The Sheriff Wins A Wife. Jill Limber

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      She took a hesitant step forward, then said in a rush, “I need to talk to you, but you’re busy. I can come back.” Chicken, she scolded herself.

      He shook his head, then wiped his arm across his forehead. “Now is fine. I could use a break.”

      He left the mower in the middle of the yard and picked up a hose, dousing himself with water and then shaking like a dog.

      He’d always been so at home with himself, a quality Jenn, who usually felt self-conscious, admired.

      As Trace picked up a T-shirt hanging from the back porch railing and dried himself off, she tried her best not to stare. What was she doing, alone with a half-naked man? She could almost hear her mother’s often-voiced refrain: what will the neighbors think?

      Jenn glanced around and realized Trace had no neighbors within sight. She could grab him right here, outside, and there would be no one to see.

      Now she had managed to shock herself.

      “Jenn? Something wrong?” Trace pulled the rumpled shirt over his head.

      “No! Everything’s fine.” She shook her head. At least he had removed the visual temptation.

      “Well, not exactly fine,” she said. Where did she begin?

      Politely, still keeping his distance, he motioned toward the back door. “Come on in. Let’s get out of the sun. I’ve got cold sodas in the fridge.” He climbed the back steps and toed off his grass-caked shoes.

      He held the door for her and she stepped past him into a tiny utility room. He smelled like sunshine and grass and sweaty man. A tempting combination.

      Trace ushered her into a tidy kitchen with clean white counters and white appliances. A row of windows looked out on the backyard and a round wooden table sat on the terra-cotta tile floor. The only thing that looked out of place was the holstered gun sitting in the middle of the table.

      “Soda?” He was still watching her with that unreadable expression on his face.

      She wanted to tell him she didn’t plan to be here that long, but manners had her saying, “Thank you. Diet if you have it.”

      He looked her up and down, and her temperature rose several degrees. He shook his head as he reached in and pulled out two red cans. “No diet.”

      Did he mean he didn’t have diet, or she didn’t need it?

      He popped the lid on one of the cans and handed it to her, then propped his lean hips against the counter next to the stove and opened his own can.

      She was staring down at his bare feet, wondering where to start, when his voice brought her back.

      “Do you want to sit down?”

      Abruptly she met his gaze. “No. This will just take a minute.” Like ripping off a bandage, it would be better to get it done quickly.

      Jenn took a deep breath and said, “Miranda and I were cleaning out a room for the baby and I found a box of papers in a closet.” She stopped and took a sip of soda, needing to wet her suddenly dry throat.

      He nodded, a puzzled look on his face.

      She lowered the can of soda and said, “There was an envelope from the state of New Mexico.”

      At that, his expression and body language changed. He stood up a little straighter and his brow furrowed. He didn’t speak, but made a little motion with his hand, encouraging her to continue.

      She took a deep breath and let the words rush out. “My mother never completed the forms for our annulment.”

      He stared at her for so long she had to fight not to squirm. She babbled instead. “I called the number on the form. They checked and…” She let the sentence trail off, not wanting to say the words out loud.

      His voice was very quiet. “And what, Jenn?”

      She cleared her throat. “We’re still married.”

      Neither one of them moved.

      Finally Trace shook his head and set his soda on the counter beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression still unreadable. “So now what do we do?”

      She pasted on a plastic smile. “It’s not really a problem. We can file the papers ourselves. There are grounds.”

      “Desertion?” Trace gave a hard bark of laughter.

      “That would work.” Yes, it fit. For both of them.

      There was a hint of anger in him she’d never seen before. She took a step back, feeling uncertain of this Trace, this man she couldn’t read.

      Immediately he relaxed against the counter. “Do you want me to take care of it?” he asked in that neutral voice she was beginning to hate.

      “No. I’ll do it.” She headed for the door, needing to get away from him and the feelings that crowded her head. “Thanks for the soda,” she said over her shoulder. How inane to be polite after what had just transpired.

      “You’re welcome,” Trace replied just as politely to her back.

      She went through the utility room and out the back door, squinting into the bright sunlight. She made her way back to her car, fighting against the urge to cry.

      They’d never really been married. He’d stepped up because she was pregnant. They’d never even spent even one night together as Mr. and Mrs. Trace McCabe. So why did she feel as if she’d just lost something?

      Key in hand, she slid onto the hot upholstery of the driver’s seat and had to blink away her silly tears to find the ignition.

      It was done, and over. Grow up and stop being so maudlin, she told herself. What had happened was eight years in the past.

      She had her life in Dallas, the job she’d always wanted and her son. She was happy.

      She pulled away from the curb. Telling Trace the truth had gone better than she’d hoped. Very civilized. He’d been…like a stranger.

      Instead of feeling elated, she felt as if she’d just lost her lover all over again.

      Trace got to the living-room window in time to see Jenn walk down his driveway. How could he be so physically attracted to her when she made him so furious?

      He watched her slim hips sway in a purely feminine walk as she made her way to her car. He’d always loved to watch her move.

      She walked like a person who had places to go. And she had. She’d gone to Dallas and she’d never come home.

      As he watched her pull away from the curb he thought about what she’d just told him. Even though he’d believed the annulment had been finalized years ago, her casual offer to end their marriage had been damn hard to hear.

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