Книга - Talk Me Down

Talk Me Down
Victoria Dahl


Molly Jenkins has one naughty little secret: her job as a bestselling erotic fiction author. Until her inspiration runs dry–thanks to a creepy ex–and it's time to skip town and move back to tiny Tumble Creek, Colorado.One look at former high school hunk chief of police Ben Lawson and Molly is back in business. The town gossip is buzzing at her door and, worse still, a stalker seems to be watching her every move. Thankfully, her very own lawman has taken to coming over, often. The only problem now is that Molly may have to let the cat out of the bag about her chosen profession, and straitlaced Ben will definitely not approve…









Dear Reader (#u26a6b4c7-0275-59f9-9037-129c265a9608),


Welcome to Tumble Creek, Colorado!

Tumble Creek is a lot like any other town nestled between the peaks of the Rocky Mountains. The winters are cold, the streets are steep and the scenery is unbelievably beautiful. But there is something a little different about Tumble Creek…

My first idea for this story came years ago, when I was visiting Aspen, Colorado. A road sign pointed the way toward a mountain pass, but warned that the road was “closed in winter.” And “winter” lasts at least a good seven months at those altitudes! I wondered what it would be like to spend part of the year only a few minutes from all the amenities and luxuries of Aspen and then spend months completely isolated by the snow. And what would it be like to spend that cozy winter with a really hot man keeping you warm?

The pieces of Tumble Creek began assembling themselves in my mind at that moment years ago. First the little hometown bar appeared, where all the residents—even the respectable ones—hang out on frigid winter nights. Then came the sweet Victorian gingerbread houses, painted blue and pink and yellow, marching up the steep hills. Then that sexy policeman I mentioned above. Everything in Tumble Creek was set up perfectly—a quaint and quiet little mountain hamlet…until I decided to let Molly Jennings return.

I can’t tell you how much fun I had watching Molly wreak havoc on her old town and on her old crush, Ben Lawson. Molly might be the girl next door, but she’s not the innocent girl Ben remembers. She’s something even better.

I hope you love Tumble Creek and its inhabitants as much as I do.

Happy reading!

Victoria Dahl




Talk Me Down

Victoria Dahl





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to Jennifer, who convinced me

I could—and should—write this story. I honestly couldn’t

have done it without you, Jif. Thank you.




Acknowledgments (#u26a6b4c7-0275-59f9-9037-129c265a9608)


Considering the support I’ve received for this book, I have a lot of people to thank. First, a huge thank-you to my agent, Amy Moore-Benson, who asked me to write this story. You were right. I’ve never had so much fun writing a book. Thanks for giving me the excuse and opportunity to spread my wings.

And to Jennifer Echols…Thank you for holding my hand through the first three hundred pages or so. You’re an outstanding writer and a wonderful friend, even if you don’t like my monkey jokes. More important, you always come up with the perfect book title. Priceless.

I wouldn’t be writing these acknowledgments if it weren’t for my editor, Tara Parsons. Thank you for taking my characters (and me) under your wing. You clearly go above and beyond the call of duty. Your enthusiasm rocks my world!

As always, my family has supported me every single day of my writing life. Thank you, Bill, for laughing in the right places, even if you don’t do it out loud. You’re my strong, steady hero, and you’d make a great police chief. Or sheriff.

And thanks to Adam and Ethan for understanding why I can’t play Star Wars every time you ask. You make me proud. I love you.

Lastly, I want to thank the incredibly generous romance community. Romance writers are the most supportive colleagues anyone could hope for. Thank you, specifically, to Connie Brockway for reading another of my unedited manuscripts. And thank you to all my online writing friends for creating such a great community.

Romance readers are, of course, the most generous readers in the world. You’ve welcomed this new writer with open arms, and I can’t tell you how good that feels. I hope you enjoy this new story!




CONTENTS


Cover (#u6b246f49-fc23-5bbe-8d94-737cb29a0365)

Dear Reader

Title Page (#u0fc3c9d3-c551-535d-b483-e30ec4f5e593)

Dedication (#ufc13dfd1-3e1f-5d89-ad03-63cadc374319)

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#u26a6b4c7-0275-59f9-9037-129c265a9608)


MOLLY JENNINGS STOOD frozen in dismay, staring over the tiny coffee section of the tiny Tumble Creek Market. Folgers, Sanka and a few brands she’d never heard of. And not a dark espresso roast in sight.

