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СКАЧАТЬ the paperwork. “It’s within your rights.” Looking up, he met her gaze. “But that would mean you’d have to come back and hang around here for weeks, maybe months.”

      She made a face. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

      For the first time, she really took a look at the man who was causing her so much trouble. His dark hair was thick and worn a little too long in back and lightly touched with silver at the temples, as though a few snowflakes still clung to him from the storm outside. There was a primitive strength to him. His face was handsome in a hard, emotionless way, dark, all granite planes and angles, with deep grooves that almost made him look bitter. Something about him fit the place, though. He might have been here in 1889, back in cowboy-and-Indian days. And she wouldn’t know which category to place him in. With his dark skin and wind-weathered look, he could have fit in either one.

      Sheriff Rafe Lonewolf was what the sign on his desk called him. She could see traces of Native American ancestry in his face, but other things were mixed in with it. He looked tough, as though he were used to using his fists as well as his brain to get himself out of trouble. She searched his expression, but there was no humor, no empathy. Was this just the mask he put on to do his job, she wondered? Or was this the real thing?

      “If I do decide to file, I guess you’re the one I’ll have to name in my unlawful arrest lawsuit, huh?” she said brightly, wondering if she could get a rise out of him and not stopping to realize that might not be such a good idea. “I hope your little town can afford that judgment.”

      She watched him for a moment, but there was no response, no change in his expression. So what now? Should she say something more impertinent, try to get his goat? Probably not. But how was she going to get out of this? A gust of wind rattled the windows and she pulled her chair up a little closer, glad that at least she was out of the storm.

      But that wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy her for long. “When do I get my phone call?” she asked, looking around the room restlessly.

      He glanced at her, then looked away. “As soon as we get this paperwork out of the way.”

      “I think I’ll use my call to order a pizza,” she quipped, leaning back as though she were sure of herself. “By the time we get the paperwork done, you’ll realize you made a big mistake and I’ll be ready to get on my way. A nice hot pizza would hit the spot about then.” She smiled. So there, her expression said, even if her mouth didn’t actually form the words.

      He looked at her balefully as he rolled a form into the typewriter. How had he gotten so lucky, anyway? It had been a nice quiet night. In fact, it had been a nice, quiet life since he’d taken this job out here in the sticks. He liked it that way. He’d had enough of the rough stuff down in the city to last him a lifetime. Peace and quiet were slowly healing a lot of wounds he’d collected down there.

      But something told him it couldn’t last. Not now that Billie Joe Calloway had hit town and entered his jurisdiction.

      He had no doubt that he had the right person in custody. After all, how many beautiful blondes in green Mustangs would be cruising through Clear Creek during any given space of time? Not many. This area was so out-of-the-way, they didn’t even have a real gas station—just the pump at Gray Eagle’s farm. Not too many tourists cruised through here. That was why he’d barely paid any attention to the bulletin that Billie Joe might be in the area when it had first come in that morning.

      No, the idea that two blondes in identical cars might drive through stretched credulity a bit past the breaking point. And the prospect of having two of them in one weekend would be more than he could handle, he thought with a surge of humor he was careful not to show to her.

      He glanced at her, letting himself look her over for a moment. He had to admit she didn’t look much like the usual criminals he’d dealt with in the past. There was a softness to her they usually didn’t show. Her expensive clothes and jewelry didn’t impress him. He’d arrested women before who’d looked like they belonged in Beverly Hills. But there was something about those blue eyes. They flashed with annoyance, but not with craft. And the rest of her—he only allowed himself one quick, cursory look and his immediate response served to warn him not to do that again. Her body was as pretty as her face, curves that nicely strained the fabric of her clothes and sent a rush up his thermometer. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He couldn’t let her get to him. He looked away, hardening his face even more, determined not to let her know she was in any way attractive in the cold eyes of the law.

      He typed in a few spaces, then sighed softly and sat back. “Name?” he asked, though he knew it was probably going to lead to another argument. The night stretched out long and unpleasant before him.

      “Cami Bishop,” she said smartly. “Cambria Shasta Bishop, if you want to get formal about it.” She added her date and place of birth. “Unmarried.”

      He nodded, typing in the information she was giving, though he knew he was going to have to fill out another form with what he assumed was the more accurate version. The warrant said, though she was currently unmarried, she’d been married three times. He glanced at her from under lowered brows, wondering about such a young woman with three marriages behind her, but he couldn’t see any evidence of her past on her face. In fact, she looked far too open and trusting to be the sort of man-eating babe the warrant portrayed. But looks were deceiving. He’d learned that lesson before.

      “Occupation?”

      She hesitated. For some reason, it was always hard to explain that one to people. “I publish a fern journal,” she said at last.

      His mouth twisted with obvious annoyance. “You mean a foreign journal?” he asked, looking at her.

      She shook her head and held back a sudden urge to giggle. “No. I told you I wasn’t from Texas, didn’t I? The word is fern. You know, those green plants that grow in shady forests.”

      “Oh. Botany.” He glanced at her linen suit and soft leather shoes and frowned skeptically. “You don’t look much like a nature freak,” he noted coolly.

      “Oh, I’m not,” she assured him quickly, amused by the thought herself. “I don’t actually go out and tromp in the woods or anything like that.”

      He looked slightly pained. “Of course not.”

      She heard the sarcasm but chose to ignore it. “No, I edit research articles scientists submit.”

      She was something all right. She said these things with a cool patina of honesty that could almost fool you. He had to hold back the grin that wanted to steal into his expression. “I see. You don’t get your hands dirty.”

      She smiled as though she could sense his amusement. “Only with printer’s ink.”

      He abandoned the typewriter and faced her, his natural skepticism plain to see. This was just too much. “Who the hell reads something like that?” If she could answer that one, he’d have to hand it to her. She could manufacture the whoppers.

      She gazed back in wide-eyed innocence, her answer ready. “Other scientists. Hobbyists. People who like ferns.”

      Throwing his head back, he groaned, “Right.”

      For the first time, she thought she detected the barest glint of amusement in his eyes, but this time it didn’t make her smile. “You think I’m making this all up, don’t you?” she cried with sudden insight.

      He СКАЧАТЬ