the kitchen, where she threw herself into
dumpling making with joyful enthusiasm.

Within minutes, she and the old oak table she worked at were covered in
flour.  With her hands up to her elbows in the sticky dough, she
chattered happily, content for the moment to be distracted.

Later though, after supper, she found one excuse after another to slip
upstairs.  She had to tell Margaret a secret.

Then she was sure that Clara needed a glass of water.  Lucille wanted
her to rearrange her pillows for her, and then, of course, she had to
kiss and hug all of them goodnight.  Amused, Becca indulged her for a
while, knowing that her elderly houseguests really did enjoy Chloe,
especially since, none of their grandchildren lived nearby.  But then
she noticed Lucille trying to stifle a yawn and called a quick halt to
the nocturnal visits.

"Okay, shorty, time for you to go to bed, too.  Lights out in five
minutes."

"But, Mama" -- '~:~"No buts.  Give the grannies one last kiss, then hop
into your room so I can tuck you in."

When Becca spoke in that tone, Chloe knew better than to argue.  That
didn't, however, mean she gave in gracefully.

Grumbling under her breath about how she never got to stay up late, she
dragged her feet from one room to the next like a martyr on her way to
the gallows, glumly doling out good-night kisses.  Standing in the
hallway watching her, Becca struggled not to laugh.

By nine-thirty, everyone except Becca was asleep, and the house was
quiet as a tomb.  Needing some noise, she

?

switched on the TV and dropped down onto the couch to wait for the ten
o'clock news, too restless to even think about going to bed.  But the
second she put her feet up, two days and nights of practically nonstop
work caught up with her.  Her eyes heavy, she couldn't seem to focus on
the screen.  She'd rest them a minute, she decided.  Just for a
second.

Later, she couldn't say what woke her.  One minute she was dreaming
about Riley slipping into the bathtub with her, his hands sliding over
her wet skin with agonizing slowness, and the next she was jarred into
full wakefulness Her heart knocking against her ribs, she lay perfectly
still, listening, but the only sound came from the late-night talk show
currently rolling its credits across the television screen. Reaching
for the remote control, she hit the power button.

The silence was immediate, the house quiet.

"You're hearing things, girl," she muttered as she pushed herself to
her feet.

"It was probably something on the TV."  Just to be sure, though, she
double-checked the doors, but she'd locked them hours ago and no one
had touched them.  Shaking her head over her own imaginings, she took
the added precaution of turning on the security lights outside.

"You're getting paranoid in your old age," she told herself, glancing
out the picture window.

"There's nothing out there .... " Her words dwindled to nothingness at
the sight of Riley patrol car parked in her drive with its lights
off.

Jerking the chain off with fingers that weren't quite steady, she threw
open the dead bolt, her smile as bright as a moonbeam.  He'd come.  Up
until then, she hadn't realized that she'd been waiting for him all
day.  When, she wondered, had she reached the point where she needed to
tt

~.

see him, even if just for a second, to make her day complete?

:. -. : -. Later the answer to that would worry her, but not tonight.

She was infected with a temporary madness that felt wonderful.  It
wouldn't last--she knew that, accepted it but for now, she was going to
enjoy it and not worry about tomorrow.

Pulling open the door, she hurried down the porch steps, a teasing
remark already forming on her lips.  But as she rounded the hood of his
car, she saw that he was draped over the steering wheel, his head
pillowed on his crossed arms, fast asleep.

Surprised, she felt her smile grow tender.  So the Lone

Ranger had finally run out of gas.  Considering the way he'd been
pushing himself, working double and triple shifts so his men could get
the rest they needed, it was a wonder he hadn't crashed before now.  He
had to be worn out.

Unable to take her eyes from him, she let her gaze linger on the
silkiness of his dark hair as it fell forward over his forehead, the
thick shadow of his lashes against his bronzed cheeks, the firm,
sensuous curve of his mouth in ~?  eep.

Warmth, sweet and heavy, clutched at her heart, stealing her breath.
Her fingers itched to touch him, but she sternly ordered herself to
leave the poor man alone.

He was clearly exhausted and wouldn't thank her for disturbing the
first decent sleep he'd had in hours.  ,

But he looked so uncomfortable.

>

Torn, she hesitated.  He didn't have to sleep in his car,

she reasoned.  He could stretch out on the couch for a couple of hours
and surely rest better there than he could bent over his steering
wheel.  If he stayed the way he was much longer, he was bound to get a
crick in his neck.

?

"Riley?"  Reaching through the open window, she started to shake him
awake, only to suck in a sharp breath as she felt how hot he was.  Dear
God, he was burning up!  The minute she touched him, he groaned.
Forcing open his eyes, he frowned at her in bewilderment.

"Becca?  What're you doing out here?"

"Checking on you."  Pushing his hair back, she felt his hot forehead.

"How long have you had this fever?"

"Dunno ... a couple of hours."  His jaw rigid, he pushed himself away
from the steering wheel as if every movement was an effort, then
fumbled for the key in the ignition.

"I gotta get home."

"Oh, no, you don't."  Lightning quick, she reached past him to snatch
the keys from the ignition.

"You're in no shape to drive.  And even if you were, there's no way I'm
letting you go home to fight this alone.  You're staying here until you
feel better."

He didn't have the energy to spit, let alone argue, but he gave it a
try anyway.  Stiffly climbing out of the car, he leaned back against it
to give her a narrow-eyed look.

"I should have known you were the type to take advantage of a sick
man."

"That's right," she said chcekily.

"So just get prepared.  I mean to enjoy it."  Slipping her arm around
his waist, she turned him toward the house.

"C'mon, big guy, let's get you inside."

With all the upstairs bedrooms taken, she had nowhere to put him but
her grandmother's room off the kitchen.

Away from the rest of the house, it was quiet and private, and no one
would disturb him there.  Steering him through the open doorway, she
started to help him toward the bed.  Suddenly realizing where she was
taking him, he stopped, swaying on his feet as he frowned.

"You've been

177 sleeping here since the ladies moved in upstairs.  I can't take
your bed.  " ~ ,.

"It's just for tonight," she insisted, urging him across the room.

"And I don't mind the couch.  Clara's feeling much better and should be
strong enough to go home tomorrow.  So don't worry about it."

His head thick, his body aching, he couldn't have protested after that
if he'd tried.  It took the last of his energy just to make it across
the room.  The minute they reached the bed, his knees seemed to lose
their starch and he hit the mattress with a low groan.  It was the last
thing he remembered for hours.

After a struggle, Becca got his boots off, then, somehow, his clothes,
but it wasn't easy.  He was a deadweight and moaned every time she had
to move him.  And he was so hot!  The heat seemed to just pour off him.
Thankful he wasn't awake to see how worried she was, she covered him
with a sheet and light blanket so he wouldn't get chilled, then ran to
the kitchen for a bowl of water and a cloth to sponge him off.

After that, she lost all track of time.  Sitting on the side of the bed
next to his prone figure, she ran the damp washcloth across his
shoulders and down his arms and chest over and over again as the night
slipped by with agonizing slowness.  Any other time she would have
marveled at the way the man was put together--the wide breadth of his
shoulders, the sinewy strength of his hardened muscles, the sheer power
of him.  But her stomach was twisted with the beginnings of panic, her
fingers shaking.

Nothing she did seemed to help his fever.

A low groan ripped from his throat and he shifted restlessly on the
pillow.

"No," he muttered.

"No!  This can't be happening."

' ?

"Shh," Beeca murmured.

"Just relax.  You'x~going to be fine."  ," But instead of soothing him,
she only seemed to agitate him.  Swearing, he kicked at the sheet, his
hand suddenly lashing out without warning to grab her by the wrist. His
fingers biting like talons into her skin, he jerked her toward him, his
eyes those of a cold, furious stranger" as they met hers without
recognition.

"You bitch!  We thought we had backup when we went into that damn
warehouse, but we didn't have squat.  Just you.  And you weren't coming
in, were you?  Oh, no.  You sold us out."  Startled, sprawled halfway
across his chat, Becca pulled against his steely grip.

"Riley, please ... I don't know what you're talking about.  You're hall
urinating

But the fever was too high, the nightmare that gripped him too strong,
for him to hear her.

"Did you watch, Sybil?"  he jeered softly, contempt twisting his
mouth.

"Did you stand back in the shadows and watch your coke buddies splatter
Danny's guts all over that warehouse?  We were your partners, damn
you!"

He tossed her hand away as if he couldn't stand to touch her.

"God, you make me sick."  Collapsing back against the pillow with an
exhausted sigh, he slowly shut his eyes again as sleep dragged him
under.

"Oh, God, Danny," he murmured in a choked voice.  "l'n~ sorry, man.  So
sorry."  ~ Pale and shaken, Becca couldn't have moved for the life Of
her.  So this was why he believed women didn't belong in law
enforcement.  A partner--a woman--had betrayed him and cost a friend
his life.  And ten years later, it still haunted him.

Sudden tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back furiously,
wishing she could comfort him.  But she'd never suffered that kind of
betrayal and didn't have the words

179 to heal a hurt that went soul deep.  All she could do was tend his
fever and help get him through the night.

He wanted to die.

Nauseated, with every bone in his body aching, Riley woke time and
again during the long night, more miserable than he'd ever been in his
life.  At least twice he demanded that Becca take him out back and
shoot him and be done with it, but she only laughed and forced enough
grape juice down him to float a battleship.  As far as he could tell,
it didn't help, and if he never tasted the stuff again, it would be too
soon.

Sometime before dawn, the fever that had been cooking him alive broke,
and he vaguely remembered Becca murmuring to him that he was going to
be all right now.  During the last few days, she'd seen enough of the
flu to know that the worst was past, and all he had to do was lie there
and get better.  Too weak to do more than squeeze her hand, he drifted
to sleep with the sound of her voice following him into his dreams.
That alone made up for all the torture earlier in the night.

When he finally struggled back to consciousness and forced his eyes
open, sunlight was spilling in through the windows to the west. Turning
his head slowly on the pillow, he studied his surroundings. Becca was
nowhere to be found, but there were signs of her presence
everywhere--the empty juice glasses on the bedside table, the washcloth
he remembered her sponging him off with, some towels that had been
dropped over a nearby chair.

And a pallet on the floor by the bed.  Surprised, he stared at it, only
now realizing how she'd been able to get to him so quickly every time
he so much as groaned.

She'd slept within touching distance the entire night and he hadn't
even known it.

. ?

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the quiet knock at the door at
first.  Then Chloe peaked around the doorjamb, her smile broadening
into a quicksilver grin when she saw him look up.

"Oh, good.  You're awake," she said happily.  Pushing the door open all
the way, she skipped into the room with a lighthearted energy Riley
couldn't help but envy.

Stopping at the foot of the bed, she clasped her hands behind her back
and informed him seriously, "Mama's gone to the store, and she made me
promise not to bother you.  Am I bothering you?"

Hastily swallowing a grin, he pretended to consider the possibility.

"No," he said finally, chuckling.

"I don't think you are.  I was just lying here thinking that it was
awful quiet around here.  What are you up to, short stuff?"

"Nuttin'," she said, dragging the toe of one of her canvas tennis shoes
across the braided rug underfoot.

"Want me to read to you?  I brought a book."  Dragging it out from
behind her back, she held it up so he could see it.  "

One corner of his mouth hitched up in a crooked grin.

"The Duck Who Lost His Quack, huh?  That's a pretty good story.  You
think you're big enough to read it?  It's got some pretty hard words in
it."  .  :

Insulted, she bristled like a bantam hen.

"I'm not a' baby," she said indignantly.

"I know every one of them, even stu..."  She frowned, trying to
remember the correct pronunciation, then tried again.

"Stupendous

Grinning broadly, she winked at him.

"See?"  What he saw was that she was a heartbreaker--just like her
mother.  And he couldn't resist her any more than he could Becca.

The day was quickly coming when he would have to deal with that, but
for now, he only patted the bed beside him.

"You're right--you know your onions.  Climb on up here and get
comfortable."

Pleased with herself, she kicked off her shoes and scrambled up onto
the bed before the words were scarcely out of his.  mouth.  Riley saw
immediately that she intended to stay awhile--the pillow behind her
back had to be just so, the book resting on her thighs and tilted at
just the right angle.  Casting a look at him out of the corner of her
eyes to make sure he was listening, she smiled slightly and began to
read the story she'd heard so many times that she knew it by heart.

They were well into why the quack less duck had lost his quacker when
Clara, looking much better than she had the last time Riley had seen
her, suddenly stepped into the open doorway.  Still a trifle pale, she
was dressed in a gown and floral robe instead of her usual shirtwaist,
but she wore her pearls, and that said it all.  She was definitely on
the mend.

Spying Chloe on the bed, she clicked her tongue reprovingly.

"Chloe, your mama said the sheriff needed to rest."

' "He is" ~ , the five-year-old said innocently.  '_i.  I'm the one
who's reading.  " -~: Fighting a sudden laugh, Riley choked instead.

"Uh, she's right, Clara.  I'm just lying here listening.  I'm fine,
really."

"Maybe so... now.  But you don't want to have a relapse."  Shooting
Chloe a bright smile, she said, "Your mama left you some brownies on
the table.  I think I hear them calling your name."

It was a bribe, pure and simple, one that Chloe didn't even try to
resist.

"Can I have two?"  :

"Oh, I think so... if they're little ones."  ~

Who's the B SS?

That was all the child needed to hear.  She was off like a shot,
leaving the two adults chuckling behind her.  Expecting Clara to leave
him then to rest, he lifted a brow when she stepped into the room, her
blue eyes twinkling behind the lenses of her glasses as she held a
finger to her smiling lips.

"Okay, Clara, what are you up to?"  :

"Nothing."  Delighted with his suspicious look, she Pulled a pack of
overlarge tarot cards out of her robe pocket and held them up so he
could see them.

"Just a little card reading.  I thought it would amuse you."

Riley took one look and almost rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, Clara, you know I don't believe in that stuff."

"Oh, pooh," she scoffed with a dismissive smile as she pulled up a
chair next to his bed.

