Читать книгу Fit To Be Frisked - Carol Finch - Страница 12

“I WONDER IF I MIGHT HAVE a word with you, sir. After you finish your conference, of course,” the lady cop said politely.

Vance sincerely hoped Tate called this cop on the carpet. The prospect provoked him to smile in devilish delight.

Tate arched a questioning brow. “Does this have anything to do with the incident Vance is discussing with me?”

The lady cop nodded and that shiny braid of dark hair curled over her shoulder to brush the swell of her breast. Vance tried not to notice, he really did. But damn she was built like nobody’s business. Too bad that she had the disposition of a snapping turtle.

“Yes, sir, it does,” she told her superior.

“Then take a seat, Miranda, and let’s get this situation squared away.”

Miranda. Didn’t that just figure, Vance mused. The knockout female had decided to enter a profession in which she could Miranda everyone. Well, he’d like to read her a few rights and tell her what she could do with herself and her hoity-toity, by-the-book attitude.

“Vance was just telling me about your confrontation on the highway this morning. He objected to the hefty fine.”

Didn’t that just figure, Miranda mused, keeping her expression carefully controlled. No doubt this practical joker had decided to take the incident a step farther by tattling to her boss. The rat.

“I’m sure he objected,” she commented, “but I maintain that he got exactly what he deserved for turning that unsafe vehicle over to his cousin to drive to town after I sent Mr. Ryder back the way he’d come.”

When Tate leveled a pointed stare on Vance, Miranda noted that he sank a little deeper in his rickety chair. Obviously the stool pigeon purposely omitted several important details.

“You didn’t mention that, Vance,” Tate said stonily.

“I was just getting to that part when we were interrupted,” Vance mumbled, shooting Miranda a fulminating glance.

“Of course you were,” she said, then sniffed.

Vance braced his hands on the armrest and jerked upright. “Hey, I was here first to give my report. You were out of line.”

He glowered at her from beneath bunched brows. Refusing to be intimidated, she glared right back at him.

“So I suppose you didn’t mention that you took devilish delight in trying to make me look like a fool in front of your cousin,” she countered. “Well, the joke’s on you, Mr. Ryder. The next time I pull you over you better show some respect!”

“I will not be bullied by a gun-toting female who’s itching to blow my head off over a stupid vehicle violation!” he snapped.

“I was not itching to blow your head off…then,” she retaliated, green eyes flashing. “Now, I’m thinking about it.”

“I don’t have to take this abuse from you, lady,” Vance flared.

“Of course you do. You invite abuse and it would be rude of you not to accept it,” she sniped at him.

When Vance bounded from his chair and Miranda stamped forward to confront him—nose to nose and toe to toe—Tate pounded his fist on the desk, demanding attention.

“Park it, both of you,” he boomed. “Let’s not allow a minor infraction to escalate into World War Three, shall we?”

“She fined me for stupidity!” Vance roared as he plunked into his chair. “How professional is that?”

Miranda swallowed uneasily when the chief’s gaze zeroed in on her. Okay, so that wasn’t very professional of her, she’d admit it. But this handsome hunk of cowboy had ticked her off royally. She couldn’t say exactly what there was about him that got her hackles up. It was just a knee-jerk reaction. She was intensely aware of him and this ridiculous attraction made her megadefensive.

“You fined him for stupidity?” Tate repeated incredulously.

“He deliberately provoked me. Plus, I should have arrested him for sexual harassment,” she blurted out. “He tried to flirt with me to get out of the warning and ticket.”

“That’s a mistake I’ll never make again, believe you me, lady. I’ve met rattlers with better dispositions.” Vance crossed his arms over his broad chest and glared laser beams at her. “You can’t take a joke worth a flip, either.”

She let him have it with both barrels blazing—figuratively speaking of course. “And you don’t have enough brains under that dirty cowboy hat to know when to be serious and not come on to a female officer.”

Vance scowled at her. “I resent that dumb cowboy comment.”

“Enough already!” Tate blared as he vaulted to his feet. His thick chest swelled like a bullfrog as he glowered first at Vance then at Miranda. He sucked in a steadying breath then appraised the two antagonists who were glaring each other down like gunfighters at twenty paces.

It was a long moment before he said, “First off, Miranda, fining a man for stupidity, even if he deserves it, won’t hold up in traffic court and you know it.”

Vance smiled so smugly at her that she gnashed her teeth, crossed her arms and glanced the other way.

“Secondly,” Tate continued, “flirting with a law official is inappropriate and you know it, Vance.”

So there, thought Miranda, wishing she could childishly stick out her tongue at that cocky cowboy. He would never have gotten to first base with her anyway. No matter how attractive he was—in a rugged, back country sort of way—he wasn’t her type. If he’d come on to her while she was dressed in civilian clothes she would have made use of her years of tae kwon do instruction and left him flat on his butt, gasping for breath.