Instant coffee mixed with the smell of laundry detergent when she drew in a deep, sad breath. She’d forgotten all about small town markets. They didn’t carry whole beans or special roasts, though a lonely can of French Vanilla Kreemer lurked at the back of the shelf. Molly shuddered.

Thank God for the Internet or she’d never have a homemade latte again. Or a Hostess Fruit Pie. Molly threw a scornful look at the so-called snack section near the registers. She was holding out hope for the gas station across the street, because she was pretty sure they were legally required to carry All Things Hostess. And CornNut.

“Ooo, CornNuts,” Molly murmured, suddenly perking up. She hadn’t had those since high school. She hoped they still made the barbecue flavor.

Grabbing a can of Folgers before she could think too much about it, Molly tossed it in her cart and pushed toward the frozen food section.

The teenager stocking baby formula barely looked up as Molly passed. Clearly, Moe Franklin no longer managed the store. He’d ruled with an iron fist and a frighteningly loud voice, and had hated teenagers with a passion. Thieves and punks, every one of them, according to good old Moe.

So things had changed around Tumble Creek, but that was fine. The past ten years had changed Molly, too. She’d left behind a gorgeous loft in Denver, along with a lively social life and, hopefully, a bad case of writer’s block. Not to mention the cause of that writer’s block: the bastard burning all the happiness from her life, otherwise known as Cameron Kasten, stalker ex-boyfriend.

Cameron was now a four-hour drive away on a good day, and Molly was starting fresh. No need to look over her shoulder or scan a store before walking into it. No need to skip a party at a friend’s place because he would be there. Funny how a simple thing like that could cheer you up.

Another thing cheering her up…the possibility that she might have sex again sometime in her young life. Not that moving to a town of fifteen-hundred people would normally offer outstanding sex prospects, but she did have a specific person in mind….

She hadn’t seen him in ten years, but Ben Lawson had been kind enough to make an appearance in her imagination almost every day, usually buck naked and looking for a good time, bless his heart.

She smiled at her reflection in the freezer door, but her smile chilled to ice when she saw the selection. Not exactly a Wal-Mart Supercenter spread, another drawback for a woman like Molly. Tumble Creek had only one diner and she couldn’t very well eat there every day. Probably.

Man, she was already missing her favorite Thai restaurant. Mouth watering at the thought of spicy noodles, Molly reached into the freezer and pretended she wasn’t buying frozen mac and cheese.

“That all, Chief?” a girl’s voice asked, sounding barely awake. Despite the bored tone, those words sprang Molly’s shoulders straight. She pushed her cart quickly toward the high-pitched beep of the register and stopped at the end of the aisle, frozen solid by an arresting sight.

A startling, terrifyingly gorgeous, arresting sight.

Him. And not in her imagination this time.

Ben Lawson had been her very first thought when she’d heard about her aunt’s will and known she might be moving back to Tumble Creek. But she hadn’t honestly realized what the sight of him would do to her.

He was perfect. Still. Harder and more muscular than the last time she’d seen him, which suited her grown-up tastes just fine. Also, he was clothed, a stark change from their last meeting. But the clothes were just fine, too. Faded, broken-in jeans and a deep brown uniform shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong forearms that glinted with golden hair.

He nodded at the clerk, handing her some cash. His serious eyes were the same dark chocolate she’d pictured in so many late-night fantasies. His eyes were almost the same shade as his hair, which she supposed should have been boring, but the combination had always fascinated her. Those eyes crinkled a little in Ben’s version of a smile. And then they rose and locked with hers.

They were separated by twenty feet, but Molly was sure she felt his shock reach out and hit her. His eyes widened. His hands froze on his wallet, a dollar bill pushed halfway in. The clerk glanced over her shoulder toward Molly, and that snapped him out of his shock. Molly watched him say “Thank you” as he grabbed a small plastic sack and stepped away from the counter. Away from the entrance. Toward her.

He remembered her, of course he did, and Molly was horrified that she found that so gratifying. You are not seventeen anymore, she chastised herself as his body grew larger in her vision, making her feel small in a very good way.