"Everyone wants to know about the future.  It's fun!"  All-business,
she positioned a bed tray across his lap and set the tarot deck in the
middle of it.

"All right, dear, cut the cards."  There was no getting out of it, not
without hurting her feelings.  And what was it going to hurt to indulge
her, anyway?

Resigned, he shot her a teasing grin.

"Okay, but I expect you to tell it like it is.  If the cards say I'm
going to win the election, you can't go changing things on me just
because you're supporting Becca."

"That goes without saying, dear boy," she said with all the regainess
of a queen whose ethics had been questioned.

"I only report what I see."

The rules set, Riley cut the cards, only to have her click her tongue
disapprovingly and hastily stop him.

"Never cut your luck away from you, dear," she admonished.

"Try again."  ~ Struggling with a grin, Riley did as she asked, this
time making sure to cut the cards--and his luck--toward himself.

The second he was finished, Clara quickly gathered

183 the odd-looking cards and laid them out before him.  Riley took one
look at them and frowned.  He didn't have a clue what they stood for.

"Well?"  he demanded with the patience of a man who was clearly just
humoring her.

"How does it look?  If I'm going to bite the bullet anytime soon, I'd
just as soon not know about it."

Tapping one particular card, Clara gave him a reassuring smile.

"Oh, no, dear.  You're going to live to be a very old man."  Leaning
closer so she could see better, she nodded, as if she were carrying on
a conversation with someone in her head, and mumbled, "Yes, it's just
the same as before.

I hoped it would be, but it's so unbelievable "Her eyes suddenly
lifting to his, she exclaimed, " Oh, Riley, this is the most amazing
thing!  "

"What?"  Frowning down at the cards, he didn't see a thing in the
strange pictures to get excited about.

"What do you see?"  "Why, your future, of course," she replied, sitting
back with a broad smile.

"And I'll tell you, young man, fate has certainly stepped in and
blessed you.  I don't know when I've last seen love and romance so
strongly aligned in a man's cards.  Miss Right is right here," she
said, pointing to the card of a woman in an old-fashioned dress, "so
close you can practically reach out and touch her."  Too late, Riley
realiz~ he should have been prepared for this.  Clara had never made
any secret of the fact that she looked at the world and saw hearts and
flowers, but he'd honestly expected her to focus on the election.

"Miss Right, hmm?  And here I'd given up on her years ago.  So who is
she?"

"Someone who's going to turn your life upside down," she predicted
secretively, her blue eyes dancing as they met his.

"She's really going to shake you up, but don't you

?

dare let her get away.  She's strong and full of life, a real fighter
who'll stand by you.  You need her.  " ~ He almost argued with her over
that point--during the course of the last ten years, he'd made sure he
hadn't let himself need anyone--but that was something he didn't
particularly want to discuss with Clara or anyone else.

And she was having such fun, he hated to disillusion her.

"Well, someone like that's not exactly hiding under a rock.  Where is
she?  What's her name?"

"Oh, I can't tell you that, dear.  But I don't think you'll have any
trouble recognizing her.  She appears to be someone who's fairly new in
town.  I see upheavel around her, so I would think that she's just made
some major changes in her life."

Not a dense man, he didn't need to be hit over the head with a frying
pan to get the point.  Giving her a knowing look, he said dryly, "I
see.  That narrows it down considerably, doesn't it?  We don't have
many new people in town."

"Oh, but I didn't say she necessarily had to live in town," she said
quickly, flustered that he'd misgnderstood.

"Just the vicinity."  ~ ~?  ~ ;~ "Or maybe she doesn't live here at
all," he suggested innocently.

"She could just be someone who's passing through on the interstate and
I stop her for speeding or something.

Who knows?  We could take one look at each other and fall head over
heels.  Now wouldn'.  t that be romantic?  "

"Actually, I was thinking she was someone you've already met," Clara
said pointedly, starting to look miffed.

"Possibly someone who's right under your nose.  I thought she sounded
quite familiar.  Surely you can think of someone who meets that
description."

Quietly stepping into the open doorway in time to hear Clara's end of
the conversation, Becca took in the cards spread out on the bed tray
and didn't know if she wanted to laugh or die of mortification. Shaking
her head over her own stupidity--she should have known better than to
leave Clara and her cards alone with Riley for five minutes, let alone
the forty it took her to run to the store and hack--she bustled into
the room, smiling as if she hadn't heard a thing.  ',~ ~ "Sorry I was
gone so long," she said brightly, "but the store was packed with people
buying soup and crackers.

Well, I see our patient is awake and feeling better.  " Turning to
Riley, she noted the wicked humor in his eye and.... knew she wasn't
fooling anyone, least of all him.  He knew damn well she'd heard enough
of the conversation to realize that Clara was up to her matchmaking
tricks and that" he was thoroughly enjoying himself.  Her gaze not
quite meeting his, she turned away, silently cursing the heat warming
her cheeks.

"You must be hungry."

"Actually, I" -- She didn't give him a chance to finish before she
briskly~ turned to her neighbor.

"Clara, would you mind fixing Riley a tray while I put t, he groceries
away?  I know he's -~got to be starving, and it s going to take me
awhile to put all the perishable items away."

Of course, dear.  I d be happy to.  Gathering up her tarot cards as
surreptitiously as possible, she hastily stuffed them in the pocket of
her robe and plastered on an innocent smile that would have done an
angel proud.

"I

believe there's some chicken-and-rice soup left from.  " lunch.  I'll
just go 'heat it up."

Feeling like the ugly stepchild, Riley watched her hurry out into the
hall, with Becca right on her heels.

"Hey," what if I'm not hungry?  "

?

"Then you must still be sick," Becca countered, glancing back over her
shoulder at him.

"I'll bring you another glass of grape juice."

"No, no!"  he groaned.

"Anything but that!"  Laughing, she followed Clara into the kitchen,
but her smile fled the second the older woman told her in a pleased
voice, "I think it's just wonderful that you and Riley are getting
along so well.  And Chloe seems to thrive in his company.  I tried to
tell him that the two of you were made for each other" -- Becca
winced.

"I thought we agreed not to mention that, remember?  You promised you
wouldn't tell him about my reading.  It was going to be our little
secret."

"Oh, but that's just it," she exclaimed excitedly.

"It was his future I was reading, not yours.  I couldn't believe it
myself when I saw the way his cards fell.  They were just like yours.
It's really fate, dear.  Written in the stars.  You must be soul mates.
That's the only explanation."

She'd said something similar before, so it wasn't what she said that
horrified Becca.  It was the ring of truth in her words.  Fighting
panic, she searched for an explanation.

"I know you believe in the cards, Clara, but you must have made a
mistake.  I'm not looking for a soul mate and neither is Riley."

Her smile incredibly sweet, Clara patted her arm soothingly, not the
least bit concerned with such trivialities.

"That's the beauty of it, Becca, dear.  Even when we're not looking,
someone higher up is.  Trust me.  You and Riley are meant to be.  I
think it's just fascinating."

She was so pleased with herself, Becca didn't have the heart to tell
her that wasn't exactly the word she would have used to describe her
attraction to Riley.

"Wonderful," she agreed through clenched teeth.

"Just wonderful."

Clara meant well, but after that, Becca wasn't going to let her and her
cards near Riley again, so she was the one who brought him a small bowl
of homemade chicken-and- rice soup a few moments later.  With color
still flushing her cheeks, she set it on the tray across his lap, then
took the chair next to the bed that Clara had occupied only moments
before.

"I know you said you weren't hung~, but you really do need to eat
something," she said stiffly.  ~ "Only if I get to keep it for a while
instead of renting it," he retorted with a crooked grin.

"I've had enough of tossing my cookies to last me a lifetime."

She chuckled.

"You were one sick puppy, but I'd say the worst is past." Unthinkingly,
she leaned over to lay her palm against his forehead to check for
fever, just as she had countless times during the night.  But this
time, she found her hand caught in his.  Startled, she raised her eyes
to his.

In the kitchen, Clara was puttering around, putting things away for
her, and outside, Chloe was on her swing in the backyard, singing away
like she hadn't a care in the world.

Margaret and Lucille were somewhere in the house, still moving slowly
from their ordeal and not yet ready to go home.  But she and Riley
might have been the only two people for miles for all the notice she
gave the rest of the world.  Her heart was doing a crazy somersault in
her breast, and she felt her senses start to hum.  Given the
opportunity, she could have sat there for hours, loving the feel of his
hands on her.

But Clara's predictions for their future still hung in the air between
them, refusing to be ignored.  She started to pull away, but his
fingers only tightened as he ran his thumb over her wrist, scattering
her pulse.

"Riley..."

Distracted by the delicate bones of her hand, he heard the warning in
her tone.  But his attention was caught next

? by the faint, bluish bruises that discolored her skin right where
his fingers held her.

"How did you do this?  It looks like someone grabbed you."

"You were out of it" -- "I did this?"  he asked, stunned.

"When?"  Remembering the hurt and anger that had seethed in him when
the fever had held him in its grip, Becca cursed herself for not
finding another excuse for the bruises.

"It's not important" -- "When?"

His jaw set, he wasn't going to let the matter drop.  Sighing, Becca
told him.

"You were hallucinating.  You didn't know what you were doing."

"Did I hurt you?"

Shocked, she said, "No, of course not!  You thOUght I was someone named
Sybil" -- That was as far as she got.  Cursing, he dropped her hand as
if he'd been burned.

"Then my brain must have really been fried.  I haven't mentioned that
woman's name in nearly ten years."  "She's the reason you got out of
the DEA."  She'd obviously already learned enough from his fevered
ramblings to figure out the truth for herself, so there was no point in
denying it.

"She was a greedy bitch who would have sold her own mother if the price
was high enough."  He told her all of it then, every miserable detail
of the worst week of his life, the bitterness spilling out unchecked.

Her heart breaking for him, Becca listened without saying a word,
noting that most of his hurt was directed at his partner and not his
ex-wife.

"Not all women in law enforcement are like Sybil," she pointed out
quietly when he'd finished.

"The fact that she sold you out had nothing to do with her sex"

~"Tell that to someone who di~.~,~, ~ b" and his best friend get shot
in the ba~kt ~t~Usa~d col~"',~," i don't want to hear it.  "

~ ?  " ~ ~' .

Hurt, Becca recoiled asif he'd tS~ilal~ ~l~er.

"Fine.  I'll get out of your hair."  Her o~}o~l~0frosty as the season's
first cold front, she rose to '. as ~

on, _ ,~cg-4, aveg tal t of washing to catch up.  and )i'0u Ie~] to
rest.  I called your office first thing this morro:i: ~. attacked to
Dartel

Gabriel.  He said to tell you not to: ]e.  ~0 about anything.  He was
sleeping at the jail until t!  d)5;of back to normal.

So don't even think about .  ~ Holier when you're fmlshed eaUnS?  gs
out of that bed.

tray.  "

: i~ fn come for the

She was gone in two seconds ~ .  - .  lat ~Ctlcauy running out the
door, out not De~ore ne saP ~ ,nded lo't' her eyes.

Staring after her, his I~he 4~otten ~il'~v ~ f0~ , Y swore, wanting to
throw some thru h, .  known it the minute the words le~?  t~d~ ~:aer~.
n~r~d ~t was the last thing he wanted to d l~(s to?  ~g} ~; .  matter
with him?

' '~ha~ ~'~

Revolted with himself, he kne~, there.  Before he hurt her again~
strength to make love to her, n quences.  Because that wouldn't b not
when he still couldn't bring h: Leaving, however, wasn't going might be
furious with him right now she was going to let him just walk weak as a
sick pup.  So he'd ha~ t plan Eating his soup, he though!

eyes in the back of her head, an going to be able to slip out with.

after she went to bed.  It was alm taking such good care of him, bt d
to get out of

~'~fl he found the

I! 1

of the conse~ither of them,

~it~ ~ trust her.

11 that easy.  She h l~ere was no way

0 he was still as k out another ia~i ly time he was The lady had

'~ ~ eeing him was

~elf0 repay her for

~o~ cln't be helped.

She'd be hurt and angry and would, no doubt, want to skin him alive,
but she'd get over it.  And he'd get over her.  somehow.

The decision made, he waited the rest of the day and evening for his
chance.  Becca didn't come near him herself, and for that, he sent up a
silent prayer of thanks.  But she didn't completely abandon him,
either.  She sent Chloe or one of the old ladies to check on him, and
every time he pretended he was too tired to even sit up to talk to
them, he felt like a heel.  Not the least discouraged, they fussed over
him, babied him and brought him mouthwatering dishes to tempt his
appetite and rebuild his strength.  Disgusted with himself for the
deception, he finally couldn't take it anymore and pretended he was
asleep the next time someone tapped on his open door.

He never expected to sleep at all, but the next thing he knew, a
rooster was busily crowing somewhere in the distance and the sky was
just beginning to lighten.  Swearing, Riley threw off the covers and
started to quietly search for his clothes.  ::~ ~'~'.  :~':~':~:~':

After tending her patients for three days and nights, Becca had learned
to sleep with one ear open just in case she was needed.  Comfortably
ensconced on the couch and dead to the world, she heard Riley the
second he moved.

Afraid he'd had a relapse, she pushed aside her covers and grabbed her
robe from the opposite end of the couch.  She was still belting it as
she hurried into his room.  But the second she switched on the light,
it was obvious he wasn't sick.  Standing next to the bed, already
dressed in his uniform, he was hopping on one booted foot as he tugged
on the other boot.  At her entrance, his

191 eyes flew to hers, and she'd never seen such a look of guilt on a
man's face in her life.  She didn't have to ask what he was doing--it
was obvious.  He was leaving.  Like a rat slipping away at first light.
~

Chapter 10 '

A more-sophisticated woman would have hidden her hurt, but Becca had
never been any good at hiding her emotions, so she didn't even try.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she said flatly, "You're obviously in
a hurry to leave if you've got to get up at the crack of dawn to do
it.

