His Holiday Bride. Jillian Hart

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      “All of them are.” Merritt squinted at the damage.

      “What?” She’d been so busy wondering about Ford that she hadn’t noticed her truck. Deflated rounds of rubber sagged tiredly against the pavement, all the air gone. She’d never seen such flat tires. Had she run over something in the road? She knelt to get a good look, and her heart slammed to a stop. A neat cut sliced the upper curve of the front tire.

      A slice, not a nail or a screw or anything like that. Someone had done this on purpose. Judging by the size of the gash, whoever had done this must have used a bowie knife.

      “It’s the same back here.” Merritt had spotted the slit in the back tire. “Who would do something like this? We were close by the whole time.”

      “I should have seen it from my seat.” Should have, yes. Why hadn’t she? Because she spent the whole meal fixated on the new sheriff and trying not to be, there had been little attention left over to notice anything other than her friends. What had happened to her decision not to think about him?

      “We are currently sheriff-less, right?” Caroline shrugged, glancing down the road to the closed up sheriff’s office. “The old guy is gone, and the hunky one isn’t officially at work yet. So do we bother him? Who do we call?”

      “No idea. I need Loren and his wrecker.” Shock pulsed through her in little beats. Lord, I know You’re in charge but who would have done such a thing? And why? She swallowed, pulling her thoughts together. She needed a working truck. Loren had the only tow truck in thirty-five miles. “Here’s hoping he has the right tires in stock.”

      “I can give you a lift home,” Merritt spoke up.

      “Thanks.” She couldn’t stop staring at the knife slit. Wild Horse was a small town and a friendly one. There wasn’t a whole lot of crime. Few people in these parts would disable a ranch truck. She couldn’t think of a single person who would.

      “Is there a problem, ladies?” Ford ambled out of the diner.

      “A small one.” Of course, it would have to be him.

      “Let me take a look.” He eased down next to her, squinting hard at the knife slash. “Looks like you’ve got trouble here. Is there anything you want to tell me about?”

      “Like what?”

      “Crazy ex-boyfriend, a long-standing feud, someone who has a grudge against you?”

      “Not for a long time, no, and not that I know of.” She swiped a lock of red-gold hair out of her eyes. “This is deliberate. No one else’s tires are slashed.”

      “I noticed.” Considering every car on the street was clustered around the diner, it was obvious. He knelt down to take a closer look at the angry gash in the rubber. Someone sure didn’t like Autumn. “Anything unusual happen lately?”

      “Nothing out of the ordinary, except for meeting you.”

      Was that a hint of a grin on her lips? He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Autumn smiling. He was a professional, even if he wasn’t on the clock yet. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to have unprofessional thoughts about her centering on conversation with candlelight and a nice steak. She’d turned him down once, but she hadn’t sounded one hundred percent final. There had been a glimmer in her eyes.

      “I didn’t do this, as you know. I also have an alibi.” He slipped the paperback he carried into his rear pocket. “I was in the thick of Larry McMurtry. But I’ll find out who did.”

      “If someone saw something, they would have said so. This isn’t a big city. People don’t look the other way here.” Her gaze met his, and the force of it was like the sun and moon colliding. Hard to think straight when such a pretty woman was waiting for an intelligent remark. It was even harder to pretend he was stone-cold granite, professional and unaffected.

      “Hey, you! What’s going on over there?” someone called out. A shadow fell across him. Ford looked up to see an elderly man with his wife at his side hurrying along the sidewalk. Fearless, the gray-haired stranger shook his finger angrily. “What are you doing to that truck? Get away—oh, howdy, Autumn. I didn’t see you there.”

      “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Plum.” Autumn’s smile of welcome was one of greeting for old friends. She rose, the tires forgotten. “This is our new sheriff. He’s your neighbor, too.”

      “Howdy.” Ford climbed to his feet.

      “Oh. Mighty fine to meet you, sir.” The older man had a powerful stance, a direct gaze and a firm handshake. “Velma and I thought we saw someone at Miller’s rental place, but we didn’t look too close. It could have been the Realtor.”

      “Martha’s been in and out now and again showing the place. Didn’t know it was let.” Velma Plum patted his hand in a motherly welcome. “If I’d known, I would have had an apple crisp ready for you. I’d best get crackin’. Hal, remind me when we get home. You know how I am—”

      “Always stopping to chat with everyone. Always talking away and losing track of everything else.” Hal winked, as if he didn’t mind at all. When he gazed at his wife, it was with great, accepting love. “Look, there’s Betty. See what I mean?”

      “I see.” Ford watched a woman in her fifties greet Velma with a hug. Both of the women fell to talking.

      “Need a hand there, young fella?” Hal asked.

      “What I need is information. You wouldn’t have noticed anyone slinking around this truck, would you?”

      “Besides you?” Hal quipped.

      Autumn’s amusement hit him like a wind gust. He could feel her holding back laughter. More folks came out of the diner to congregate on the sidewalk, already discussing the slashed tires.

      Looked like she was right. Apparently, little went unnoticed in a small town.

      Chapter Three

      “Autumn!”

      Somewhere far away in the dark she heard her name, but it wasn’t powerful enough to yank her out of her dream. Her bed was warm and her electric blanket cozy, and in her mind she was at the diner running her spoon through the hot fudge and trying not to feel a pull in Ford’s direction.

      Keep your attention on the ice cream, she told herself. Ice cream is better for you, calories and all, than he is. Dudes are nothing but heartache.

      “Autumn!” A full-fisted pounding rattled her bedroom door. “Wake up!”

      “Dad?” The dream evaporated and she sat up. Her pillow tumbled to the floor, she kicked off her covers and rubbed her eyes. Cool air enveloped her. The numbers on the clock shone blurrily in the ink-dark room. She squinted, bringing them into focus. Two-forty-three. What was going on?

      Then she heard it: a faint, rhythmic, rapid-fire sputtering. A helicopter.

      “We got trouble,” Dad shouted, moving on down the hall to pound on Cheyenne’s door. “Up and at ’em!”

      Rustlers. Her feet hit the floor СКАЧАТЬ