“Molly?” That tentative word rumbled from his chest and gave her goose bumps.

“Ben! Hi! It’s been a long time, huh?”

Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say. He looked stunned again, and a dull flush crept over his face.

Yes, it had been a long time—ten years—and there was a reason for that. He was thinking of the last time she’d seen him, and now she was thinking of the last time she’d seen him. Hoo boy. She felt her own face heat in response.

Ben cleared his throat. “I, uh…” His mouth thinned and he nodded, perhaps chastising himself as Molly had done moments before. You are the chief of police now. Pull it together. “I’m sorry about your aunt Gertie. She was a lively woman.”

Lively indeed. Violently opinionated was more like it. “My mom always said Gertie was too stubborn to die, but all the same, it wasn’t unexpected.”

He tipped his head. “I’d heard she left you the house, but no one expected you’d move from Denver. Are you here to put it on the market?”

“Nope.”

Wariness crept into his eyes. “Closing it up for winter?”

“Nope, sorry. I’m actually moving in.”

The wariness shut down to a cold blankness that Molly imagined served him well as chief of police. “Moving in,” he repeated.

“Yep. My stuff should be here in about an hour.”

“You’re moving back to town?” His eyes swept down her body before they jerked back to her face, and Molly was reminded that she wasn’t exactly dressed to impress.

She had on a pair of loose khakis and a T-shirt that was almost as old as her beat-up Keds. Her dark blond hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Thank God she wasn’t wearing shorts. She hadn’t shaved her legs in a week, theorizing that October in the mountains was pretty darn cold and she might need the extra layer of insulation.

Molly swept a look over his body just as he’d done hers. Cold or not, she was going to shave.

“But you work down in Denver, don’t you?” he finally managed.

His face had gone impassive with innocence, but Molly wasn’t fooled. Ben was her brother’s best friend. No way was he unfamiliar with The Molly Jennings Question.

She smiled up into his deep brown eyes and winked. “Nice try, Chief.” He raised both eyebrows, silently protesting confusion, but she was unmoved. “Speaking of work, congratulations on making it to chief so quickly.”

His head tilted in acknowledgement. “Nobody else wanted the job.”

“Wow, such modesty.” Oops.

Ben blushed again, and then she blushed, knowing exactly what he was thinking about, picturing it until the heat spread from her face to her whole body.

“Well…” Ben stuck out his hand and when she took it, he gave her a curt, professional shake. “Welcome back to town, Molly. I’ll see you around.” Before she could respond, he was gone, the door of the market closing behind him and cutting off an excellent view.



MOLLY JENNINGS. Good Lord.

Ben changed out of his uniform and into his running clothes, suddenly wishing he was a smoker. He needed a cigarette. Or a drink. But a run was going to have to do since he was back on duty in a few hours. Frank was on vacation for the next couple days, and with a police force of four and a half, that meant overtime for everyone else, including the chief.

He gathered his phone and keys, then stopped on his way out the door to grab a lead-weighted stick. He’d seen too many cougar and bear attacks in his lifetime not to be cautious. Spring was far more dangerous than fall, but there was no reason to be careless.

Careless. Like he’d been when he’d seen Molly standing there in the grocery store like some vision from his most embarrassing dream. Ben grimaced and pushed his body into a fast run without bothering with any warm-up. Hell, he was warm enough already. He’d blushed like a damn schoolgirl at the sight of her. Another mortifying moment with Molly Jennings.

But he wasn’t some twenty-two-year-old kid anymore. And she definitely wasn’t seventeen. She’d looked fresh and natural and fully mature, standing there with her dark gold ponytail swaying and her belly just peeking out between ratty cargo pants and a tight baby-blue T-shirt.

God, he loved cargo pants. Strange, probably, but they always seemed to hug a woman’s ass just right. Thankfully he hadn’t been treated to the sight of Molly’s ass, because the rest of her had been more than enough.

Ben pushed his body up the steep incline where the road ended, then turned left onto a worn trail. The trail just happened to follow the ridge that ran behind Molly’s house, but it was his favorite route and he wasn’t going to change it just to avoid her. And if he happened to glance down into her back windows as he passed, that was only natural. Of course he was curious. They’d been friends, or at least he’d been around her all the time in their youth. And sure, he’d thought her utterly cute as a teenager, but she’d also been his best friend’s underage little sister. Completely off-limits. Now she was twenty-seven…and still completely off-limits.

