Читать книгу Her Honor-bound Lawman - Karen Smith Rose - Страница 11

Sheriff Tucker Malone set down the sheaf of papers in his hand and pushed away from the desk in his office. Rising to his feet, he rolled his shoulders and went to stand at the window. He was too distracted to work, and the distraction was a woman named Emma.

Halloween night in Storkville, Nebraska, was usually quiet with only a few reports of pranks. He’d stayed late tonight in case he was needed. He’d stayed late tonight because he was unsettled by his reactions to a woman who couldn’t remember her own name. Fortunately she’d been wearing a necklace with “Emma” engraved on it. But that’s the only clue he’d had to begin his investigation.

Turning away from the window, he picked up the snapshot of her that lay on his desk. He’d taken it so he could fax it to surrounding towns. Certainly she belonged somewhere…to someone. A mugger had stolen her purse, as well as her overnight satchel, and with them anything that had identified her. No one in Storkville knew her. But she couldn’t have come too far. There had been no abandoned vehicles around the town. It was a mystery.

Her sparkling green eyes stared up at him from the photograph, and her curly, dark coppery-red hair surrounded her face like a soft cloud. Her skin was so delicate, her smile so sweet, and whenever he looked at her a protective urge surged through him….

Get a grip, he scolded himself. Find out who she is so you can send her back where she belongs.

She’d spent the last three days under his roof, and it was driving him crazy. For the past two months Emma had been staying with Gertie Anderson who had witnessed her mugging and fall. But when Gertie’s family had swept in from Sweden as an unexpected surprise, there hadn’t been room for Emma. Before Tucker’s better sense had caught his words, he’d offered her a room in his house.

Hoping Emma had turned in by now—it was almost eleven—he grabbed his leather bomber jacket from the old-fashioned clothes tree and snatched his Stetson from the rack on the wall. After he left his office, he stopped at an open doorway and bid Earl Grimes and Barry Sanchek a peaceful night.

The dispatcher, Cora Beth Harper, smiled at him as he passed her desk. “You’ve been putting in some long hours. Take care driving.” Cora Beth had coal black hair that Tucker suspected was helped by a bottle of dye. She was plump with a voice that could stay calm in any situation, and she liked to mother everyone.

“Page me if you need me,” he said as he usually did, and she nodded as he went out the door.

The Cedar County Sheriff’s Department’s black SUV sat at the curb. He pulled out the keys and pressed the remote to unlock it. As he climbed inside, he thought about the three years he’d lived in Storkville and the relative peace he’d found here. Taking a job as interim sheriff had probably saved his sanity as well as his career…although being sheriff in Storkville, Nebraska was a world away from being an undercover cop in Chicago. But the citizens of Storkville had liked the way he’d worked and elected him to a four-year term. This place, as well as his job, had given his life rhythm again and maybe even some meaning.

Streetlights illuminated residential areas as Tucker briefly cruised through them, making sure everything was quiet, everything was the way it should be, even though he realized that behind closed doors, sometimes nothing was the way it should be.

A short time later, he turned into the driveway to the garage attached to a two-story Colonial and pressed the remote for the double door. Now and then he still wondered why he’d bought a house this big. But it had been at a discount price because it needed fixing up. It had three bedrooms and a bath upstairs, a living room, large kitchen, and small den downstairs. And an unfinished basement.

It wasn’t as if he had dreams of a family in the future. He’d given up those fantasies when he’d signed his divorce papers. Actually, he’d given up those fantasies the night—

Cutting off the memories he wouldn’t tolerate, he pulled in beside his truck, lowered the garage door and climbed out of the SUV. When he opened the door leading down a short hall, he headed for the kitchen. The light was still burning over the sink. Emma must have left it on for him.

After he shrugged out of his jacket, he hung it on the peg on the wall, his hat on the rack atop it. As he strode into the kitchen, he heard a low noise—the murmur of the TV.

Apparently Emma hadn’t turned in yet.

The sound of Tucker’s SUV pulling into the driveway had alerted Emma to his return. He’d said he would be late. She’d decided to wait up for him, to spend a few minutes with one of the few people she felt familiar with. The bump on her head from her fall had wiped out her past, and she was struggling to deal with that. What if she never remembered? What if she had to just go on from here?