“Now then,” Tate said as he dropped back to his chair to drum his beefy fingers on the desk. “I’m not going to react rashly, which is apparently what you both did during the altercation this morning. I’m going to give this situation some thought before I decide how to handle it.”

“Sounds fair to me, Uncle Tate,” she took grand satisfaction in saying.

“Uncle Tate?” Vance hooted, owl-eyed.

When Tate Jackson nodded, Vance wilted back in his chair and inwardly groaned. He was sunk for sure. Tate was usually a fair man. But coming from a close-knit family himself, Vance always stood behind his cousins when trouble arose. True, Vance and his cousins, even the absentee Gage Ryder, delighted in razzing each other until hell wouldn’t have it. But when the chips were down they became the Four Musketeers. All for one and all that jazz.

No doubt, Tate felt the same connection to his niece, even if Ms. Serious Britches was aloof, defensive and snippy. She also seemed to crave a position of authority so she could lord over the males of the species.

No question about it, Tate would side with Miranda and Vance would be doing time in the slammer, just because of his clunker truck and a harmless prank. Wouldn’t that be a fun way to spend his upcoming birthday?

“You will both report back to my office at ten o’clock sharp on Saturday,” Tate decreed. “That will give you three days to cool down. In addition, you will abide by whatever decision I make concerning the incident. Agreed?”

“Yes, Chief,” Miranda said so sweetly that Vance feared he’d hurl his lunch.

“Fine, Chief,” Vance muttered, knowing he was doomed.

Tate couldn’t possibly be impartial where his gorgeous but prickly niece was concerned. Vance would have to turn all his ranch duties over to Cousins Q and W while he rotted away in the calaboose. If he was lucky, maybe Stephanie would deliver meals from her restaurant and Laura could drop off some reading material from the high school where she taught. Yup, Tate would pretend to think it over for three days, but he’d still lower the boom on Vance.

Tate’s niece, for crying out loud! No wonder the trigger-happy lady cop hadn’t been booted off the force already.

“Now, both of you scram, I have a pile of reports to fill out,” Tate grumbled as he stared at his cluttered desk. “And try to stay out of each other’s way and out of trouble. Please.”

Vance nodded grimly as he surged from his chair. However, he was too consumed by frustration to notice the chief’s wry smile or detect the snicker he camouflaged with a cough. Obviously Chief Jackson found the situation highly entertaining.

It took considerable restraint on Vance’s part not to breeze through the door and let it slam in Miranda’s face. Instead he bowed like the gentleman his mother instructed him to be and swept his arm forward. “After you, Officer Jackson.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ryder,” she replied in the same overly polite tone.

Vance decided that he’d made a tactical error by permitting the knockout female in uniform to precede him down the hall. He had to stare at her shapely backside and the mesmerizing glide of her hips. The unruly man in him wanted to let loose with a wolf whistle, but the sensible side of his brain kept chanting that this was the very last female on the planet that he wanted to be physically attracted to. The only thing the woman had going for her, as far as he was concerned, was her alluring looks. Unfortunately her attitude and personality worked as effectively as the pesticide he needed to spray on his pastures this afternoon.

Vance made a mental note to warn his cousins to take a wide berth around Officer Miranda Jackson, lest they ended up in his position. Since she was the chief’s niece, the townsfolk were obviously stuck with her. The thought was almost enough to make Vance consider selling his ranch and taking up residence beyond this bombshell of a barracuda’s legal jurisdiction.

DRIVING THE JALOPY TRUCK that now boasted new tires and a muffler that didn’t leave a vapor trail of fumes, Vance headed to his ranch. This time he could plainly see the patrol car trailing him because he’d taken time to wash the truck—as ordered by the High Priestess of the police department—the previous day. Vance was certain the reign of terror had only begun in Owl County. That vindictive lady cop was out to get him, no doubt about it.

“Damn,” he muttered when lights flashed behind him.

What was it this time? he wondered sourly. Expired license tag? Naw, that was too easy. Leave it to Miranda Jackson to dig up some obscure vehicle code and stick it to him, despite what her dear uncle had said about mutual avoidance at yesterday’s meeting.

Swearing under his breath, Vance waited for Miranda to climb from her car and approach him. He couldn’t muster the good-natured smile he usually wore as he studied her in the side mirror. This female brought out the worst in him.

When she strode up to the truck he flung up his hands in supplication. “Guilty as charged. Just write me up.”

“I’m not going to give you a ticket,” she said, surprising the hell out of him.

“So, what’s the problem now? Surely you aren’t pulling me over to chitchat. I got the distinct impression that you don’t have much use for me, judging by our yelling match in the chief’s office yesterday.” He smiled goadingly. “Oh, excuse me, make that Uncle Tate’s office.”