What's the matter?  Were you worried I'd try to stop you?  "

If he'd bothered to deny it, she probably would have thrown something
at him, but he only finished tugging on his boot, then straightened,
his expression stony as he faced her.

"I

thought it'd be better this way.  "

"Better for who?  You couldn't even lift your head off the pillow until
yesterday afternoon!  You've got no business being out of that bed."
His jaw set, he looked around for his Stetson and found it hanging from
the corner of the dresser mirror.

"I'm fine.  I appreciate all your help, but I've got to get back to
work and check on my men."

He stepped toward her, but Becca stood her ground in the doorway, her
chin lifted stubbornly.  He looked better than he had in days, but he
was still too pale and gaunt.  He hadn't eaten anything more
substantial than chicken soup and Jell-O yesterday, and now he thought
he was ready to go back to work and chase bad guys?  She didn't think
so.

"I'm sure your men are fine--Dan-el can handle things for a couple of
days.  You're the one I'm worried about.

Stay one more day.  "

' "No."

"Why not?

~:~:~ He could have given her a half dozen excuses, all of them Ixue,
some more pressing than others.  But there was only one reason why he
had to get out of there, and she was it.

Couldn't she see what she was doing to him?  Did he have to spell it
out?

Suddenly at the end of his patience, he tossed his hat across the room
and moved toward her with eyes blazing.

Before she could so much as blink, he had her in his arms.

"Dammit, lady, isn't it obvious?"  he growled.

"I want you so bad now I can hardly stand it.  Staying's only going to
make it worse."

Then, so there would be no misunderstanding, so she would know exactly
how frustrated he was, he kissed her hard, like a man who was at the
end of his rope and just couldn't tak~ any more.  There was nothing
nice about it, nothing gentle.  It was raw and basic and rough, with a
passion that was barely held in check.

She should have slugged him--it was no more than he deserved.  At the
very least, she should have grabbed him by the hair and pulled till she
got his attgnfion and he calmed down.

But she kissed him, just kissed him, and he was lost.

?

Unable to stop himself, he dragged her closer and felt her fit herself
to him like the lost piece of a puzzle that, once it was in place, tied
everything together.  Groaning, he felt reason start to slip away.

"Sweetheart, you don't know what you're doing" -- "Yes, I do," she
argued, and pressed her lips to his.  Later, when common sense came
crashing' down on him, he knew he was going to hate himself for letting
lust get the better of his principles.  But later was a long way ~away
and the woman in his arms wasn't.  She was warm and willing and all too
real, and it seemed like they'd been racing toward this moment from the
second they'd met.

"I'm going to make love to you," he rasped against her mouth, stating
his intentions at the outset.

"So if you've got a problem with that, you'd better speak up right now,
honey.  I want you too much to play games."  Breathless, with desire
curling through her like a ribbon of light, Becca stared up at his
rough-hewn face and knew what he was doing.  There would be no
delusions, no mistakes made in the heat of passion and regretted later.
If he didn't leave now, he wouldn't stop with a few kisses.

He would take her to bed.  without promises or any mention of the
future.  They would have this time together.

Nothing else.

;"A lifetime ago, she wouldn't have even considered such an offer.

But a lifetime ago, she had believed in love and marriage and happily
ever afters.  Never again: "No," she said huskily, reaching for the tie
belt to her robe.

"I don't have a problem with that."  And with a simple shrug of her
shoulders, she sent the garment sliding slowly to the floor.

The cotton gown she wore was old and faded.  It was the kind of thing a
woman put on when she wanted to be comfortable and there was no man
around to impress.

19.  5 V-necked and knee length, it was soft as satin from countless
washings, but Beeca knew it was in no way, shape or form seductive.

But that's exactly how Riley made her feel in it.  He took one look at
the way it draped her figure and his eyes began to heat.

"God, you're beautiful."

She wasn't--if she lived to be ninety, she'd never be anything but
cute--but if he wanted to think differently, she wasn't, for once in
her life, going to argue with him.  A slow smile curling the corners of
her mouth, she pushed the bedroom door shut until it clicked.  With the
press of her thumb, she shot the lock home, the sound loud in the
sudden silence.

"Take me to bed," she whispered huskily.

She didn't have to ask him twice.  Heat spilled into his groin, the
pounding of his heart kicked into overdrive and his hands actually
began to tremble.  Reaching past her shoulder, he flipped off the
overhead ceiling light, casting the bedroom into the rosy shadows of
dawn.

"Come here."  And taking her hand, he led her across the room to the
bed.

Giving in to the temptation of her hair, he buried his hands in the
wild curls and nuzzled her neck, loving the still-sleepy scent of her
skin.  He would have given anything to be able to spend the day with
her, in here, in her grandmother's bed, locked away from the world,
where he could wallow in the taste and feel and fire of her.  But time
was precious and in short supply.  Her daughter and neighbors were
asleep upstairs and the sun was already peeking over the horizon.  At
best, they had an hour.  He meant to make the most of it.

Murmuring to her as if this was her first time and she needed to be
gentled, he pressed slow, sipping kisses on her jaw, the shell of her
ear, the base of her throat, smil Wh 's the Bossing as her pulse
jumped under his tongue.  And all the while, with a patience that had
her shuddering, he trailed his fingers over her, up her arms to her
shoulders and the straps of her gown.  With nothing more than a tug,
the lightweight garment silently swooshed down her body.  Drugged by
his kisses, she could do nothing but moan and bury her face against his
throat.

Her breath warm and moist against his hot skin, Riley clenched his
teeth against the sharp stab of desire that almost buckled his knees.

"Easy, love," he whispered, but it was his own patience that was
quickly unraveling.  He ripped off his shirt, then cursed the boots
he'd just pulled on.  He never~ remembered shedding them or his pants,
but then he was naked.

His body was hard and magnificent in the soft light of morning.  Becca
couldn't stop staring, her smile gone.  Her breath lodged in her throat
and she sank down onto the mattress and held out her hand to him
without a word.

The old bed gave with a sigh as he came down beside her, but she didn't
notice anything but Riley.  She'd expected heat and passion and
fireworks, and he gave her that and so much more.  With the intensity
of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, he stroked and caressed
and lingered over her, pleasuring her slowly, surely.  The curve of her
shoulders, the delicate bones of her throat and wrists, the fullness of
her breasts, the breadth of her hips .  with his hands alone, he warmed
her inside and out until she melted like caramel in the sun.

And when she was shuddering, nearly mindless with the need that built
in her like a storm on the verge of breaking, he stunned her with his
mouth.  Her eyes misted, her breath backed up in her lungs as he
pressed a tantalizing kiss to the top of her breasts.  Anticipation
crawled just under her skin, drawing her nerves tight, demanding to
be

197 satisfied.  She whimpered, the sound as soft and revealing as the
morning light.  Then, just when she thought she couldn't stand it any
longer, he closed his lips over her pouting nipple.

Crying out in surprised delight, she arched against his mouth,
clutching him to her breast.

"Oh!"

His own breathing none too steady, he looked up, unable to stop
touching her, stroking her.

"What, sweet?"

he rasped.

"What is it?"

She licked her lips, struggling for words and had no idea how close she
came to destroying him.

"I wasn't expect Her confusion caught his attention then, penetrating
the fog of passion that threatened to cloud his thoughts.

"What, honey?  What weren't you expecting?"

"You... this."  Helplessly, she gestured with one hand to the bed and
the intimacy they shared.

"I've never felt anything like it .... " :~ It was an admission that
should never have been made by a woman who had once been happily
married.  From what she'd told him of Tom Prescott, there was no
question that the man was a possessive bastard, but at one time, Becca
had loved him, and Riley had assumed her husband had at least made her
happy in bed.  Obviously, he was wrong.  Questions pulled at him,
questions he wouldn't allow himself to ask.  Like what kind of husband
would fail to give his wife this kind of pleasure?  Had he just been
inept?  Or a selfish jerk who hadn't thought of anyone but himself?

Not liking the direction of his thoughts or the idea of anyone, least
of all her husband, being in bed with them, he leaned down to distract
them both with a hot, seducing kiss.

"Then it's time you did, honey.  let me show you what you've been
missing."

Who's this?

He didn't wait for her permission.  He simply showed her all the ways a
man can please a woman when he set his mind to it.  He wooed and
cajoled and caressed her, trailing fire with every touch and kiss, and
in the process, gave more of himself than he'd ever thought he could
give anyone.  And when need burned like a fireball low in his belly, he
somehow found the strength to give her more.  He tried to remind
himself that it had been awhile for her.  She'd made no secret of the
fact that she hadn't let another man near her since her husband died.
Only him.

The thought squeezed his heart and pulled emotions from him he'd
thought were long dead.  Control--what he had left of it--was balanced
on a razor's edge.  ~, .  ~. " Somewhere in the back of his head, the
thought registered that he needed to protect her.  But he couldn't let
go of her long enough to reach for his wallet, which still lay on the
bedside table.

"Becca, honey..."  She moved under him, her hands climbing all over him
with increasing urgency, drawing a groan from him.

"I'm losing it, sweetheart," he muttered, nipping at the sensuous curve
of her bottom lip.

"Can you reach my wallet?  Help me, honey."

Lying under him, her hips already lifting to his, she gazed up at him,
her eyes dark and unfocused before it suddenly hit her what he was
asking of her.  A slow smile danced over the curve of her kiss-swollen
mouth, and that was when Riley knew he was in trouble.

In the next few seconds, with nothing more than her feather-light
touch, she made him ache, sweat, swear.  His sanity gone, he rolled her
under him as soon as the protection was in place.  Then she was opening
to him, her arms and legs wrapping around him, drawing him down to her,
into her.

And when the madness claimed him, he took her in a way he hadn't taken
a woman for longer

~

than he could remember.  Completely.  With everything he had, heart and
soul.  ~ .

An eternity later, he cradled her in his arms and rolled to his side,
gathering her close.  Any minute now, his heart was going to quit
galloping in his chest, his breathing would level out and he'd be able
to let her go.

And pigs could fly.

The truth hit him hard, rocking him, but he was having none of it.  His
jaw locked on an oath and he latched on to denial like a man running
scared.  He wanted her-- he didn't lie to himself about that.  The
attraction between them was strong and wouldn't burn itself out anytime
soon.  But wanting and needing were two different things.  And God
forbid he should even think of the L word.

Because when the election was over and he was re- elected--and he would
win, there wasn't a doubt in his mind about that--she would walk out of
his life.  The.  town just wasn't big enough for the two of them when
it came to work, and if she wanted a decent job to support her
daughter, she'd have to go elsewhere to find it.  He wasn't going to
stand in her dust and watqhh~r ~w~.  off with his heart.

~ .  Upstairs, the sound of running water suddenly signaled that
someone was awake and in the bathroom.  Their:

time together was over.  Riley felt Becca stiffen against him and
carefully put her from him.

"I've got to go."

That was all he said, nothing more, as he rolled out of bed and tugged
on his clothes.  Silence thickened until it filled the room like a
cold, raw fog.  Pale, painfully conscious of her nakedness in a way she
hadn't been only moments before, Becca pulled the sheet up to cover
herself and found herself waiting, for what she wasn't sure.

Maybe an acknowledgment that what had just happened between them in
her grandmother's bed had shaken him as much as it had her.  But his
jaw was set in granite, his expression closed.  Whatever was going on
in his head, he didn't intend to share it with her.

"Are you going to be all right?  .... Lost in her tumultuous thoughts,
she didn't realiTc he'd finished dressing and was watching her as if he
expected her to fall apart at any moment.  Straightening her spine, she
almost choked on a painful laugh.  All right?  Why wouldn't she be?
This was what she'd told herself she wanted, wasn't it?  No strings, no
promises, no future.  She should have been walking on air, not battling
stupid, inexplicable tears.  ';: " Of course," she said with a
haughtiness that Would have normally brought a glint of humor to his
eyes.

"I'm not a morning person.  It takes me a couple of hours to get my
motor revving."  Or a couple of kisses from him.  But that was
something she didn't want to think about, let alone discuss with him.

Silence fell, turning awkward.  For the first time since they'd met,
they had nothing to say to each other--no quips to trade, no smart
remarks to parry.  And they both felt the loss.  Bending down suddenly,
he picked up her gown and robe and laid them carefully on the bed
beside her.  His eyes, when they lifted to hers, were for a split
second hotter than a blue flame.  Then he turned away, and Becca
couldn't be sure she hadn't imagined the whole thing.

"If you need to get in touch with me, you know where I am."  " - :

She wouldn't, but she nodded anyway, unable to manage anything else.

Then he turned and walked out, and she was alone.  just as she always
was.  Hugging herself, she

201 tried and failed to convince herself that was all she wanted..

Striding into his deserted office fifteen minutes later, Riley found a
note from Darrel Gabriel informing him that he was out on patrol.  John
and Lance were expected later that day, and Mark, not yet ready for
active duty, was going to take over the dispatcher's duties for Myrtle,
who'd had to stay home an extra day to take care of her sick husband. 
Mark wouldn't report in until noon, however, and that was just fine
with Riley.  He was in no mood for company.

He could, in fact, have chewed glass if he could have just unclenched
his jaw.  He wasn't mad, he assured himself.

Why should he be?  He and Becca had just parted like two reasonable
adults after sharing a passion that had nearly burned them alive.  What
more could a man ask for?

The answer, much to his disgust, came all too easily.  Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

So what was he so agitated about?  Wasn't that what he'd wanted?

Grinding out an oath, he jerked open the top drawer of the filing
cabinet, looking for some paperwork he should have filled out two days
ago.  But it wasn't where it was supposed to be, and he had only to
take a closer look at the mess in the drawer to know that Mark had been
filing again.

Whenever he was in the middle of the chore and got distracted by a
call, he threw everything in the drawer and slammed it shut.

Just like a kid who picked up his room by throwing everything into his
closet, Riley thought irritably.  No wonder he couldn't find anything
when he needed it.  Muttering curses, he jerked the drawer all the way
out and started throwing files on his desk, intending to clean it out
~nd start all over again.  But he'd hardly started when the lfront door
opened and Sydney O'Keefe walked in like she ~wiled the place.  Riley
took one look at her and turned i~ack to the files on his desk.

