Tempting The Sheriff. Kathy Altman

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      She turned to grab the next two and almost choked herself. Her scarf pulled taut, yanking her backward. She’d gotten it caught in the drawer.

      Oh, this is freaking unbelievable.

      Her heels wobbled on the uneven bricks as she twisted around to face the chute. She tugged lightly on the length of silk, but it didn’t budge.

      She swore again then remembered the LED light on her key chain. She reached into the front pocket of her capris and snagged her keys. She clicked on the light and aimed it into the drawer. One edge of her scarf had caught on the head of a screw. With her free hand, she reached for the fabric looped around her neck. Might as well pull the thing over her head so she didn’t choke herself for real.

      A small shape swooped at her from the right and something leathery smacked against her cheek. Dear God, a freaking bat! She shrieked and dropped her keys. They rattled down the inside of the drawer and instinct made her dive after them. When her chest smacked into the edge of the drawer she jerked backward, hissing with pain.

      She didn’t get far.

      The other end of her scarf was caught.

      She gulped down a half laugh, half sob and massaged the skin over her breasts. She’d have bruises in the morning. She’d also have a permanent hunchback if she didn’t get to stand up soon.

      Bracing her hands on her knees, she stared down into the black maw of the library’s drop box. The stretch of her beloved silk scarf kept the drawer open. She gripped the edge of the metal to take the tension off the fabric, and realized she didn’t have enough slack to pull her head free.

      She heaved a sigh. Time to play tug-of-war. Damn it, her one true piece of designer clothing and she was about to rip it to shreds.

      “Fart!” she shouted, and a muffled version of her voice bounced back up at her. She wrapped a fist around each end of the scarf, drew in a breath and braced herself by spreading her legs and shifting her hips. She couldn’t help snorting. Praise be she didn’t have an audience, because she could only imagine what she looked like from behind.

      “Evening.” A deep, amused voice sounded directly behind her. “You seem to be having some trouble.”