Her chin came up as she whipped off her mirrored sunglasses to give him the full benefit of her death-ray glare. “Look, Mr. Ryder, I only stopped you to apologize for losing my temper at headquarters. I overreacted. It was unprofessional and it’s never happened before. For some reason you rub me the wrong way.”

“Well, not to worry, Randi,” he said, knowing it would probably irritate her to be addressed by an abbreviated form of her name. “I’m not planning to rub you the right way, either. Far as I’m concerned, the less we see of each other the better.”

“My sentiments exactly,” she gritted out. “You obey the laws around here and there will be no reason whatsoever for us to engage in conversation…”

Her voice trailed off when Wade Ryder drove by and honked his horn. A few moments later Quint whizzed by, waving and grinning. Vance pulled his Resistol hat down on his forehead, slumped on the seat and cursed colorfully. No doubt, his demon cousins would taunt him unmercifully when he met them at the ranch to begin their afternoon chores.

“If you’re through with me, officer, I have work to do.”

“I’m definitely through with you,” she announced, stepping away from the window. “I will abide by whatever decision the chief makes about our…um…incident.”

“Ditto,” Vance said, “but I expect to get the short end of the stick since you’ve got family and professional connections.”

He watched her thrust back her shoulders and jerk up her chin. His gaze immediately dipped to her well-endowed chest. It was beyond comprehension that he found this female so damn attractive when she bugged the hell out of him. She was so distant and reserved that he had the ridiculous urge to draw a reaction from her—like tormenting a guard at Buckingham Palace until he snapped.

Vance had never had a problem relating to people or dealing with women. Normally he got along with everyone—male and female alike—because it was his objective in life to draw out a smile. He joked around, enjoyed making folks laugh and he tried not to take himself, or the world, too seriously.

He’d learned that technique after getting his heart crammed into a meat grinder by Shawna Karmody a few years back. Since that humiliating affair Vance enjoyed the company of women, enjoyed casual sexual gratification and used corny jokes and playful pranks to remain at an emotional arm’s length.

Too bad he found nothing amusing about dealing with Miranda Jackson. And yet, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She drew his attention and held if fast. What kind of self-defeating complex did he have going here?

“You’re doing it again,” Miranda said, jostling him back to the present.

Vance jerked his gaze off her full breasts. “Doing what?”

“Staring at me as if you can see…” Her gaze flicked away, unable to maintain visual contact. “I don’t like it when men look past the uniform. It’s insulting and degrading.”

“Then try pinning that badge someplace besides on your chest,” Vance teased, and then grinned scampishly when her face flushed beet red. “Look, Officer Jackson, I’m trying my damn…er…darnedest to stay out of your way and to see you impersonally, but you might as well know that I find you attractive.

“I don’t particularly like you and you definitely don’t like me, but there you have it. Right smack-dab out in the open. Now, if you want to arrest me for that, then fine. I’ll plead no contest. But just because I can’t seem to help liking what I see, doesn’t mean I plan to throw myself at you. I do have some restraint. Are we clear on that, ma’am?”

Miranda stared into his ruggedly handsome face, into those entrancing midnight-colored eyes, and felt the unwanted jolt of attraction jarring her entire body. “Okay, since you’re being honest I’ll return the favor. I like the looks of you, too, even if you don’t take things seriously and you drive the most pathetic excuse for a vehicle that ever cruised the highway. You’re good-looking and I’m sure you know it. Same goes for your two cousins.”

“Three, actually,” he corrected, lips twitching. “But Gage is out of the country, breaking foreign hearts as we speak, I suspect. And thank you for the compliment, ma’am. Even if you think I’m stupid, it’s nice to know you don’t find me hideously ugly while you’re handing me warnings and tickets.”

Miranda broke down and smiled when he grinned playfully. She just couldn’t help it. The man was a charmer when he wanted to be. His smile was contagious and those devilish eyes lured her into their dark, shiny depths.

“Well, I guess that’s that. Now we can attend the chief’s upcoming meeting without going for each other’s throats,” she said, taking another step away from more the unwanted lure of Vance Ryder.

“Fine with me.” He poked his head out the window and extended his hand. “Shall we shake on it and call a truce?”

Miranda placed her hand in his—and felt the sizzle of electricity humming through her body. She quickly extracted her hand from his grasp and noted her palm was sweating. For heaven’s sake, what was the matter with her? Since graduating from the academy she’d learned to handle a variety of tense and dangerous situations. So why was dealing with this particular cowboy different? Why did he affect her to such unprecedented extremes? She’d never felt such an intense reaction to the presence or the casual touch of a man before.

It was so unlike her. She lived for the job. Yet, since the moment she encountered Vance Ryder her hormones had gone completely haywire. This was absurd. She didn’t even like him very much and he admitted he didn’t care much for her, either.