Aunt Gertie, Tucker, and the workers at the day-care center where she volunteered were the only people she knew in the world. When Tucker had offered her a room under his roof, she’d been reluctant to accept, but Aunt Gertie—as most of the town called her—had soothed Emma’s doubts with something she’d already known deep in her soul. Aunt Gertie had said, “Tucker Malone is the most honorable man I know. He’ll keep you safe, and he’ll do everything in his power to find out who you are.”

Hearing the garage door close, Emma took a deep breath. She didn’t know what her experience with men in the past had been. Not much, apparently, because after the doctor at the hospital had examined her, he’d told her she was still a virgin. Whatever it had been, she suspected Tucker Malone was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.

She heard his boots on the linoleum in the kitchen. She heard him walk through the dining room. When he appeared in the doorway to the living room, her heart skipped a beat.

He was at least six-two, with dark brown hair, enhanced by a bit of silver at the temples, that skimmed the collar of his tan sheriff’s shirt. His shoulders were broad, and the dark brown stripe that went down the sides of his trousers emphasized his long legs. Her gaze met his. As always, the strength and intensity she found in his dark brown eyes awed her, so much so that her mouth went dry. She’d learned he was a man of few words most of the time. He’d checked on her often when she’d been at Aunt Gertie’s. Although she’d been under his roof for three days, she still didn’t know much about him.

His brows arched up now, and she knew it was an inquiry asking why she was still up.

She motioned to the two glasses she’d set on a tray on the dark pine coffee table and managed to find her voice. “I thought you might like some cider.”

Leaning against the doorway, not making a move to come sit beside her on the tan-and-green plaid sofa, he asked, “Did many kids come to the door for tricks or treats?”

“I gave out all of the candy and popcorn balls. But I have a few cookies left.” She gestured to the dish sitting between the glasses.

Tucker crossed to her slowly, and she saw his gaze linger on her hair, then pass down the emerald green sweater and slacks that she wore. Everything inside of her seemed to race, and she felt heat stain her cheeks. She fingered the necklace around her neck, the only proof of who she was.

“Did you make these?” he asked gruffly.

She nodded.

When he’d invited her to stay with him, she’d accepted under the terms that she would cook and clean house in exchange for board.

Tucker picked up one of the cookies and ate it. “I haven’t tasted a peanut butter cookie in years. They’re good, Emma.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, studying his expression, wondering if the faint lines around his eyes had come from happy or sad times. His face was rugged rather than handsome, his jaw strong, his beard shadow evident now, adding to his masculine appeal.

Tucker broke eye contact and took the remote control from her hand. His fingers brushed her palm, and the heat from their contact infused her whole body. When his arm brushed hers as he lowered the volume on the TV, Emma’s heart pounded. As she glanced at Tucker, she saw he was gazing at her. Ever since the night she’d been mugged and he’d taken her to the hospital, this…electricity had crackled between them. Whenever she was close to him, she wanted to get closer. The golden sparks in his brown eyes now told her he might want that, too.

“Emma,” he said, his voice husky.

She was afraid to move, afraid to answer him, afraid he’d back away. So she just looked up at him, wanting something she couldn’t name, wanting to get to know him, wanting the man-woman connection she’d felt with him from the night they’d met.

When he bent his head slowly, she guessed he was waiting for her to lean away. But she wasn’t going anywhere. His arm came around her as his lips brushed hers. The brushing became a meeting, the meeting became a hunger, the hunger became a kiss that made bells ring and the earth move. Emma didn’t know if she’d ever been kissed before, or what to do next, but her lips parted and Tucker’s tongue became masterful and possessive and demanding. She gave herself up to all of it, reveling in his need as well as hers, in something she imagined was desire but seemed like so much more.

Lost in Tucker Malone, Emma was excited by every new sensation until abruptly he pulled away.

In a terse voice, he said, “That was a mistake, Emma. It won’t happen again.”

It took her a few moments to realize the magic was gone and Tucker regretted what had happened. Still trembling, she didn’t want him to notice. She didn’t want him to see how he’d affected her. Because he was right. The kiss had been a mistake.

She couldn’t get involved with anyone until she remembered who she was.