"I don't have time to talk to you now, Syd," he said curtly.

"I've got work to do.  I've been out sick and it looks like the whole
damn place fell apart while I was gone."  "Oh, don't let me Stop you,"
she said airily.

"I'll just sit here and watch."  And with a daring that had gotten her
more than one headline, she pulled out his chair and dropped into it,
rocking back as if she intended to stay awhile.  Irritated, he snapped,
"Fine.  Suit yourself.  If you haven't got anything better to do than
watch me sort these files, who am I to argue with you?  Just don't get
in my way, okay?"

A wise woman would have backed off and left him alone until he got over
whatever was eating him.  Sydney only grinned, her sharp eyes studying
him with renewed interest.

"My, my, aren't we touchy?  Did you just get up~ on the wrong side of
the bed or are you always this~' grouchy after spending time with Becca
Prescott?"  Riley froze, his narrowed gaze pinning her to the chair.

So word was out that he'd been at Becca's.  Considering- the fact that
his patrol car had sat in front of her place for over twenty-four
hours, it hadn't exactly been a secret.  Just as it was no surprise
that the gossips had jumped all over that little tidbit like ducks on a
june bug.  He'd lived there long enough not to give a damn--it was a
fact of life that if you put three people within a day's ride of each
other, two of them were going to talk about the third.  But he only had
to see the glint in Sydney eyes to know that the locals were no longer
linking Becca's name with his just because of the election.  The
talk--and speculation--had turned personal, and that stuck in his
craw.

"I was sick, Syd," he stated flatly.

"Toss-your-cookies, burning-up, out-of-my-gourd sick.  So if you think
there's some kind of juicy gossip here, forget it.  I was out that way
when it hit and couldn't make it home.  Mrs.  Prescott was kind enough
to offer me a bed.  End of story."  Her grin never wavering, she only
settled into a more comfortable position and crossed her legs.

"If you say SO."  '~:~i~ ~-~-:~ "Dammit!"  he exclaimed, scowling at
her.

"I know what you're doing and it's not going to work.  There's nothing
to report about me and Becca Prescott, so go find yourself something
else to write about.  There's bound to be a traffic accident or
something that needs your attention."

Too tenacious to be put off by his blustering, she merely widened her
eyes at him, her grin teasing.

"Why, Sheriff, you almost sound defensive.  I wonder why.  Is there
something going on between you and your opponent that the rest of us
should know about?"

"No!"  .  :~ "Then what's got you so hot under the collar?"

"None of your damn business!"

Not the least offended, Sydney chuckled.

"In case you've forgotten, I get paid to stick my nose into people's
business.  But only when it's newsworthy.  So relax.  Romantic gossip
might be titillating, but I don't work for a scandal sheet.  Your
secret's safe with me."  It was an old reporter's trick--pretend you
know something, then sit back and wait for the other person to give
something away.  Not fooled in the least, Riley gave

? her a taste of her own medicine.

"I'm glad to hear it.  I'd hate to think of something like that getJing
around."

"What?"

Just that easily, she walked into his trap.

"I thought you already knew."

"I lied," she replied with outrageous honesty.

"How 'bout you?"

His lips twitched into a grin.

"That's for me to know and you to find out.  Now get out of here," he
said, shooing her away.

"I've got work to do and I can't concentrate when you're chattering
like a magpie."

More miserable than she'd been in a long time, Becca would have liked
nothing better than to lock herself away in her grandmother's room and
cry her eyes out.  But that would only worry Chloe and the grannies and
stir up questions she had no intention of answering.  So she bathed and
dressed and went into the kitchen to start breakfast.

At her insistence, her three neighbors had stayed one more night to
make sure they were completely recovered, and she'd kept their diet
bland just to make sure there would be no problems.  Back to normal by
now, though, they would no doubt be ravenous, which was fine with her.
The more people she had to cook for, the less she had to think.

Throwing herself into the task with single-minded determination, she
had a smile plastered on her face and enough food on the table to feed
an army when she heard footsleps on the stairs.

"Come and get it, ladies," she said easily.

"We've got eggs and bacon and hash browns.  Oh, and biscuits!

I nearly forgot them.  " Whirling, she grabbed a hot pad and pulled
open the oven .... _. ~:

"Goodness," Margaret exclaimed, spying the feast spread out on the
round kitchen table.

"You must have been cooking since dawn."

Her back turned, Becca winced, but no one saw.

"I--I knew you all would be starving," she said huskily.

"Everything looks delicious," Lucille said.

"I can't believe you went to so much trouble."

"We would have been happy with cold cereal," Clara added, "but this is
much better."  ~ "Is it ready?"  Chloe asked eagerly.

"Can we eat now?"  Chuckling, Becca deposited the biscuits on'.  a
trivet in the center of the table, then scooped her daughter up for a
hug.

"Yes, sweetheart, you can-eat."  Motioning the others to the table, she
said, "Please, sit down and butter your biscuits while they're hot.
I'll get the coffee and juice."

She bustled around, making sure everyone had what they needed, taking
her seat only to bow her head for grace.  If anyone noticed that her
appetite was nonexistent or her smile a little forced, they didn't say
anything.

But she saw the three older women exchange glances in silent
communication and knew they weren't fooled by her bright chatter,
especially when Chloe asked about Riley.

"He had to get back to work, honey," she explained, her gaze leveled on
the milk she was stirring into her coffee "But he didn't even say
goodbye."

"You were asleep, and he had things to do."  .  ~ ~:~ "Just as we do,"
Clara told her.

"Have you forgotten your mother's having a big sale?  We have to help
her get everything set up.  There's going to be a lot of people here in
a couple of days and we have to get ready for them."

?

"Yes, I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Becca," Lucille
said.

"Have you decided what prices you're going to ask for your
grandmother's things?"  Thankful for the distraction, Becca shook her
head.

"Actually, with everything that's been going on, I haven't given it a
thought."

"That's perfectly understandable, dear," Lucille replied.

"So I hope you don't mind that I looked around yesterday while you were
busy and made a list for you."  Efficient as ever, she pulled it from
her skirt pocket and handed it across the table to Becca.

"These are just suggestions," she reminded her.

"I haven't had my shop in a while, of course, but I've kept up with the
prices of things and I think these are.  acceptable You don't want them
so high that people won't think they're getting a bargain, but you
don't want to give your furniture away, either.  What do you think?"

"Oh, I'm sure whatever you came up with is fine," Becca began, only to
stare in stunned disbelief at the prices the older woman had put on the
first two items of the list.

Her horrified gaze flew to Lucille's.

"You can't be serious!  These are outrageous I" ~ ":?  ~" ~:~ Lucille
laughed, not surprised by her response.

"Your grandmother left you some very fine antiques, dear.  Some of them
are quite rare, in fact.  Believe me, with the ads you put in the El
Paso and Tucson papers, you're going to have people coming out of the
woodwork with their checkbooks in hand.  And I'd be right in line with
them if I still had my shop.  Even at these prices," she continued,
motioning to the list in Becca's hand, "I'd consider myself damn lucky
to get them."

Thankful she was sitting down--her knees would have never held her
otherwise--Becca stared blindly at the

207 prices the older woman had listed, too fascinated to look away.

"I can't believe this."

"She knows her onions, honey," Margaret said, smiling as she spread j
am on her biscuit and took an appreciative bite.

"When she had her shop, she used to have people come from all over to
buy her stuff.  If she says you can get a bundle for them, you can take
that to the bank."

"But you do what you feel is right," Lucille quickly added.

"A lot is riding on this sale and I wouldn't want you to put out any
prices that you weren't comfortable with."

Torn, Becca almost told her that that took care of the entire list.

On her own, she never would have the nerve to ask anything near what
Lucille was suggesting.  But if she followed Lucille's advice and was
able to sell the antiques for such astronomical prices, her
property-tax worries would be history.  If, on the other hand, she
asked too much and no one bought anything.  Lord, she didn't even want
to think about it.  What was she going to do?

In the end, there really was no decision to make.  She'd be a fool not
to trust Lucille's knowledge of the market and price her grandmother's
furniture accordingly.  So that's what she did.  But every time she put
a price tag on a treasured item, she winced.  By the day of the sale,
forty- eight hours later, she was a nervous wreck and up at five, too
restless to sleep.  Prowling through the downstairs, trying not to
think about the welMoved family pieces she was selling like used cars,
she positively dreaded the rising of the sun.

Lucille had warned her people would arrive early; she just hadn't
expected them to start driving up at six-thirty.

Hurriedly getting Chloe up and dressed, she let out a sigh

? of relief as her neighbors blew in the back door, the three of them
practically tittering with excitement.

"Have you looked out the front window?"  Clara, her blue eyes dancing,
could hardly stand still.

"The cars are lined up half a mile down the highway!"

"And you thought no one would show," Margaret teased.

"We told you not to worry.  Clara predicted all along that it was in
the cards."

: Lucille, well organized as usual, handed out the receipt books she'd
prepared for each of them last night.  A half smile curling one corner
of her mouth, she turned to Becca.

"There's more where these came from.  Just let me know when you need
them.  Are you ready?"

Becca laughed shakily.

"Ask me in an hour."

What followed far exceeded anything she could have ever imagined.  She
opened the door to the crowd gathering outside, and for the next four
hours, she didn't have a chance to draw a breath, let alone marvel over
the success of her sale.  Madness.  There was no other way to descrihe
it.  People were shouting and jostling and snatching up pieces as if
they were marked with bargain-basement prices, and Becca hardly had
time to finish writing one receipt he fore she was hurriedly scribbling
another.  She'd never seen anything like it in her life.

If she'd had the time, she would have laughed.  and cried.  With every
rocker or table or wardrobe that was carried out, the buyer took a
chunk of her heart.  She'd never he able to walk through the front door
again and see her grandmother's bonnet hanging on the hall tree as if
she'd just come in.  Or hear the chiming of the mantel clock and'
remember how, when she'd come to visit when she was little, she'd loved
to watch her grandmother wind the old clock with its fancy key.  ~

- 209 But she couldn't regret selling the pieces--not when it meant
keeping the house.  Had her grandmother been there, she would have
given Becca a-hug and told her she'd done the only thing she could.  So
shrugging off the sadness she forced a smile and wrote another ticket,
this one for a dealer from Tucson who hadn't blinked an eye at the
breath-stealing price on the piano.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to wait awhile to get it out of here,"
she told her as she handed her a receipt marked Paid.

"It's just too crowded."

"No problem," the older woman assured her.  I'll go into town for
breakfast and be back later.  "

Becca recommended the City Diner to her and gave her directions, then
turned to see who else might need a receipt.

Only to come face-to-face with Riley.  Startled, she felt her heart
tumble and her knees start to tremble, and it was all she could do not
to walk into his arms.  It had been two days since they'd made love,
two days since she'd heard from him, two days since she'd allowed
herself to think about him.  She hadn't realized until now that it
seemed like an eternity.  God, she'd missed

"I didn't see you come in," she said huskily, clutching her receipt
book to her heart as if it would stop the ache that was already
starting to throb deep inside.

"Was there something you needed?"

YOU.

The answer came too easily, rattling him.  He'd spent the last two days
trying to convince himself that getting over her would he as simple as
staying away from her.  The ironic part was that he'd almost come to
heheve it .  until his eyes met hers.  Then the passion that they'd
shared came rushing back at him like a runaway train and he just

? wanted to touch her, to assure himself that she was really there,
within reach.

Someone behind him jostled him, jerking him back to his surroundings.

"I saw your ad in the paper and thought I'd come out and sea what you
had for sale," he said stiffly.

"I like the looks of that mirror above the fireplace.

Is it for sale?  "

Beeca glanced over her shoulder at the elegantly carved lines of the
Victorian mirror that had been her grandmother's pride and joy.  She'd
debated over selling it, had even, in fact, considered sticking a Sold
sign on it several times since the sale had started to discourage
potential buyers.  It had been in the family for four generations, and
she just couldn't imagine it in someone else's home when it had been
hanging above her grandmother's fireplace for well over fifty years.

But Riley wasn't just some stranger on the street.  And if she had to
picture it in anyone's house, she wanted it to be his.  Refusing to ask
herself why, she said gruffly, "It is to you," and named a price that
was below what Lucille had recommended, but still high enough that she
had to fight a blush when she said it.

Riley only nodded, as if he'd been expecting as much.

"I'll take it."

With the writing of a cheek, the transaction was completed.  Staring
numbly down at the bold scrawl of his signature, Beeca couldn't think
of a single thing to say, which was just as well.  After carefully
retrieving the mirror from the wall, Riley was definitely ready to
leave.  He kept glancing toward the door, as if he already regretted
coming.

"I hope you'll enjoy it," she whispered in a voice that wasn't nearly
as steady as she'd have liked.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get another receipt book."

She turned away to retrieve another book from Lucille and by the time
she got back to the living room, he was gone, the only sign that he'd
been there the bare spot' on the wall where the mirror had hung.
Avoiding glancing at the fireplace altogether, Beeca chatted with
strangers like they were old friends, wrote up sales tickets as if
she'd been doing it all her life and tried not to wince as one piece
after another was carried out of the house.

It wasn't, however, until the end of the day, when the last buyer had
left, leaving only the barest of essentials in the house, that the
success of the sale hit her.  Gathering at the kitchen table, which she
had flatly refused to sell despite numerous offers, she, Chloe,
Margaret and Clara watched Lucille count the contents of the cash box
for the third time.

Looking up, Lucille gave her a slow grin, and' Bee Ca heart started to
race.

"How much?"  she asked faintly, afraid to hope.

"Well," the older woman drawled, playfully dragging out the good news,
"after you pay your tax bill:~n furl, you'll have about two hundred
dollars left."

"All right!"  ~'~:'~' "I knew you could do it!

Stunned, Beeca hardly heard Margaret's and Clara's cries of delight.