He didn’t date women who lived in Tumble Creek. Too much talk, too many complications. If there was anything worse than being lovers in a very small town, it was being ex-lovers. The definition of messy. So Ben pretty much confined himself to women outside the town, and since half the roads were closed in winter, whatever affairs he did have were seasonal.

Molly would be here year-round. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just here for the winter. Maybe she’d stay for a few months and then leave for another ten years.

That decade in Denver had been good to her. She was slim without being skinny, curvy and firm in just the right places. And her sparkling green eyes were livelier than he’d remembered. More confident. Knowledgeable even.

Ben shook off the dangerous thought and ran higher up the path. The trail forked here, one path cutting back to the street, the other toward a ridgeline that eventually curved out to look over the wide valley west of town. The sun shone bright and warm, the air just crisp enough to cool his sweat but not nearly cold enough to numb his roiling emotions.

Breathing in the scent of turning aspen, he headed toward the ridge and did his best to breathe out the memories of Molly that insisted on flitting through his mind.

He was still in the thick of the trees when his phone beeped. “Lawson,” he said into the phone.

“Chief,” the voice of his secretary/receptionist/dispatcher answered. “It’s Brenda. Are you home?”

“Not quite, why?”

“Oh, we’ve got a small problem. Andrew’s over to the Blackmound place, helping round up some cattle that broke through the fence. Now there’s a big moving truck taking up half of Main Street and it can’t get through. Jess Germaine’s car is in the way and he’s not answering his door.”

Ben grunted and slowed his pace. The situation would probably resolve itself by the time he got back down the ridge, but then again, if Jess was sleeping off a few drinks…

“All right. Give me twenty minutes. Call if Jess shows up.”

“Right. Say, what’s a moving truck doing here?”

He felt his jaw jump with tension. Thank God no one knew about his brief, inadvertent history with Molly or there’d be delighted whispering all around town. “Molly Jennings is back,” he made himself say calmly.

And damned if she wasn’t causing him trouble already. It was going to be a hell of a long winter.



EVEN AFTER WEEKS of vacancy, Aunt Gertie’s house still looked spotless. Only the faintest sheen of dust dared to disturb the wood floors. No dust bunnies skittered when she moved.

And it’d likely never be this clean again. Molly took a good look around before she unpacked the computer and set it up on a desk in the dining room.

She didn’t have a big table and chairs; though her loft in Denver had been everything she’d wanted, it had also been small. So Aunt Gertie’s dining room was no more. It was now Molly’s office. Wouldn’t the old woman have been horrified?

I leave my home to my grandniece, Molly Jennings, in the hope that she will abandon her unsavory city life and move back to the bosom of God’s country where she belongs.

Molly grinned and shook her head. Oh, she’d moved back all right, but she’d brought her unsavory life right along with her.

One push of a button and the computer hummed to life, prompting her grin to widen. Her work had ground to a halt in Denver thanks to the stress of living with constant anxiety, but here…here she was already finding inspiration.

The mystery of what she did for a living would take on a whole new life here in Tumble Creek, but she’d braced herself for that. And all the gossip and speculation would be worth it if Ben Lawson proved as wonderful a muse as he had been ten years before. Yes, indeedy.

She moved a few things around her desktop, and even opened a new, blank document. The tingly feeling that started in her stomach reminded her of the joy she’d taken in her work up until six months ago. Not as good as sex, but very close to being turned on.

Her blossoming good mood popped like a bubble when a familiar tune sang from her purse. Molly dug around until she found her phone, then groaned at the sight of the caller ID. “Wonderful.”

She could just ignore it, but he’d call back. And then another one would call. Then the big kahuna himself. Cameron.

Not bothering to hide her impatience, Molly answered the call. “What?”

“Hey, Molly! It’s Pete!”

“I know.”

“How are you?”

She clicked around on her computer screen, opening random documents, wondering how many CornNuts were left in the bag in her purse. “Great.”

“Are you really living in the mountains? I hope you’re not planning on staying there. That’s dangerous driving during the winter.”

“I’ve moved here, Pete. It’s done.”

“We’ll see what you think after a long, cold winter.”

