He shut the door before he started picturing her naked, on the white downy comforter, her hair all tousled, her lips parted and wet from his kiss, and her legs all tangled with his. He walked down the hall to the bathroom and looked behind the shower curtain as she’d asked. He turned to the mirror above the sink and stared at the deep red splotch beneath his left eye. The center was already beginning to turn blue. He touched it and carefully pulled down his bottom lid to look at his eyeball.
While he had absolutely no problem imagining Hope naked, any kind of involvement was out of the question. She was beautiful and the way she filled out spandex had to be a sin, but there were a lot of beautiful women in the world. Women who didn’t threaten the life he’d made and the security of his son.
He knew little about Hope, other than she had a rare talent for pissing people off and, in all likelihood, had lied about why she’d moved to Gospel. Ms. Hope Spencer was a mystery he had no intention of solving. If she kept her nose clean, she could keep her secrets from him and everyone else. Just as he intended to keep his-especially from her.
He’d seen another side of Hope tonight. She was more relaxed, less uptight, more approachable. Softer. Drunk. And in all honesty, he had to say he preferred the drunk. His attraction to her was purely physical and turned his thoughts to hot, sweaty things that were never going to happen. The way his body reacted to her didn’t worry him. It made him uncomfortable, yes, but it didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it.
Dylan moved out into the hall. He’d bet by morning, everyone in town would know he’d given Hope a ride home. They’d likely start placing bets on how long he’d stayed. Dylan had to be very careful where he parked his truck, which was probably the reason that he hadn’t parked it in a long time.
Growing up, he’d had a wild reputation. A reputation he’d deserved, but he was the sheriff now. An elected official. The father of a young son, and he could no longer afford negative gossip or speculation about his sex life. He had his own past to live down, as well as that of the former sheriff’s. Sometimes he wondered if the citizens of Gospel were all watching, waiting for
When he returned downstairs, he found Hope in the kitchen, wrapping a towel around a bag of ice.
Her back was to him; he let his gaze slide down her spine to the curve of her sweet spandex-covered butt. Maybe Iona was right. Maybe MZBHAVN wore thong undies.
She turned and smiled at him again and he felt it tighten his chest. “How’s your eye?”
It was obviously past time for him to go home. “It hurts like a bitch.”
She handed him the towel, and he figured since she’d gone to such trouble for him, he could stay a minute or two. “I thought this might help.”
Dylan leaned his behind against the counter and crossed one foot over the other. “You’ve really cleaned the place up. It looks nice.”
She shrugged her bare shoulders. “It took me a few days to get rid of all the dust and dirt.”
He raised the towel to the corner of his eye. “And bats.”
“And bats.” She nodded.
“Shelly told me about the bloodstain. Did you know the late Sheriff Donnelly?”
“Sure. I was one of his deputies.”
“Then you know why he killed himself?”
“Yep.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she prompted, “Well… why?”
He figured that anything he told her, she could probably find out if she dug deep enough. “He had a fondness for kinky sex. Real dominance-and-submission stuff. He liked women to dress up in red lace and stilettos, and he’d videotape himself getting his droopy butt flogged.”
“Weird, but nothing to kill yourself over.”
“You didn’t know Hiram.” The old sheriff had been a real hard-assed lawman. “Are you thinking of writing an article about him?”
“I’m thinking about it.” She drew her brows together. “I usually don’t like to write about real people, but yeah. Maybe. How do you feel about helping me get the police report?”
“Can’t help you with that. The FBI was in charge of the case. We got wind of it about the same time Hiram did. By the time anyone got here, he was already dead.”
She sighed. “So I’ll have to send an FOIA request to the Feds, and that could take a few weeks or several months.”
She obviously knew the system. “Call and pester them,” he advised. Despite her statement of not usually writing about real people, he wouldn’t mind if her attention was distracted by the old story. That way, she wouldn’t be snooping around and looking to report a new one. The late sheriff was still a favorite topic in the county, and if the people in town found out she was writing a story about Hiram, they’d form a line and talk her into a coma. “You might ask around. Get information from people who knew Hiram.”
“I don’t think people will talk to me. They haven’t been exactly friendly.”
“Give them another chance. They’ll probably help you out.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll do what I can,” he volunteered, then figured it was time he changed the subject completely. “Tell me something, is there a Mr. Spencer?”
Hope cocked her head to one side and studied the tall cowboy standing in her kitchen. His left eye had begun to swell a bit and a shadow of beard darkened his chin and jaw. He kind of had a glow about him, and she wondered if it was the trick of the light or the Budweiser. She felt good and free, and she was old enough to recognize she’d had more than her share to drink. She was buzzed, all right, but not the kind of drunk that made the room spin or her stomach heave. The kind that made everything okay. Like in a dream, where all her problems receded into the background, and where a big, strong man saved the day, broke up fights, and checked out her spooky house for her. The kind that had a handsome cowboy standing in her kitchen and offering to help her with a story she just might write. None of it seemed quite real. “There is,” she finally answered. “But he’s someone else’s Mr. Spencer these days.”
“How long were you married?”
The answer to that question was easy. “Seven years.”
“Long time.” He lifted the towel from the corner of his eye. “What happened?”
She leaned a shoulder into the refrigerator and thought about the next answer, which wasn’t so easy. “He found someone he liked better.”
“Younger?”
She was drunk, but not that drunk. “No, not younger. It’s not even very interesting. Just the old cliche about a doctor having an affair with his nurse,” she lied, because lying was so much easier than the truth.
His lips curved into a one-sided smile she found slightly irresistible. “She couldn’t be prettier than you.”
Okay, more than slightly irresistible. “Actually, she has big teeth.”
The other side of his lips slid up and his whole face smiled. “I hate that in a woman.”
The more he talked, the more she liked him. “And a shelf butt,” she added.
“Hate that, too.”
“The last time I saw her, she got herself some big ol‘ breasts to match.”
He didn’t say anything. Just continued to smile.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about your girlfriend from the Buckhorn.”
“I told you, Dixie isn’t my girlfriend, but I can pretty much vouch that she isn’t filled with bags of saline.”
“How do you know?”
“Because her older sister, Kim,
“Is Kim the girl who ran off with a trucker right after graduation?”
His brow furrowed and he pressed the towel over his eyes. “How do you know about that?”
“Shelly told me.”
“Yeah, that figures.”
“If she was your girlfriend, why’d she run off with a trucker?”
“Because,” he said as he set the towel on the counter and straightened, “Kim was a girl with marriage on her mind, and I had plans that didn’t include hanging crepe paper in the grange hall and saying ‘I do.’ ”
“What plans?”
