Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss. Kelly Boyce

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      “You’ll have to excuse the sheriff, Mr. Platt. Manners were never his strong suit. I suppose those of us who have come from away can appreciate their usefulness a bit more. Miss Meredith Connolly.” She gifted the lawyer with a smile so sweet Hunter’s teeth ached.

      “It is indeed my honor to make your acquaintance, ma’am. And where might away be for you, Miss Connolly, if it is not too impertinent of me to ask?”

      He had yet to let go of her hand. Hunter gritted his teeth against the surge of possessiveness that erupted within him. Planting Platt into next week was beginning to look like a stellar idea. He curled his hand into a tight fist.

      “Boston, Mr. Platt. And you? I assume from your accent you do not hail from these parts?”

      “Alas, no. From the fine state of Virginia originally. San Francisco most recently.”

      “How lovely.”

      “It’s positively wonderful,” Hunter drawled out, unable to keep his growing irritation from lacing its way through each word. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Platt. I have things to do and seein’ as how your supposed client isn’t interested in having you as his lawyer, I don’t see much reason for you to hang around.”

      Platt didn’t bother looking at him. He was too busy making cow eyes at Meredith. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, Miss Connolly. I always feel it is nice to make as many friends as possible when one is a stranger in a new place. It would be my pleasure to count a lovely lady like yourself among them.”

      “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Platt. And I agree— one cannot have too many friends. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

      Hunter waited until Platt closed the door behind him upon his exit, then turned on Meredith. “What the hell was that all about?”

      The words were out before he could stop them. She blinked at him, her eyes pools of innocent blue. She dropped her gaze to her gloves and slowly pulled them off, one finger at a time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about? I was merely being polite to a stranger.”

      He glared down at her. His agitation grew with her feigned innocence. For crying out loud, she’d all but swooned at Platt’s pretty words. “Well you might want to learn more about the damn stranger before you start cozying up to him like he was your new best friend.”

      She pulled off her second glove then smiled up at him. “I hardly think one has to take a man’s measure before they decide whether or not to be polite. Perhaps you should try it. Your manners could use a little brushing up. They’re hardly up to the Donovan standard, now are they? Oh no, wait,” her brow furrowed, “of course they are. You Donovans always had a habit of assuming money meant you didn’t need manners, if I recall?”

      The barb hit its intended mark. “My manners are just fine, thank you.”

      She offered him a dubious look then brushed past him and walked to Yucton’s cell her hips tormenting him with their gentle sway. Her dismissal and low opinion left a gaping emptiness inside of him. Is this how she’d felt when he’d jilted her? No wonder she disliked him with such intensity.

      * * *

      “Good morning, Bill. It is lovely to see you again.”

      Yucton stood and held his hands out through the bars that separated them. She grasped them like an old friend.

      “Still able to charm any gentleman that crosses your path, I see.”

      Meredith laughed and took the older man’s hands in her own. They were warm and rough, a lifetime of hard living worn into them. “I may have learned a thing or two while navigating Boston’s high society.” Granted, it was as their seamstress, but Hunter didn’t need to know that. Let him think she was now on a social par with him, even if it was nothing more than a ruse. It would serve him right.

      “That a fact? And have you given any thought to returning to Boston? Sounds like you had a nice life going for yourself there? Sure be a shame to give something like that up.”

      Meredith scowled at Bill. “Why is everyone trying to pack me off and send me back to Boston? I appreciate Aunt Erma taking me in, but that didn’t make it home. My heart always longed for the fresh mountain air and wide-open spaces. What brought you back, Bill?”

      She was thankful he let the matter drop. She didn’t want to argue with him. “Figured you’d come home when you learned about your pa’s passing. Thought I’d head back this way. Make sure you was all right. Your pa died an innocent man. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

      She squeezed Bill’s hands and pulled strength from them. Pa was gone for good. Seeing his grave marker had driven the reality of it home. She fought back the tears from earlier. There was no time for such things now.

      “I’m afraid you and I are in the minority on that belief.”

      “It’s no belief. It’s a plain and simple fact.” Bill smiled and his eyes creased deeply at the corners. She noted his hair was grayer than she remembered and the lines of his face had burrowed a little deeper. “He was so proud of you. Told me so himself.”

      Meredith’s throat tightened. She took a deep breath and swallowed past it. “I wish you hadn’t made the trip back. Now look at you.” Guilt swept through her. Bill had always been a close friend of her father’s. Steady and reliable, though he drifted in and out of their lives from time to time. She understood as she got older it was because of his penchant for living on the outskirts of the law. She always wished he’d chosen a different path, but it hadn’t diminished her affection for one of the few men to be a true friend to her father.

      “Don’t worry too much on that. Ain’t been a jail that could hold me yet.”

      “This one will.” The conviction in Hunter’s words cut through the small office. He’d moved and now sat behind his desk. Meredith couldn’t help but notice he filled the space with a sense of authority. He’d been so uncertain when Sheriff McLaren had died. Unsure if he was up to the task, if he could do the job justice. Part of her had wondered if he might relinquish the role the town had bestowed upon him and instead take up the reins of running the Diamond D Ranch as his father insisted. He hadn’t, though. Fortunate for the town, she supposed, though she didn’t much care for the constant contact with him while she tried to clear her father’s name.

      She glared over her shoulder at Hunter who leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up onto his desk, actively listening to their conversation. She walked over to his desk and picked up the straight-back chair in front of it.

      “Do you mind?” she said to Hunter.

      “Not so much. You?”

      She carried the chair back to Bill’s cell and set it down with a bang. “Yes! I would appreciate some privacy.” The sharp tone in her voice made her cringe. She wanted to maintain a distance from him emotionally if not physically, but somehow he managed to pluck every last nerve she owned.

      “This place isn’t exactly built for private conversations,” he informed her, waving a hand in the air at the small open space.

      “Perhaps you could plug your ears.”

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