Regardless of what happened with the election, she could keep her home.
Relief washed through her, but the joy she knew she should have felt
just wasn't there, and she wouldn't allow herself to wonder why.

Chapter 11

By Monday, most of the county had recovered from the flu, the
unexpected school holiday caused by the high rate of absenteeism was
over and the campaign was back on track.  Canceled speeches and planned
appearances had to be made up," while the shoot-off and cross-country
run were still scheduled for the end of the week.  With her tax bill no
longer hanging over her head like a guillotine, Becca's only concern
should have been getting in shape for the upcoming competition.  But
every time she tried to talk to anyone about her qualifications, all
they wanted to discuss was her hot new romance with the sheriff.

"Excuse me," she said blankly when Jane Bacon, the school secretary,
brought the subject up on Monday.

"What do you mean, everyone's thrilled about me and the sheriff?"

Laughing, Jane gave her a chiding look.

"You don't have to pretend, honey.  The whole town knows Riley stayed
out at your place during the flu epidemic, and I

213 think it's fantastic.  That man has needed a good woman for a long
time.  "

"But he was sick!"

"And I'm sure he loved having you take care of him.  If 'a little TLC
won't soften up a man, I don't know what will ."  "But I'm not... We're
not..."

Jane only laughed and assured her that she and everyone she had talked
to were delighted with the news.  And, evidently, the gossips in town
had been doing a lot of talking.  After school, Becca was stopped in
the grocery store, then at the gas station, and later the Women's
Quilting Circle by smiling, giggling, die-hard romantics who couldn't
wait to give her all kinds of advice on how to snare Riley.

And if she was hearing it everywhere she went, the odds were pretty
good that Riley was, too.

Becca cringed at the thought and quickly escaped, but small-town
gossip, once started, took on a life of its own.

She got knowing looks and secretive miles everywhere she went, and even
Chloe started to notice.  And it didn't stop when she got home.  The
minute Margaret saw her and Chloe drive up, she immediately bustled
over with a lemon meringue pie she'd just baked for them.

"I made the sheriff one, too," she confided in a hushed ~ aside after
Begca had given Chloe permission to carry it inside and cut herself a
small piece.

"I figured he could use a little fattening up, so I took it to his
office after lunch.  Have you seen him since the sale?"

"No, I haven't," she replied, biting back a reluctant~ grin.  Trust
Margaret to be as subtle as a blow torch.

"Just 'because I took care of him when he was sick doesn't mean
anything's changed, Margaret.  I'm after the man's job,

?

remember?  That's not a very good beginning for a friendship.  "

"Who said anything about friendship?"  She sniffed, a brazen twinkle in
her eyes.

"Haven't you ever heard that politics makes for strange bedfellows?"

"Margaret!"

"Oh, pooh," the woman said with a laugh.

"I may be getting up there in years, but there's still a fire in my
furnace.

I haven't forgotten what it's like to be wild for a

"i'm not"

"My eyesight's not bad, either," she warned teasingly.

Becca shut her mouth with a snap, the frown she struggled to maintain
ruined by the smile that insisted on sliding across her mouth.

"You're incorrigible, Margaret

Hawkins.  And I'm not saying another word.  "

She didn't have to.  Clara and Lucille were more than happy to do it
for her.  The second she stepped into the ~

house, first one, then the other called, each casually bringing up
Riley's name and strongly hinting that, like a champion buck, he was a
keeper she shouldn't let get

'

away.

~By the time she finally got off the phone, Becca didn't know whether
to laugh or cry.  At Margaret's invitation,

Chloe went next door to play with her clay, and the second the door
slammed behind her, Becca could feel the walls closing in on her.
Restless, not anxious to confront the unwanted thoughts milling around
in her head, she rushed upstairs to change into her sweats.  After a
quick call to Margaret to let her know where she would be, she hit the
road running.  :~

Riley glanced at the clock, noted it was almost supper- "!~i time and
considered strolling over to the diner before the

~

crowd hit.  He didn't have much of an appetite--he hadn't in a
while--but if he skipped another.  meal, he'd never hear the end of it
from Myrtle.  She'd been jawing at him for two days now, threatening to
dose him up with her super-duper castor oil elixir if he didn't start
eating, and he wasn't anxious to find out how serious she was.

Grabbing his hat, he stuck his head in the back room,

where she was manning the phones.

"I'm going over to the diner for supper, Myrtle.  You want me to bring
you anything?"

On the phone, she motioned him into the room, then said into the
receiver, "The sheriff is right here, Mrs.

Hawkins.  Maybe you d better speak to him yours el

"Hawkins?"  he repeated sharply, already taking the phone from her.

"Margaret Hawkins?"  At her nod, he said into the receiver, "What's
wrong, Margaret?"

"Well, that's just it," the potter said, hesitating.

"I'm not sure anything is.  It's just that Becca went running "

Cursing himself for letting the mere mention of Becca's name get to
him, Riley stiffened.  He was all too aware of Myrtle's eyes on him,
her sharp gaze missing nothing.

"And?"  he asked shortly.

"And she hasn't come back."

"How long has she been gone?"

"Oh, I'm not sure... maybe an hour."

"What about Chloe?  Where is she

"Here with me," she admitted.

"She's no trouble.  I

just thought Becca would be back b~, now.  I talked to

Clara and Lucille, and they suggested I call you.  Do you think
anything's wrong?  "

What he thought was that she and her matchmaking cohorts were at it
again.  along with everyone else in

?

town.

"I'm sure she's fine, Margaret," he said dryly.

"She's an experienced jogger, isn't she?"

"Well, yes, I suppose she is," she said with some reluctance.

"But she still hasn't caught Up on her rest from nursing all of us, and
then the strain of the sale, and I'm afraid she~s pushing herself too
hard.  If she collapsed out in the desert somewhere, no one would be
able to find her until morning.  And it is getting dark."

It wouldn't be dark for well over an hour and they both knew it.

"Margaret..."

At his chiding tone, her manner became abruptly affronted.

"Obviously you're not interested, Sheriff.  I'm sorry I disturbed you.
Just forget I called."  As far as guilt trips went, it was a beaut.
Half-tempted to call her bluff, Riley hesitated.  He had no business
going out there.  Becca was probably fine--the lady had made it clear
on numerous occasions that she could take care of herself--and he
didn't like being manipulated.

Especially when he'd fought like hell to stay away from the Widow
Prescott ever since they'd made love.  And it hadn't been easy, dammit.
He'd ended up hanging the mirror he'd bought from her in his bedroom
instead of the guest room, and every time he looked at it, he thought
of her.  And ached.  Seeing her again would only make that worse.

So no one was more surprised than he when he heard himself say, "Don't
get all hurry on me, Margaret Hawkins.  I know what you're Up to, but
I'm giving little old ladies a break today; so don't give me a hard
time.  I'll be out there in a few minutes, okay?"  ~:

Pleased, she made no attempt to hide it.

"Thank you, dear boy.  You just might get my vote before it's over
with, after all."  ~-: ,

"Promises, promises."  Smiling, he hung up and turned to see Myrtle
digging through the sack lunch she'd brought from home.  When she
pulled out a banana and offered it to him, he arched a brow at her.

"What's this for?"

"Your SUpper," she retorted.

"You probably wouldn't have eaten anything at the diner, anyway."

His smile mocking, he took the proffered fruit.

"You know me too well, Myrtle.  I'll see you later."  ~:!  ;

After a day of gossip and outright nosiness, the quiet of the desert
was something to be savored.  Her pace steady, the thud of her running
shoes against the asphalt pavement the only sound in her ears, Beeca
soaked up the peacefulness of her surroundings.  She hadn't jogged in a
while and she'd missed it.  Given a choice, she could have run for
hours, but the sun had already slipped a notch or two toward the
horizon, casting long shadows.  She'd have to turn back soon.

Everything in her rebelled at the thought.  She wasn't ready.  The
second she stepped back into the house, she'd have to face the bare
spot on the living room wall and the little snippets of conversation
about Riley and herself that her mind had been filing away all day.  If
she ran just a little farther, just a little harder, she might be able
to outrun her own thoughts.  and the memory of passion- darkened blue
eyes and a slow loving that still had the power to heat her blood.

'" Damn him, why couldn't she get him bUt of her head?  Winded, her
lungs burning, she pushed on.

Fiercely concentrating on the placement of every step, she didn't hear
the car behind her at first.  When the sound did register, she just
moved to the very edge of the shoulder and kept on running, half
expecting a local rancher in

?

a dusty pickup' to race by her any second.  But the vehicle that drew
even with her wasn't a pickup and it made no effort to pass her.

Frowning, she glanced over just as the beige patrol car pulled to a
stop on the shoulder in front of her.  She didn't have to see the
driver to know who it was.  Riley.  After the day she'd had, who else
could it be?

Struggling for breath, she stopped beside the car.  ~She would have
given anything to be able to greet him with total indifference, but she
was hot and sweaty, with her hair pulling from her ponytail-to lay in
damp curls around her neck.  To her chagrin, she'd never been more
aware of herself as a woman than when his eyes took a long, slow glide
down her body.

Her spine ramrod straight, she parked her hands on her hips.

"Are you pulling me over for speeding?"

He didn't smile as she'd expected.

"Not quite.  I got a call that you might be in trouble."

"Trouble?"  she par toted in confusion.

"I'm fine.  Who said I wasn't?"

Before the words were out of her mouth, she knew.  She'd told only one
person besides Chloe where she was going.

"Margaret," she groaned.

"She call~ you, didn't she?

He nodded.

"She thought you should have been back by now."

"But I haven't even been gone an hour!"  Enjoying himself, he started
to grin.

"She claimed it was going to be dark soon and that if something had
happened to you, no one would be able to find you until morning.  So,
being the good.  sheriff that I am, I came looking for you."

If she hadn't been so embarrassed, Becca would have been hard-pressed
not to laugh.

"Dammit, Riley, she set

~ 219 you up!  What could happen to me out here in the middle of
nowhere?  You had to know I was fine.  "

He didn't deny it.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you."  The husky admission took the wind
right out of her sails.  Her heart jerking in her breast, she said
weakly, "Don't say that."

"why not?  Because we're both running for the same job?  Because you're
not looking for a man and I've sworn off of women?"

She had to give him credit--he Went right to the heart of the matter.

"Isn't that enough?"

"To make me stop wanting you?  No," he retorted bluntly, "it's not.

And there's not a damn thing I can do about it.  "

" He didn't sound any happier about it than she did, and suddenly, just
knowing that she wasn't the only one having difficulty coming to grips
with the loving they'd shared made Becca feel better than she had in
days.

"Me, either," she said ruefully.

"I guess we'll have to live with it.  I'll talk to Margaret.  And Clara
and Lucille," she added.

"They won't bother you again."  She hoped.

She expected him to leave after that, but he hesitated, .  his narrowed
gaze taking' in the desert surroundings, the empty road that stretched
all the way to the horizon, the peace of the late afternoon.  Turning
back to her, he asked, "How much farther were you going to jog?"

It was a question her husband would have asked her, a demand of an
accounting of her time that had her stiffening reflexively with
resentment.

"I don't know.  Why?"  Her tone all but shouted Back off and too late,
Riley realized he must have sounded just like Tom Prescott.  - "I'm not
him, Becca."  '~ , .  "

She didn't have to ask who he meant.  The quiet reminder brought the
sting of color to her cheeks, but her

? eyes never flinched away from his.

"I didn't say you were.

I just.  " She shrugged, unable to find a simple excuse for her
knee-jerk reaction.

"I guess I just don't like answering to anyone.  If you're worried I
won't be safe out here" -- "Did I say that?"

"No, but I know you.  You think a woman can't cross the street without
having a man there to stop traffic for her."

His mouth quirking, he spread his arms wide and gave her a look of
wounded innocence.

"Hey, what can I say?

Superman's busy, so somebody has to look after the damsels in distress.
Personally, I thought I was doing a pretty darn good job.  "

"Well, of course you would.  You've got a hero complex."

"And you don't need me to hold your hand."

It was a statement, not a question, one that weeks ago, Becca wouldn't
have had any trouble agreeing with.  But something had changed--she'd
changed.  And while she still didn't need him to hold her hand, want,
she discovered with some surprise, was a whole other issue.  Pride and
the past, however, forced her to answer with a lie.

"Not to cross the street or anything else."

"Good.  Because it's kind of hard to jog and hold hands at the same
time."

Caught off guard, she repeated blankly, "Jog?"  Giving her a wicked
grin, he turned back to his car and grabbed the mike of his radio to
call in to the office.

"Hey, Myrtle, how're things going back at the ranch?"

"Slower than a snail on ice," she drawled, crackling at her own wit.

"Why?"

"I was thinking about taking off early and saving the county some
money, since I worked all that overtime " ~.

221 during the flu epidemic.  Have Mark and John reported in?  :'
"They're here now giving me grief because things are so slow.  You want
to talk to them?"

"No, just tell John to take charge.  I'm sure between the two of them,
he and Mark can handle whatever crops up.

I'll check in later to make sure everything's okay.  " Unable to
believe her ears, Becca waited impatiently for him to sign off.

"You're going to jog in your uniform?"  He grinned.

"No, I've got my running clothes in the rear."  Moving to the back of
the car, he unlocked the trunk.

"Hang on a second and I'll be all set."  ~,:~,:):~ "You're going to
change here?"  .

She sounded so horrified, Riley had to laugh.

"Have you got a better suggestion?  I haven't seen another vehicle
since I left your house.  So who's going to see?"

"I will?"  Even as the words left her mouth, Becca realized how
ludicrous they sounded.  She'd made love with the man, for God's sake!
It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him naked before.  :"~ ~: ~'~ ':: :~ :
%..

His shirt already unbuttoned, Rile~'~ eyes danced with devilment as he
shrugged out of it.

"I don't mind.  Do you?"

