Tucker. Lori Foster

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       CHAPTER ONE

      TUCKER PUT HIS shoulder to the muddy gate of the ancient truck and shoved hard. At the same time, the farmer hit the gas. The tires spun, spraying mud over Tucker’s legs and lap, splattering up his chest and even into his face.

      He could think of a hundred ways he’d rather spend his evening. Sex would top the list, but then he’d been so long without, it was no wonder that particular activity seemed glued to the forefront of his brain.

      He knew why it had been so long, but hopefully no one else suspected.

      Finally, finally, the truck rocked free and gained traction. It lumbered awkwardly back onto the road.

      Turning his face up to the pounding storm, Tucker let the rain wash away some of the mess. The turbulent weather was more intense—and dangerous—than usual for the area. He had a feeling it would cause more problems before it blew over.

      There were times when being the sheriff of a small town was a major pain in his ass.

      When the driver’s door of the truck opened, Tucker quickly stepped forward. “No, don’t get out, Harmon. No reason for us both to be soaked.”

      Harmon, who was at least eighty-five, frail of body but sharp of mind, gazed at him with gratitude. “Thank ye, Sheriff. I’da been stuck there all night if it weren’t for you.”

      A terrible thought.

      Meaning it, Tucker said, “I’m glad I came by when I did. Now get home safe, okay? The storms don’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

      Nodding, Harmon replied, “You too.” He pulled his door shut with a clatter and slowly, oh so slowly, drove away.

      Tucker headed for his SUV, wondering if he should strip before getting in so he wouldn’t get mud on the seats. The town supplied the car for both official and personal use, and he kept it shining out of respect for the office. Luckily, he’d been off duty when he spotted Harmon, so at least he hadn’t ruined his uniform.

      His shirt, jeans, boots and socks—hell, probably even his underwear—were muddy.

      He was debating how much he’d have to take off to protect the car’s interior when headlights came around the corner. It took him a second to recognize the local news van.

      Just what he didn’t need. Temptation.

      Groaning, he crossed his arms and stood in the headlights of his SUV, just off the edge of the road.

      The van slowed, rolling to a stop next to him, and none other than Kady Kasper herself rolled down the driver’s window. Though it looked as if she’d made an attempt to dry off, rain still plastered her pale blond hair to her head and smudged her makeup.

      Her sunny smile belied her bedraggled state, which was no doubt thanks to the miserable weather. “Tucker, what are you doing standing around in the rain?”

      Incredulous, he peered into the front of the van but didn’t see Cleets, her videographer. He looked toward the back interior and saw only equipment.

      Un-freaking-believable. Keeping his tone level, he asked, “Are you out alone?”

      One slender brow rose as her pale blue eyes widened. “Did I miss a curfew, Sheriff?”

      Her whisky-smooth voice made his hackles rise. Only Kady. No one else got under his skin like she did. No one else turned him inside out. Hell, he was known for his calm manner.

      Around her, he had to constantly fight for control.

      He gave himself a few seconds, then replied evenly, “It’s nearing midnight.” Surely she shouldn’t be out and about alone.

      Humor lifted the corners of her soft pink lips. “It’s ten thirty, actually.” She tipped her head. “Past your bedtime?”

      A scowl got the better of him.

      This woman, this one small female, had proven to be the bane of his existence. At twenty-five, she was six years younger than him. A walking temptation, a natural flirt and the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

      How could he want any other woman when Kady Kasper existed?

      Except...he didn’t dare.

      For one thing, she was related to the most prominent, respected family in the area. Her father and three uncles were pillars of the community, known to everyone, respected by all. Anything that happened in or around Buckhorn, Kentucky, the brothers knew about it, probably had a hand in it, or had orchestrated it themselves. They claimed ownership of the area and the residents, and felt responsible for them all.

      But when it came to family, they were tighter than tight. Getting involved with one meant getting involved with them all.

      Kady was Gabe Kasper’s eldest daughter. СКАЧАТЬ