“Why on earth?”
“She figured you two were going to continue hiding stuff from her because she’s pregnant and she wanted to be able to track you down when needed.” He unzipped his coat and yawned. “I don’t agree with invading your privacy on that level, but it certainly came in handy tonight when you hightailed it out of there.” He looked her way, the glow of the dashboard lights glittering in his eyes. “Now, are you ready to tell me what’s going on?”
Not really, but she was tired of hiding and running and worrying. “What did you do with your wife?”
His eyes narrowed. “Your FBI boyfriend drove her home.”
Poor Mississippi. Then again, he did like women with curves, and Elizabeth had plenty to spare. “He’s not my boyfriend, Grady.”
“She’s not my wife, Veronica.”
Silence filled the cab again. The heater whirred, taking the edge off the cold. She sniffed inside Claire’s flannel jacket. He was right, she did smell like beer.
“If he’s not your boyfriend,” Grady said, his voice almost hesitant, which wasn’t like him, “do you mind filling me in on what you were doing with him in Cherry Harwood’s office today for a half hour?”
She cursed under her breath. “When Cherry tattled on me, did she mention that there was a third party in her office with us?”
“Cherry didn’t tattle. Elizabeth did. Her cousin was there and called her.”
“Gary the bartender?” Ronnie thought he didn’t like Elizabeth much. Why would he tell on her?
“Another cousin, not Gary. Yuccaville is a small town and you and your sisters have a way of standing out from the locals like porcupines at a nudist colony.”
She grimaced. That probably wasn’t a good thing. “So, Elizabeth has her spies watching me now, huh?”
“You and me both, not that I give a damn about her thoughts on my actions.” The disgust in his voice was clear. “However, I am curious about that office meeting. And the third attendee.”
“Curious as the sheriff of Cholla County?” In other words, was she going to get an ass-chewing about following the law again? Because that would ruin the mellow buzz she had going at the moment.
He closed his eyes, shifting in the seat so his knees didn’t rub the dashboard. “Curious as the man who has enticed you into his bed and wishes you were there with him now instead of out here in the middle of the cold desert.”
She leaned her seat all of the way back to match his and turned on her side, staring at him in the semi-darkness. “Grady, I have problems.”
He shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”
“You, for one.”
He scoffed. “What do you call an ex-wife in town who appears to be delusional about why we divorced, shows up at my workplace with home-cooked meals for me, and wants to return to the life we had before she ran off with her lover and his baby?”
The bitch was cooking for him, too? Ronnie filed that away for a future teeth-grinding moment. “Okay, you have something there, but this particular problem of mine involves potential prison time.”
His eyes opened. “What?”
“And with you up for reelection this year, I don’t know that I should be sharing your bed anymore. I could ruin your career.”
He looked her way, his forehead lined. “What happened in Cherry’s office today?”
“The third party was Chester.”
“Chester Thomas?”
“The one and only. He was acting as one of my witnesses. Mississippi was the other.”
“Why did you need witnesses?”
“I called Lyle.”
“Your ex-husband?”
“Well, officially he and I were never—”
“Veronica, cut to the chase.”
“Lyle had his lawyer contact me via Katie’s phone, whose number his lawyer still had on file. Lyle wanted me to call him.”
“And you raced to do his bidding?”
“No, I didn’t race to do Lyle’s bidding, damn it. I needed to talk to him because of the impending prison situation I mentioned a moment ago.”
He looked up at the Jeep’s hardtop, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Explain this prison business, please.”
Ronnie did as he requested, telling him about the FBI’s new match game that tied the diamonds found under the mules’ camper to those Lyle had hid who-knew-where.
After Grady finished cursing about the FBI’s bullshit move, she explained what happened during the phone call to Lyle, leaving out all of those icky “darling” endearments and the bit about her lack of underpants in England.
“You should have told me about this sooner, Veronica,” he said after she finished, still staring upward.
“Why? So you could remind me about how stupid I was to stay married to my ex-husband for all of those years?”
Because if that was why, she was going to cram her beer-smelling bra down his throat. She knew her screwups well, both past and present. She didn’t need Grady’s help feeling like a big dumb dope.
“No, damn it.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m in love with you, woman.”
Everything inside her went still, except for her pulse, which was pounding so loud the citizens of Yuccaville probably heard it. Grady had flooded her with compliments over the last month, especially after sex, but the L-word had not come forth prior to this moment.
“Come again?” she said.
“You heard me, Veronica,” he said to the roof.
Yeah, but why would he … “Is this a new interrogation tactic, Sheriff?”
“Christ!” He glared at her. “You’re so damned hard-headed sometimes. Contrary to what you seem to believe, there’s a plain old guy underneath my badge and uniform, and he’s over the moon about you.”
Her heart soared for a moment, but then reality lassoed it and hauled it back to earth. “You shouldn’t love me. I’m going to mess up your perfect life.”
He growled and focused back on the hardtop. “Too late. I already do, so let’s move on to the next point—what can we do to keep you from being the FBI’s fall guy?”
She grimaced. “You’re not going to like the answer Mississippi gave