"Yes!"  He was pushing her buttons and loving it.  And she was letting
him.  Wanting to shake him until evemf tooth in his head rattled, Becca
gave serious consideration to calling his bluff and watching him.  But
seeing him naked when they were making love was one thing.  Watching
him strip on a public road in plain view of anyone who came along was
quite another.  , With heat stealing into her cheeks until she was as
pink as one of Margaret's muumuus, she shot him a scathing

? look and whirled away "You know, I bet Sydney would find it quite
interesting that the sheriff makes a habit of stripping on the side of
the road.  Maybe I should call her."

"Maybe you should," he said, chuckling as he checked to make sure the
traffic was as nonexistent as he'd claimed.

"We could sell tickets and raise money for the volunteer fire
department.  I bet there's a lot of women out there who would pay to
see me in my shorts."  Becca swore she wasn't going to laugh, but the
darn man made that impossible.

"You'd lose a lot of the little old ladies' votes," she warned.

"But I'd win all the younger ones over from your side, and then where
would you be, Mrs.  Prescott?  Hmm?"

"Out sweet-talking all the men into voting for me since you stole their
women," she countered.

"Any more questions, Sheriff?"

"Yeah," he said, stepping around her in his running shorts and battered
Nikes.

"How long are you going to stand here jawing?  I thought you wanted to
jog."  Flashing him a grin, she was off like a shot, but there Was
never any question of her outrunning him.  With his long legs, it took
him only seconds to catch up and keep pace.  With their shoes hitting
the pavement in unison and even the soughing of their breath timed
companionably, anyone seeing them would have thought they'd been
running together for years.  , , And Becca didn't want it to end.  That
should have worried her, but they seemed a million miles away from
civilization, and the hurts from the past were too far behind her to
touch her.  They couldn't, however, run forever.

Daylight turned to twilight without them being aware of it, and by the
time they turned and headed back the way they had come, the first stars
were slowly beginning to reveal themselves in the darkening sky.  When
they reached his car, there was never any question that he would offer
her a ride home and she would accept.

The ride to her house was made in a silence that neither was willing to
break, and all too soon, Riley was pulling into her driveway and
cutting the engine.  In the sudden stillness, his eyes met hers.

"I'll walk you to the door."  .  "I :

She should have told him no.  She was perfectly capable of seeing
herself inside without his help.  But his husky words wrapped around
her like a caress, stealing her breath, making it impossible for her to
protest.  Without a word, she stepped from the car when he opened her
door for her and let him escort her to her porch.

The shadows were thick there, the security lights in the yard not quite
reaching that far, so it took a second or two for Becca to notice the
note taped to the front door.  Frowning, she pulled it free and stepped
to the edge of the porch, where the light was better.

"What is it?

Scanning the note quickly, she glanced up, wry humor spreading a smile
across her face.

"A message from Margaret.  Evidently, she's not too worried about me
any more.  She took Chloe into town for chili dogs at the Dairy Queen.
She promises to have her home by nine."  Which conveniently left them
alone together.  Again.

Staring down at her, he should have made some quip that Margaret was
definitely working overtime on setting them up, but he couldn't drag
his eyes from her mouth.  An hour, he thought bemusedly.  They could
have an hour together, maybe more.

"Becca..."  ~ / In the sudden throbbing silence that engulfed them,
even he could hear the need that turned his voice hoarse,

? the need that he'd been so sure he could manage.  He'd fought with
it, suppressed it, tried to reason it away.  all without success.  And
he couldn't do it anymore.  She was the most impossible woman he'd ever
known, but she'd somehow stolen her way into his heart and she was his,
dam reit Even if she wasn't ready to admit it.  Staggered by the
thought--how had she gotten past his guard and made him trust her? --he
could see nothing but roadblocks in front of them.  But for once, he
didn't care.

He needed to think, to talk to her, but now, more than he needed his
next breath, he needed to kiss her.

"Don't ask me to go," he murmured roughly, taking the single step that
eliminated the distance between them.

"I can't."

He swept her into his arms and slanted his mouth across hers, and it
was ages before he let her up for air.  Lightheaded, she didn't have
the strength to care.  She remembered every time he'd touched her,
every time he'd kissed her, and none of those moments had ever been
anything like this.  His mouth moved over hers with a possessiveness
that should have terrified her but instead warmed her all the way to
her toes.  His.  Every kiss, every touch of his hands on her back and
hips and breasts claimed her as his--sweetly, tenderly, completely.

Overwhelmed, her throat tight with emotion, she clung to him, while
deep inside, barriers that she'd spent years building and would have
sworn were unshakable crumbled one by one, leaving her unprotected and
vulnerable, with nothing to hide behind.  She loved him.

The truth slipped out of the dark to grab her by the heart, bringing
the sting of tears to her eyes.  When?  How?

The questions whirled in her head, but he was kissing her as if he
never intended to let her go, his hands dragging

~: ~ ~ 225 fire across her skin, melting her bones one by one.  And she
didn't want him to stop.  Ever.

"Inside," she breathed against his mouth.

"Come inside with me."  ~ In answer, he took her keys from her and
unlocked the door.

Riley had seen her bedroom before, of course, when Margaret had slept
there during the flu epidemic, but he hadn't had much more than a
glimpse of it.  Now, he could have spent an hour there just studying
her things--the angel collection on the what-not shelf in the corner,
the bodice-ripper romance novels piled on the table by the big,
old-fashioned iron bed, the pictures, old and new, that covered all of
one wall.  But there wasn't time.  Damreit, why was it that he never
seemed to have enough time with her?

"I want to spend the night with you," he said thickly as he brought his
arms around her.

"All night."

With the admission, the need that always clawed at him whenever she was
within touching distance slipped its leash.  His hands rushing over
her, he charted her every curve the way a blind man explores his
surroundings-over and over again, leaving nothing to chance.  The splay
of her slender hips, the tempting fullness of her bottom, the sweet
lift of her breasts against his palm.  they were enough to drive a man
slowly out of his mind.  ~ He wanted her naked.  Hot and naked and as
desperate for him as he was for her.  Her running shorts were slick and
damp under his hands, and he trailed his fingers down to the back of
her thighs, catching her in his grip and making her gasp, lifting her
against his hardness, rubbing her wantonly against him until they both
groaned.

"Riley..."  - .  ~ :~;

?

Gritting his teeth against the unbearable pleasure, he growled, "I
know, baby.  I know.  You can't imagine how good you feel against me.
Hang on."

"What" -- ~ ~ Backing toward the bed, he felt the edge of the mattress
behind his legs and simply dropped backward with a speed that had her
crying out in surprise and the iron bed squeaking in protest. Chuckling
against her mouth, he lifted his hands to her hair, snapping the rubber
band that confined it.  Instantly, the dark chestnut curls spilled
forward around her face.  Loving the feel of her weight against him,
covering him, he fumbled for the hem of her~ shirt.  Before either of
them could catch their breath, he had them naked and between the
sheets.  Up until then, he liked to think he'd been in control.  But
then she was pulling him down to her, her smooth, warm skin gliding
against his, her body all soft and yielding and inviting, and it was
all he could do just to remember his name.  The need raging in him
turned sharply reckless and his hands became rough, tenderness, for the
moment, beyond his-~'~ grasp.  She was what he'd wanted, needed, all
along.  How could he not have known?

They had time for him to take care with her, time for' him to seduce
and drive her slowly out of her mind.  But the urgency that was in his
own blood burned in hers, and she didn't want a genre loving.  Not this
time.  Gasping, she gloried in the rush of his hands over her, the
heated passion of his kiss, the wild thunder of his heartbeat against
hers.  Her own touch as impatient as his, she stroked him with mouth
and fingers and tongue, driving him on just as he did her, unable to
get enough of the lean hardness of his body, of him.

With nothing more than the flick of her tongue and the glide of her
fingers on his thigh, his hip, his stomach, she drew shudder after
shudder from him.  Her blood was rushing through her veins and dark
passion clouded her mind, intoxicating her, as she moved lower.  Her
hair brushed against him with tantalizing softness, and she delighted
in the sudden tension that had him stiffening beneath her as she kissed
the hot skin of his belly.

"Honey, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

His rough growl told her he was on the edge, pushed to the limits,
struggling to hang on to the last remnants of civilized behavior.  A
wise woman would have heeded the warning, but she'd never been wise
where he was concerned.

She glanced up the length of his body, and her eyes were bright with
mischief as they met his.

"You know I never could resist a dare," she murmured, and moved slowly,
deliberately lower.

The little witch did it.  She kissed him where he burned for her hotter
than the fires of hell, her mouth sweet and gentle and loving.  HIS
body drawn tighter than a bow, he groaned low in his throat, his hands
diving through the dark cloud of her hair to capture her face between
his palms and hold her still.

"Don't move, honey," he said hoarsely.

"If you don't want this to be over with before it's hardly started,
please don't move."

She didn't listen, of course.  He knew she wouldn't.  She was intent on
driving him crazy and he couldn't seem to stop her.  No one had ever
pushed him to this, to the very threshold of madness.  A strangled
curse ripping from his throat, he cried, "Enough!"

Lightning quick, he had her under him, opening for him as her arms
wound around his neck to drag his mouth down to hers.  He couldn't
stop, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but give in to the demands
of his own body and hers.  Surging into her moist, welcoming heat, he
felt her close around him, surround him, and he nearly died with the
pleasure of it.

In the glow of the lamplight, her passion-dazed eyes met his.

"Love me," she murmured, and she lifted her hips to his, taking him
impossibly deeper.

The darkness took him then, the heat and fire of her dragging him
under, consuming him with need, swallow ins him whole.  Reality faded
to black, and he had time for only one last conscious thought.  She
didn't have to ask him to love her--God help him, he already did.

He had to force himself to leave her.  Sated, more content than he'd
ever been in his life, he would have liked nothing better than to
cuddle with her under the blankets and talk about the future that weeks
ago he'd have sworn they couldn't possibly have.  But there wasn't
time, not with Chloe expected home in a few minutes.  And not with the
election still between them like a fight that couldn't be won.

His mood soured at that, while tension clawed its way up his back.

Nothing had changed, yet everything had, and he was still reeling from
it.  There had to be a way for them, he promised himself grimly as he
drove away from her house.  A way to set aside their differences.
Damreit, somehow he'd find it.  Because he wasn't losing her.  Not now.
Not ever.  Not after he'd gone through hell to find her.

"All units report to the Crossroads Bar at the intersection of Highway
22 and Old Foster Road."  Myrtle's voice suddenly came on the radio
with a burst of static.

"Two drunk cowboys got in a fight and they're trashing the place. Young
fools," she added in disgust.

"They work

229 hard all week busting cows, then bust up each other come payday.
"

Wincing, Riley swore.  How many times did he have to tell Myrtle not to
air her opinion on the damn radio?

Reaching for the mike, he said warningly, "Myrtle..."

"Oh, hi, boss."

Not the least concerned that he'd caught her editorializing again, she
said, "I thought you were taking the rest of the night off."

"I am, but I pass right by the Crossroads on my way home, so I might as
well stop and lend a hand."

"I'm sure Mark could use the help," she said.

"He'S already out there.  And John's going to head over there just as
soon as he's through with a speeder out on Sunset Road."

"Good," he said, switching on his siren as he hit the.  gas.

"Oh, and Myrtle?  Try to limit the commentary,:

okay?  "

She chuckled.

"Gee, Boss, I thought that was what I was doing."

Shaking his head, Riley signed off and raced toward the Crossroads.  A
favorite watering hole for local cowbdys, the bar was nothing fancy,
just a wood-frame building with a long bar, plenty of whiskey and beer
and a couple of pool tables in the back.  Most of the cowboys who
quented the place were pretty well behaved, but every once in a while,
someone got a bee in his Stetson about something and busted up the
place.  If the damages were minimal and the cowboy repentant enough to
pay for them, the bar owner was content to let Riley cart the
troublemaker off to jail for the night.  If not--which was rare-- the
drunk found himself up to his neck in hot water and criminal charges.

As expected, the poorly lit parking lot was full of pickups of every
color, make and condition.  Seeing Mark's patrol car parked haphazardly
near the front door, Riley pulled up next to him and strode quickly
inside, expecting to find his young deputy grappling with two soused
young bucks who had more grit than brains.  Instead, he saw in a single
glance that the heated fist fight between two idiots had escalated into
an all-out brawl.  Every cowboy in the place was on his feet and
throwing punches, chairs and beer bottles And Mark was right in the
middle of it.  And in trouble.  His shirt was torn, his mouth bloody.
As Riley watched, a giant of a cowhand buried his clenched fist right
in Mark's gut, doubling him over.  Swearing, Riley waded into the fray,
pushing fools who were old enough to know better out of the way.
Damreit, how the hell had this happened?  When he got his hands on
whoever had started it, he was going to string him up by his thumbs,
then shut the damn place down for a month.  Let these cowpunchers drive
all the way to Tucson for a cold one for a couple of weeks, and he'd
like to see the next one stupid enough to throw a punch.

Recognizing a couple of faces in the crowd, he snapped, "Pete, Jackson,
what the hell do you idiots think you're doing?  Get your asses out of
here before I haul you in and throw away the key."

"You heard me," he growled, jerking a wooden chair Out of the hands of
a skinny rancher who was so polluted he couldn't have walked a straight
line to save his life.  Shooting the man a hard glare that should have
scared him silly even in his drunken state, he warned silkily, "I don't
think you want to use that thing on anybody's head, do you?  In fact,
if I were you, I'd get while the getting was good.

Otherwise you just might have to call that wife of yours from jail.

"That goes for all of you," he yelled, raising his voice until every
man in the joint couldn't help but hear him.

"I'm giving you two minutes to clear out.  Anyone left standing is
going to get the book thrown at him.  And if you don't think I'll do
it, just stick around and watch me."  For a minute, he thought every
one of them was going to call his bluff right then and there.  The jail
couldn't hold half of them, and if their brains hadn't been swimming in
alcohol, they would have realized that.  But they weren't thinking,
thank God, and the fight began to break up.  If he hadn't been so
concerned about Mark, Riley would have seen the two host' de drunks
still trading insults behind him.  But the crowd had closed around his
deputy several minutes before, and Riley was too worried about him to
spare a glance behind him.  Then one of the dolts pushed the other, who
snarled an obscenity and jerked a gun from his pocket.  Suddenly
bullets were flying.