Molly groaned. “I know I’m a helpless, stupid female, but I did grow up here. Some knowledge of my surroundings managed to sink in over those eighteen years.”

“Hey, you inherited a house, and that’s exciting! I’m sure you want to try it out. But your condo hasn’t sold yet. There’s no need to make any decisions—”

“Did Cameron ask you to call?” she finally snapped.

“What? No. We’re all concerned about you, Molly—”

“Who? Cameron and his band of merry men?”

“Molly, come on. We’re friends. I just—”

“No, Pete,” she interrupted. “No, we are not friends. If we were friends I would have made you a bracelet and painted your toenails. We would have laughed about how small my first boyfriend’s penis was. We would have flirted with men over appletinis. We are not friends, we were dating, Pete. Until someone else swooped in and stole your little heart away.”

“Huh?” She could almost hear him crinkling his forehead. “No one stole my heart. We both decided it wasn’t working out.”

“By ‘both,’ I assume you mean you and Cameron?”

“Hey, what are you implying?”

“I’m implying that Cameron seduced you away from me. Just like he’s seduced every man I’ve dated since he and I broke up.”

“That’s sick!” Pete yelped.

“Yes, it is sick. Not that you or Michael or Devon seems to mind. You’re all so eager to hang out with Mr. Wonderful Personality! Jesus.”

“Cameron’s right,” Pete muttered. “You’ve got problems.”

“Yes! Yes, I have problems!” she screamed into the phone just before it went dead in her hand. Molly stared at it, panting in rage. They’d followed her to Tumble Creek. Cameron and his boy band of Molly’s former potential sex partners.

She really couldn’t allow that. She’d have to ditch the cell phone. She’d keep her aunt’s local number. Her brother had it. Her editor had it. Plus her parents, and they’d finally gotten over their addiction to Cameron.

Cameron Kasten—Supervising Sergeant Cameron Kasten—was the star hostage negotiator for the Denver Police Department. His job was to manipulate, coerce, seduce and negotiate. And he was damn good at it. Everybody loved him. His friends, her friends, the whole darn police department. Paramedics, firefighters, district attorneys and any damn male of the species that Molly dared to date.

No one believed that he was ruining her life. He hadn’t been able to talk Molly into staying with him, so he’d talked every man since out of her life. It was creepy. Not to mention frustrating. Cameron was a giant whirlpool sucking all the sex out of her world.

Or maybe not all of it.

She thought again of Ben Lawson, of his familiar brown eyes and big hands and…oh, so much more. He would make a glorious end to this dry spell. She just had to keep Cameron as far away from Tumble Creek as possible.

“Satan, be gone,” she said to the phone as she purposefully turned it off.

Molly was back in Tumble Creek, Colorado, and she was ready to pick up just where she’d left off…with Ben Lawson naked and at her mercy.

Only this time she’d actually know what to do with him.




CHAPTER TWO (#u26a6b4c7-0275-59f9-9037-129c265a9608)


“CHIEF?”

Ben snapped awake from a quick doze in front of the computer. “Yeah?”

Brenda’s bangs brushed her thick eyebrows when she shook her head. “It’s 8:00 a.m. You need to go home and get some rest. You’ve got a whole twenty-four hours off.”

“Right.” He looked over the schedule for December once more before closing it. It was fairly straightforward. Winter made for slow work in Tumble Creek. No mountain biking, no rafting, and the pass to Aspen was snowed in until May. After the craziness of spring, summer and fall, it was a much-needed break.

And speaking of Aspen…Ben rubbed his eyes and glanced toward the ancient clock hanging in the hallway. Quinn Jennings had to be in his office by now. The man was obsessive when it came to his work.

A woman answered on the first ring. “Jennings Architecture.”

“Is Quinn available?”

“Good morning, Chief Lawson. Yes, he’s in. Please hold.”

Ben nodded as the phone clicked to silence. He’d tried friendly conversation with Quinn’s receptionist, but the woman was having none of it.

“Ben,” Quinn grumbled when he came on the line, absorbed as he always was in some design.

“Put the pen down and back away slowly.”

“Huh?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I learned the last time I called not to have a conversation with you while you’re drawing. I sat in that damned hoity-toity bar until nine o’clock.”

“Right. Did I mention I was sorry about that? I honestly had no memory of the conversation.”