She and Vance were like protons and neutrons bouncing around inside the same atom, repelling each other, colliding with each other. They were absolutely nothing alike. They had nothing in common. They approached life from opposing directions. She took life, and her job, seriously and he didn’t seem capable of taking anything seriously—except their previous shouting match in Tate’s office.

Vance flexed and clenched his fist then clamped his hands around the steering wheel. He took his gaze off her and stared through the recently washed windshield. “I need to get going.”

“If the blinkers don’t work on this bucket of bolts, please use hand signals when you veer onto the graveled road,” she instructed, falling back into police mode. “Have a good day, sir.”

Vance glanced sideways at her and her heart gave an unexpected lurch when his obsidian eyes twinkled and he flashed one of those smiles that no woman could resist.

“You, too, Officer,” he said in a low, raspy voice that drifted down her spine like a seductive caress.

When the truck rumbled off, its engine sputtering, Miranda pivoted on her heels to return to her squad car. She sincerely hoped that after the Saturday meeting at headquarters she wouldn’t see Vance Ryder—except at a safe distance. She had no intention of getting interested in that cowboy. After all, she was only going to be employed by HRPD until Uncle Tate gave her the nod to take a position in Oklahoma City.

Miranda had her life planned out. Had a promising career ahead of her. She intended to follow in her dad’s and her two brothers’ footsteps. A family of cops serving in the same jurisdiction. It was all she’d ever wanted, all she’d dreamed about.

For sure, she wasn’t going to get sidetracked by a down-on-his luck rancher who drove a beat-up truck and probably had the ambition of a slug.

On that determined thought Miranda slid beneath the steering wheel then cruised off to ensure the speed demons around Hoot’s Roost observed traffic codes.

VANCE INWARDLY GRIMACED when he put on the brakes and saw his cousins leaning leisurely against the fender of Quint’s red pickup. Those two rascals were lying in wait, ready to tease the hell out of him for getting stopped two days in a row by the same lady cop. He didn’t want them niggling him for information because, as much as he didn’t approve of Randi Jackson and her gung ho attitude, shaking hands with her and staring too long at that gorgeous bod of hers set off disturbing explosions of sexual attraction. It was insane. Plus, he’d gotten aroused just watching her walk toward him.

Jeez, if ever there was a more unlikely pair, he and Randi were it. He smiled easily and often. She didn’t. He looked for amusement in everything he did. She took everything megaseriously and stood behind her badge like a protective shield. But, man was she hot. The way she filled out her blue uniform should’ve been a full-fledged crime.

“So, cuz,” Wade said playfully, “how’s your ongoing battle with law working out?”

When Quint snickered, Vance glared at the demonic duo. “Don’t wanna talk about it. We’ve got work to do.”

“So, are you busted or not?” Quint asked, ignoring Vance’s thunderous scowl. “Or is the officer in question the only one busted?”

“Knock it off,” Vance growled. “She’s an officer of the law and her bustline is not open for discussion.”

Again, his wicked cousins snickered. Vance seriously considered punching the grins off their faces.

“Surely you realize we aren’t going to lift a finger to help you hook up the spray rigs to the tractors until you tell us what happened yesterday when you marched yourself down to the police station and explain why you got stopped today.”

“Do you have to pay the hefty fine or not?” Wade quizzed.

“I don’t know yet,” Vance mumbled, resigned to giving his report before any work got done. “But since I discovered the lady cop is Tate Jackson’s darling niece, I expect to pay through the nose. Tate is reserving judgment in the matter until the end of the week.”

“His niece?” Wade and Quint parroted in unison. “You are kidding.”

“No, for once, I’m not.” Vance grabbed the five-gallon jugs of pesticide from the back of the clunker truck.

Wade retrieved the garden hose, crammed one end into the top of the spray tank, and then switched on the water. “Tate’s a bachelor, right? Never had kids?”

“Not that I know of,” Quint said as he checked for clogs in the spigots on the spray rig. “I guess that means his niece is pretty special to him.”

“That’d be my guess.” Vance climbed onto the supporting beam of the rig to pour the concentrated chemicals into the tank. “Most likely, I’ll have to pay the fine and apologize for yelling at Randi during our three-way conference.”

Wade’s gaze leaped to Vance. “You yelled at her in front of the chief of police? Are you nuts?”

“Must be,” Quint diagnosed. “You might as well have pinned a note on your chest that said—Fine Me—Big-Time. I’m An Idiot.”

“Well, she yelled at me first,” he said defensively then frowned. “I think. We were both yelling at each other. I don’t remember who started it, but Tate put a stop to it.”

Wade glanced at Quint. Both men snickered again. Damn them. It was going to be a long afternoon, Vance decided.