Swearing, Riley whirled, reaching for his own gun as all around him men
who only seconds before had been beating each other to a pulp dove for
cover.  The only one left standing except for the jackass with the gun,
Riley found himself face-to-face with a wobbly .  45.  No one was more
surprised than he when it went off.

Chapte 12

~ ~ And God bless Granny Clara and Lucille and Margaret.  And Riley,"
Chloe added sleepily.

"Amen."

Surprised, Beeca gave her daughter a hug and helped her into bed.

"I

didn't know you'd added Riley to your prayers, honey.  That's very
sweet of you.  " Yawning, her eyes already starting to close, Chloe
mumbled simply, " He needs a little girl to love him.  He just doesn't
know it.

"Night, Mama."

Touched, Becca blinked back the sudden sting of tears.  "" Night,
honey.  Sweet dreams.  "

For a long time after Chloe had fallen asleep, Becca just sat there by
the side of her bed, wishing her life could be as simple and
unconditional as her daughter's prayers.  When Chloe loved someone, she
added him to her prayers, and there was never any question again of how
she felt about that person.  It was so easy.

For the longest time, Becca had convinced herself that ~that kind of
acceptance was a gift bestowed only on children.  But as she made her
way downstairs and found her thoughts pulled back to the magical
moments she'd spent in Riley's arms, she realized she hadn't given the
seemingly insurmountable differences between them a second thought. All
she'd felt was love, and nothing else mattered.

He cared.  She knew he cared for her--he never could have made love to
her the way he had if his emotions weren't involved.  Every touch,
every kiss had spoken of his feelings for her.  But he hadn't said the
words.

And neither had she.

She was scared--she readily admitted it.  She'd never expected to love
anyone after Tom, never expected to put her heart on the line and
chance getting it stomped on again.  She wasn't ready for this.  It was
too soon; she was still too leery.  Every instinct she possessed told
her to run for the hills, but louder still was the voice that told her
to forget everything but love and follow her heart.  Tempted to call
him just to hear the sound of his voice, she almost didn't hear the
knock at her back door.  It came again, this time more insistent,
snapping her back to the present.  Frowning, she hurried into the
kitchen and flipped on the porch light, only to gasp at the sight of a
very pale and obviously agitated Lucille staring in at her through the
parted window in the door.

"Lucille!  My God, what's wrong?"  she demanded, throwing back the dead
bolt and jerking open the door.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's Riley," she said, panting for breath.

"I just heard it on the radio.  There was a riot at the Crossroads and
some idiot pulled a gun."

The blood drained from Becca's face.

"Oh, God!  Riley?  He's not" -- .

?

"He's been shot, honey," she said gently.

"I rushed over here as soon as I heard.  The announcer on the radio
didn't say how bad it was, just that he was being treated at the
Rawlings Clinic.  I knew you'd want to know."

Her heart in her throat, Becca whirled, looking blindly around for her
purse and keys.

"I've got to go to him?"

Suddenly remembering her daughter, she stopped abruptly.

"Oh God, I can't leave Chloe?

"I'll stay with her," Lucille assured her quickly.

"You go on, and don't worry about rushing back.  If I get sleepy, I'll
crawl into one of the beds upstairs."  Tears stinging her eyes, Becca
gave the older woman a fierce hug.

"Bless you, Lucy.  You'll never know how~ much I appreciate this."

"Of course I do," Lucille blustered, returning her hug.

"When my Tony was sick and in the hospital, nothing could keep me away
from him.  Now, go on.  Get.  That young man of yours needs you."

She handed Becca the purse and keys that had been sitting right under
her nose, then pushed her toward the door.  Though her hair was
uncombed, her jeans and blouse old and faded, Becca didn't stop to
change.  More afraid than she'd ever been in her life, she went.  L ~
"Stupid idiots.  Waving guns around like this was the Old West," Tate
grumbled as she bandaged the flesh wound on Riley's upper arm.

"You're lucky you didn't get your hair parted for you.  I hope you
arrested the jackass who did this to you."

"You're damn right I did," he said through his teeth, grunting as she
secured the gauze in place.

"And if I have my way, Billy Owens is going to be cooling his heels in
my jail till the turn of the century.  And even then I might not let
him out.  He could have killed me!"

~ ~ "A little to the right, and we wouldn't be having this conversation
right now," Tate informed him, her expression somber.

"Next time you rush into a damn fight, make sure the only thing you're
liable to run into is somebody's fist."

"Don't worry," he said tersely.

"Next time I'm going in with weapons drawn and every deputy I've got
right behind me.  Then we'll see how quick these damn cowboys are to
draw a gun" -A sudden, strangled sound from the doorway cut him off,
and he looked up to find Becca standing at the entrance to the small
cubicle that served os one of the din- ic's six examining rooms.  As
white as a sheet, her eyes dark pools of anguish as they met his, she
hovered on the threshold as if she didn't know whether to come in or
run away.

Tate, glancing up at the sudden tense silence, bit back a smile and
quickly put away her supplies.

"I'll be back in a minute with some pain pills for you," she said,
heading for the door.

"Go on in," she told Becca, smiling.

"It'll take me a few minute~ to find those pills."  Becca hardly heard
her.  Her feet as heavy as two chunks of cement, she just stood there,
unable to take her eyes from him, the acrid taste of panic still on her
ton.  ~. e.

"I'm all right," he said in a voice as rough as sandpaper.

"Lucille heard on the radio that you'd been shot."  Her gaze moving to
the bandage Tate had neatly applied, she swallowed thickly.

"Your arm" --It's just a scratch.  "

"Tate said..."  She couldn't finish.  Tears swamped her, burning her
eyes, filling her throat.

"Oh, Riley..."  ~/

?

They both moved at the same time, she from the doorway and he from the
examining table where he sat.  Gathering her against him, he pleaded,
"Don't cu3r, sweetheart.

It's no big deal--just a flesh wound.  It hardly even bled.

If you don't believe me, ask Tate.  "

"I can't help it," she sniffed.

"Damreit, you could have been killed?

His mouth curled in a crooked grin.

"Nah, there's no way' I'd let a loser like Billy Owens take me out.
Anyway,

I have it on good authority that I'm going to live to be a very old
man.  "

"Oh?  And who told you that?"

"Clara.  Andthe cards don't lie."

Laughing, she rolled her eyes.

"Tell me about it.  She knew before I did that I loved you."

The words just seemed to slip out, as natural and easy as a sigh.  His
hands tightening on her, Riley stood as~if turned to stone, only then
realizing how long he had been waiting for her to say them.

"Do you mean it?"

Realizing too late what she'd said, Becca clapped her hand to her
mouth, but the words had already escaped.

She hadn't meant to tell him this way, but she could no more deny
loving him than she could make herself drop dead beautiful.  Her heart
in her eyes, she nodded.

"Yes.

But I didn't mean to just blurt it out.  At least not yet.  I

realize you could have a problem with this"

Laughing, he snatched her back into his arms.

"Honey,

the only problem I have with it is that it took you so long to say it.
Don't you know I love you, too?  "

He didn't give her time to answer, dragging her close for a hard, fiery
kiss that was frustratingly short.

"Where's

Chloe?  We've got to tell her.  Do you think she'll be okay with us
getting married?  "

"M-married?"

~ '~,

, ~ At her shocked stutter, he grinned.

"You don't think I'm going to let you get away from me now after it
took me all these years to find you, do you?  Sweetheart, I want a home
with you and Chloe.  And more kids."  Cradling her cheek in his palm,
he ran his thumb slowly back and forth across her bottom lip.

"How do you feel about being a full-time wife and more?  It's been
awhile since you had Chloe.  Do you think you'd mind diapers and
bottles and three-o'clock feedings again?"

Stunned, Becca could only stare at him, not hearing anything past
"full-time wife and more."  Suddenly, the past was racing back at her
with frightening speed, and it was Tom's voice that rang in her ears,
not Riley's.

You're my wife, sweetheart, and I won't have people thinking can't
support you.  You don't need to work.

That's what you've got me for-- to take care of you.  With cold fear
invading her heart, she asked faintly, "What about the election?  What
if I win?"  Caught by surprise, he said, "Well, I guess I assumed you'd
drop out of the race.  After all, it's not as if you'll need to work,
honey.  My place is paid for and I make more than enough to take care
of you and Chloe."

"No."  With pain squeezing her heart, Becca hadn't realized she'd
spoken until she saw his gaze sharpen suddenly.  Then she was backing
out of his arms, her hands held up to ward him off when he would have
reached for her again.

"No," she said more firmly.

"I was in a dependent marriage before, and I swore then that I'd never
do it again.  I'm not pulling out of the race."

Hurt that she would even equate her marriage to Tom with what they
could build together, Riley stiffened as if she'd slapped him.

"Are you saying that you think I would treat you like Tom did?  That
I'd try to keep you under my thumb the way he did?"  .  ~

?

"You can't deny that you like to be in charge," she retorted, lifting
her chin.

'~ "Hell, yes, I take charge.  I'm the sheriff.  That's what I get paid
to do."

She wanted to believe him--God knew she did.  But deep inside her, a
small voice reminded her that Tom had had a reasonable explanation for
his domineering attitude at first, too.  He'd made her feel loved and
secure and treasured.  until after they married.  Then he'd gradually
started to treat her like a possession instead of an equal, until it
got so bad that he demanded a minute-by- minute accounting of her time
whenever she dared to steal a few minutes for herself out of his sight.
Her jaw set stubbornly, she said again, "I'nfnot dropping out of the
race."  '~ "Because you don't trust me."  :

"I didn't say that."

"Oh, yes, you did," Riley said grimly.

"You said it every way you could without actually saying the words.

Believe me, honey, I know what you're doing--I've been there, remember?
-wbut it's not going to work.  After Sybil stabbed me and Danny in the
back, I protected myself by playing it smart and not taking chances.
But that's not living.  If you don't trust someone enough to take a
chance with them, then you haven't really got anything.  "

Hoping, praying that he'd gotten through to her, he searched her face
for some sign that she was at least listening to him.  But her face was
closed, the set of her jaw as stubborn as ever.  Hurt stabbing him in
the heart, he turned away and reached for his shirt.

"I guess that's what we've got, then," he said flatly.

"Nothing.  And a whole lot of nothing is still nothing."

Beeca winced, each word striking her like a blow.

"That's not true," she whispered.

"You can't mean that.

Not after tonight.  "

~ ~?  :~ ~"~ ~:~ ~ ~ He didn't pretend to misunderstand her.  'iWe're
good in bed, honey.

Better than good.  But there's got to be more to it than that.  So you
think about it," he advised, settling his hat on his head.

"And decide if you love me enough to trust me.  If you do, you know
where to find me.  If you don't, well, then, I guess I'll see you
around town ."  He left the room without looking back, as if he didn't
care one way or the other which decision she made.  Tears welling in
her tight throat, Becca swallowed a sob.  Damn him, he was asking too
much!  She'd lost her independence once and only then realized how
precious it was.  She couldn't give it up again.  If he loved her,
really loved her, he wouldn't ask that of her.

Lost in her pain, she didn't notice that Tate had stepped into the open
doorway until she asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

Hurting too badly to hide her pain, Becca hugged herself and blinked
back hot tears.

"No.  Riley and I seem to have had a difference of opinion.  Again."
Having unwittingly overheard enough of the conversation to get the gist
of what was going on, Tate hesitated, reminding herself that she was
there to hand out medicine, not advice.  But didn't bruised hearts come
under a doctor's care, too?

"I heard."  Throwing caution to the wind, she took the only chair in
the room and motioned for Becea to take a seat on the examining
table.

"I know what it's like to be a single mother afraid of being hurt
again," she said quietly.

"I went through the same thing and swore that I was never going to let
a man get near me again.  I had my future with my daughter all mapped
out.  Then I met Flynn.  "

"What happened" Tate grinned ruefully.

"My heart knew before my head did that I could trust him not to hurt
me.  And if you love Riley the way I think you do, then your heart
already knows you can trust him.  You just have to get the me~ sage
through to your head."

"He doesn't know what he's asking of me, Tate.  I'm afraid."

"You?"  scoffed Tate.

"I don't think so.  No woman who could pack a gun and arrest criminals
in a city like Dallas could possibly be afraid of anything.  Just trust
your heart.

It won't lead you astray.  "

Becca desperately wanted to believe her.  But she'd trusted her heart
once before and had lived to regret it.

Tom must have given her a sign, a clue as to the type of man he was.

But she'd been too much in love to see it.

Was she being just as blind with Riley?  Was he capable of the kind of
fanatical possessiveness that would strangle her love faster than a
bullet to the heart?  ~ "Instinctively, she rejected the idea.  But
deep inside Where no one could see, doubts stirred by the past still
lingered, haunting her.

For the next two days, she couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't
concentrate on anything but Riley and his absence from her life.  She
lost track of the number of times she found herself looking for him in
town, hoping she would run into him, wondering what she would say to
him if she did.

Then, before she was ready for it, the day of the shoot-off and the
community race arrived.

The minute she saw him in the crowd that had gathered at the temporary
shooting range set up on the edge of

241 town, she knew they couldn't go on the way they had been.  Dressed
in his sweats for the cross-country run, he looked grim and tired, like
he hadn't slept in a week.  He smiled at his supporters as they
gathered around him, encouraging him, but it was a halfhearted effort
that never reached his eyes.  Then he looked up and spied her across
the sea of people that separated them, and his expression turned
positively harsh.  Sparing her no more than a curt nod, he turned back
to his supporters.

The pain that squeezed her heart was sharp and immediate and brought a
blur of tears to her eyes, horrifying her.  What was she doing?  She
couldn't cry now!  The competition was scheduled to start any second,
and if she didn't get herself together, she'd never be able to see
clearly enough to shoot straight.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Stiffening her spine, she turned to Clara, who hovered behind her with
the other grannies and Chloe, and forced a grimace of a smile.

"I'm fine.  Just a little nervous."

"You're going to win, More," Chloe bragged proudlY' "You always hit the
cans in practice."

Becca laughed.

"Thanks, honey.  I'll try to ~,.member that.  Wish me luck."

"Good luck!  You're going to do ~t."

"We're pulling for you."  .

"Get out there and shoot the lights out of the place, dear."  With
words of encouragement coming from all sides, Becca drew in a bracing
breath, stiffened her spine and moved to the firing line at the same
time Riley did.  The crowd, anticipating fireworks, hushed in
expectation.

Taking the offensive, Beeca flashed her dimples for the crowd.

"Well, Sheriff, it looks like it's put-up or shut-up

?

time for both of us.  Would you care to concede defeat now or later?
.

~ The mob pushing in on them laughed, but Riley only gave her a steady
look that told her she might fool the others, but not him.  He knew she
was just as miserable as he was.

"We've come this far," he retorted.

"Let's play it out, winner take all."

Her eyes locked with his and Becca felt her heart skip a beat.  So he
hadn't given up on her.  Relief flooded her, almost weakening her
knees.  Until that moment, she hadn't realized how afraid she'd been
that she'd lost him completely.

Suddenly wanting to smile, she arched a brow at him.

"And if it's a draw?

"It won't be," he promised quietly.  And in his eyes was the unshakable
resolve of a man who `?45.' knew what he wanted and intended to get it come
hell or high water.  With a throng of thousands listening, Beeca
couldn't say the words crowding her heart.  Facing the firing range and
the bull's,eye set up thirty feet away, she reached for her .  38,
which, along with Riley's, had been set out earlier.  Taking aim, she
let her breath out slowly and fired.

And had the satisfaction of seeing the bullet hit dead center.

Grinning at Riley, she stepped back.

"You were.  saying?"

"It ain't over till the fat lady sings," he reminded her, and took aim
himself.

To the delight of her supporters, he just missed dead center.  Unable
to hold back a laugh, she teased, "I think I hear her warming up."

"Stuff it, Prescott."  ~ Laughing, she fired again .  With the same
results.  And a few minutes later, when the smoke cleared, there was
no

~

question who was the better marksman.  Riley didn't even have the
excuse that his wound was bothering him.  He was right-handed and Billy
Owens's bullet had grazed his left.

Trying not to gloat, Becca dared to pat him on the shoulder.

"Don't feel bad.  I'm sure you have other talents.

Guns just aren't your thing.  "

She was pushing him, the little minx, and it would serve her right if
he jerked her into his arms.  But he didn't.

~"Don't let it go to your head.  There's no way in hell'

you're going to outrun me.  "

She didn't, of course.  His legs were too long, hers too short.  From
the firing of the gun that started the community-wide race, it was
evident that she was going to have to eat his dust from start to
finish.  Early on, she fell back in the pack of runners and never
caught up.  But when she crossed the finish line, she was considerably
ahead of two of his deputies.  And under the terms of their agreement,
that made her a winner.

Winded and sweaty, Riley didn't hesitate to concede that he'd misjudged
her.  A man of ethics right down to his toenails, he said in a strong
voice that carried all the way to the back of the crowd, "You were
right and I was wrong.  I didn't think you had what it took to be a
deputy, let alone a sheriff, but you've proven you've got the skills
for the job.  Congratulations."

Weeks ago, Becca would have been glowing from that admission, but now
all she could think of was how much she loved him.  She wanted to tell
him, to just walk into his '

arms and beg him not to ever let her go.  But nothing had changed,
nothing that counted.  Her supporters, sensing victory at the polls the
following day, surrounded her and carried her off, their cheers ringing
in her ears, and no one seemed to notice that she wasn't smiling.

?

The last morning, Riley was up at dawn, too miserable to gp, too
distracted to ct0 anything constructive.

For thtfirst time since he'd ~e~tered public office, he didn't g~ a
damn about the outcome of an election, and it was ~Becca's fault.  She
ha~a't come to him as he'd expected~resterday after the racee, and the
knowledge that there Wata really good possibility that he was losing
her tore hh!  apart.

In a l~r of a mood, he was air the polls the second they opened, loping
to avoid both his supporters and Becca's.

He shoh15 have known better.  The whole county had chosen ~ es, and he
couldn't walk down the street without somme making a comment about the
election.  Even at seven, thirty in the morning.  2qot lingering to
chat, he made his way to his office as qtaicldy as he could, where he
silently.

dared anyone to comment that he wasn't supposed to be in until eleven.
No one did.

He Sl~t most of the day the~, filling the hours with paperwe~ and
trying not to tbaiak about Beeca.  For a while it grked.  Then Mark
cam~ in and dropped a bomb on him.

Stunned, Riley looked up from the report he was filling out ~t his desk
and frowned, sure he'd misunderstood.

"You're what?"  ~ ?  :

"Quittag, sir," the rookie said stiffly, his face pale except for ~e
uncomfortable flush firing his cheeks.

"I'm giving m~two weeks notice as of today."

Setting down his pen, Riley sat back in his chair.

"You've~ly been on the payroll four months.  I thought you loved the
job."

~ .  ~ "I didn't."

"Thenvhat seems to be the problem?  Whatever it is, I'm sure ~: can
talk it out.  You don't have to quit."

For a moment, he didn't think the younger man was going to answer.

Squirming from one foot to the other, his Adam's apple bobbing in his
throat as he swallowed, the young deputy looked like he'd rather eat
live toads than admit what was really bothering him.  Just when Riley
thought he was going to have to drag it out of him, he blurted out, "I
thought I could take it, but I can't, Riley.  I'm sorry.  I know I've
disappointed you, but I'm just not cut out for law enforcement."

Considering he was one of the most enthusiastic deputies he'd ever had,
Riley found that hard to believe.

"Is this a sudden decision or one you've been thinking about for a
while?"

Jerkily twisting his hat in his hands, the younger man looked down at
his boots.

"It, uh, sort of hit me the other night... at the Crossroads... when
you were shot."

"I see," he said quietly.  And suddenly he did.

"Mark, even the best men get shaken sometimes in a dangerous situation.
It's not a weakness.  A little fear is healthy--it keeps you on your
toes and safe.  The worst thing you can do is brood on it, so you just
have to learn to shake it off and get on with your job.  You'll do
fine."

It was good advice, but Mark still looked sick.

"I've tried, but I can't.  And it really shook Cathy up," he added,
referring to his wife.

"Every time I report to work, she's a nervous wreck, and I can't keep
putting her through that, not in her condition.  I don't want to lose
her.  So we've been talking it over, and I've decided to go to law
school.  I've always been interested in the law, and her parents are
going to help us."

Studying him with narrowed eyes, Riley had to admit that the kid had
his priorities straighter than he himself had had at that age.  He'd
been so wrapped up in his job that he hadn't been willing to give it up
for anyone, not

?

even for Genie, so he'd lost everything.  And he hadn't had anyone to
blame but himself.  ':' ~ "I think that's a smart move, Mark," he said.
He rose to his feet and held out his hand to the surprised deputy.

"Good luck to you."

Expecting more of an argument, Mark dazedly shook his hand.

"Thank you, sir.  I'm glad you understand."

Long after the younger man went back to his duties, Riley sat.

staring after him, seeing nothing but the long, empty road that was his
future stretched out before him.  After the competition yesterday and
Becca's impressive performance, there was a very good possibility he
could lose the election.  He should have been worried, at the very
least concerned.  But it was just a job.  One that he loved, granted,
but hanging on to it wasn't nearly as important as hanging on to
Becca.

He loved her.  He'd known it for days now, but he hadn't let himself
dwell on just how much she had come to mean to him.  Now it-was staring
him right in the face and he couldn't avoid the truth any longer.
Without her in his life, nothing was worth a damn.  )-: '~ He'd treated
her just like he'd treated Genie.  Beec-~ had tried to tell him how she
felt, what she feared, what she needed, but he hadn't listened.
Thickheaded to the end, he'd had everything worked out in his mind, and
his only thought had been to rush her into wanting what he wanted.  The
fact that she needed the security of knowing that she could support
herself and Chloe hadn't even registered.

God, what a jackass he was!  He must have sounded just like Tom.  No
wonder she'd turned him down flat.

Suddenly needing to see her, to take her in his arms and explain what a
fool he'd been, he wanted to drop everything and go to her immediately.
But he'd promised her

~ ,~ 247 time, and that was what he was going to give her.  even if it
killed him.

Unable to summon up much enthusiasm for the celebration party the
grannies were planning for later that evening, Becca didn't object when
an excited Chloe begged to go over to Clara's to help decorate.  Too
agitated to offer much help herself, Becca stayed home to wait for the
closing of the polls.  It was a torturous exercise.

Every time she glanced at the clock, her heart seemed to stop.  In
another half hour, it would all be over but the crying.  One part of
her was greatly relieved--win or lose, she had the satisfaction of
knowing she'd campaigned hard and well.  But in her heart, she knew she
was running out of time.

Was Riley watching the clock the way she was?  Did he feel, as she did,
that if they let the polls close without seing each other, without
talking to each other and working through their differences, that a
horrible mistake was going to be made?  She had to do something!

~ Trust him.  Her heart cried out to her, refusing to be ignored, and
everything in her wanted to comply.  She loved him.  Deep down, she
recognized the truth of that unshakable conviction.  A year, ten years,
a lifetime from now she would feel the same because she couldn't do
anything else.

He'd taken her heart and she was never going to get it back.  But was
she willing to take a chance on him?  Could she step into his arms and
trust him not to take advantage of her love for him by turning into a
tyrant who wanted to control her night and day?  Did she love him,
trust him, that much?

Yes.

The answer came to her like the flash of a comet in the night,
stripping away the darkness that had clouded her

?

vision.  Riley wasn't a man to take advantage of his position-everyone
in the county knew that no one was fairer than Riley Whitaker.  He bent
over backward with his staff and prisoners to make sure that no one was
abused by the power of the sheriff's office.  If he would protect total
strangers, why wouldn't he do the same thing for the woman he claimed
to love?  i~:

Dear God, how could she have been so blind?

She had to go to him, tell him.  Grabbing her purse, she started t rush
out, then whirled back to phone Clara.

"I

don't know how long I'll be," she told the other woman hurriedly.

"I'm going over to Riley's.  Oh, Clara, I love

Laughing, Clara said happily, "I know you do, honey.  You stay as long
as you need to.  Chloe will be just fine."

Later, Beeca didn't even remember locking the house or making the drive
to Riley's.  Suddenly, she was at his front door, her fingers shaking
as she lifted her hand to the doorbell.  She wasn't too late, she told
herself fiercely.  She couldn't be!  ___ Nervous, her heart pounding so
loudly in her ears she could hardly hear herself think straight, she
took her courage in hand and stepped through the door the minute he
opened it.

On the radio in the corner, the early returns were already being
given.

"I don't know which of us won, and I don't care," she said quickly, her
words tumbling over themselves before he could do anything but lift a
brow in surprise.

"I just know that I love you more than I ever thought it was possible
to love anyone.  I wouldn't blame you if you didn't believe me, not
after what I said the other night, but I wasn't thinking clearly.  I
was just so afraid" -- ~

~: ~

"I know, sweetheart.  And I was a jackass for throwing an ultimatum at
you.  You should have grabbed me by the ears and shook me until I
listened to you."

"I never should have accused you of being like Tom,~' she continued, so
caught up in what she had to say that his words didn't register.

"I know you're not like that.  You're not a control freak.  You would
never use your position or power to take advantage of anyone.  You're
not like" Stopping abruptly, she frowned.

"What did you say?"

His smile was slow and crooked and oh, so tender.

"I was a jackass.

Don't worry, it's only a temporary condition that flares up
occasionally.  I need a wife to keep me in line and make me listen.  I
hope you're going to accept the j oh.  "

"But..."  Confused, she looked dazedly around for a chair, afraid her
knees were going to give out any moment.

"You were right.  I wasn't ready to trust you .... "

"You trusted me, honey," he assured her, reaching for her.

"You would have never given yourself to me the way you did if you
hadn't trusted me: Yo~ w.e~re just running a little scared.  We both
were."  .  ~ ~. : .  " ~:;

Her eyes searched his, and she saw the love there, the trust that went
as deep as her own.

"Oh, God, Riley, I thought I'd lost you.  And all over a stupid job."
Laughing shakily, she hugged him fiercely.

"I don't care who wins- " Neither do I," he muttered against her mouth,
kissing her as if he couldn't get enough of her.

"Just as long as I have you."

Lost in the taste and feel and wonder of each other, it was a long, hot
moment before either of them heard the radio announcement.

"And for everyone out there who has been holding his or her breath
waiting for the returns on the sheriff's race," the newscaster said,
"it looks like

- ?  you ladies are doomed to disappointment.  Early returns indicate
that Sheriff Riley Whitaker should win reelection by a slim margin. But
don't despair, ladies.  Ms.

Prescott ran a fine race and really shook things up for a while.  "

"Boy, did she ever," Riley growled, nipping at her ear.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart.  I know how much you wanted to win."

Not the least bit disappointed, she laughed softly, her cheek nuzzling
his as she wound her arms around his neck.

"I won you instead.  I think I got the better deal."

"Oh, I don't know about that.  I got you, a wife and possibly a new
deputy all rolled into one.  That definitely makes me the winner."

Surprised, she drew back slightly.

"New deputy?  What are you talking about?"

"Mark gave his notice this afternoon--he's decided to go to law school.
Which means I'm going to need a new deputy.  So what do you think?  Are
you interested in the job?"  .  "

"Are you kidding?  Where do I sign up?"  Chuckling, he grinned down at
her.

"I sort of thought you would be.  Of course, things are going to have
to change a little.

I'll be your boss.  Think you can handle me calling the shots?  "

Her green eyes full of mischief, she pressed against him.

"I can handle anything you can dish out, Sheriff," she murmured
sweetly, the heated promise in her seductive smile like something out
of his dreams.

"And don't you forget it."