“That’s my point,” Ben grunted in answer. “So you never mentioned that your sister was moving back to town.”

“Oh, yeah. She seemed to make up her mind real quick about it. I only found out last week.”

“You sure about that?”

“Well, she claims to have mentioned it in September, but I’d swear she’s lying.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So is she there? Would you check on her for me? Mom’s worried.”

Ben shifted in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. “You want me to stop by her place?”

“Yeah, you know. Check out the security. Single woman with an obsessive mother.”

“She lived by herself in the big, bad city. I think she’ll be fine here.”

“Tell that to my mom. She’s convinced Molly will fire up the woodstove without opening the flue and die from smoke inhalation. Or was it carbon monoxide?”

Ben looked at the clock again. Eight-fifteen. Was she up yet? Dressed? Half-naked and heavy-eyed? “Okay, I’ll drop by.”

“Thanks.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Just a favor for a friend. “Hey, you guys must have found out what Molly does for a living by now, right?”

“Nope. All I know is she swears it’s legal.”

“So why won’t she say?” His mind began to churn through all sorts of unsavory possibilities.

“Who knows? I think she’s just stuck with the mystery of it now. It’d be damn anticlimactic to own up to being an IRS agent at this point. She’s fine and she’s healthy and I’ve finally convinced Mom to leave it at that.”

Shit. He’d already used Google to search her name and had come up with nothing. He didn’t like mysteries. Not many cops did.

Ben promised one more time to check on Molly—did she sleep in pajamas? Nothing at all?—said a quick goodbye to Quinn and grabbed his hat and coat.

Just a favor for a friend. It had nothing to do with Molly’s tight blue T-shirt or the glimpse he’d caught of her moving through her kitchen when he’d come back down the path yesterday. It had nothing to do with the wicked sparkle in her eyes when she’d smiled up at him at the store. It certainly didn’t matter that he’d spent a good part of his shift wondering if her ass was as perky as it had been ten years ago.

Damn, she’d driven him crazy that summer, always dropping by in little shorts and tank tops that he wasn’t supposed to notice on a sweet, innocent girl like Molly. So he’d forced himself not to notice. He’d known her since she was a baby. Her smooth, tanned legs didn’t exist for him. Neither did her firm breasts or round bottom. Nope. Nothing there.

And they didn’t exist now, either. She was just another citizen. A responsibility. A favor for a friend. One who was surely awake and fully dressed.

Ben had assumed his strictest police mien by the time he pulled his black SUV up to her house on Pine Road. Then he saw the car in her driveway and his jaw dropped.

His fist hit her door a little harder than he meant, but after two minutes there was still no answer. He knocked again, then made himself take a deep breath and count slowly to twenty. The door opened on nineteen.

“Tell me that is not your car.”

She hid her mouth behind a hand and yawned. “Hey, Ben.”

“You’ve got another vehicle in the garage, right?”

“The garage is full of boxes.”

“You can’t drive that up here in the winter.”

She leaned out a little to look past him toward the blue Mini Cooper. “I put snow tires on before I left Denver. It’s fine.”

“No. No, it’s not fine. First of all, I’m almost entirely certain they don’t make twelve-inch snow tires. Second, you’re going to get high-centered on the first rut of snow you drive over. Third, you will then be crushed by one of the three-hundred SUVs driven by the saner citizens of this town.”

She leaned against the door jamb and nodded sagely. “Mmm. Fascinating. Did my mother call you?”

“No, but she will call. And I don’t have the manpower to drive by your place every time it snows just to reassure her. And I definitely don’t have the manpower to rescue you from your own driveway twice a week.”

“I’ve already arranged with Love’s Garage to have it plowed.”

“Okay, I don’t have the manpower to rescue you from the grocery store parking lot every Saturday.”

She crossed her arms and smiled up at him. “You’re kind of sexy when you’re in charge. Has anyone ever told you that?”

That was when he noticed her shirt. Her long, worn-out, practically translucent white T-shirt. Her naked legs. The bare feet tipped by painted pink toes. She yawned again, then shivered, clearing up any mystery about whether she was wearing a bra.

“I apologize,” Ben said, his tone carefully formal. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to keep some sort of civilized schedule here or I’ll get awfully lonely. No one else stays up till three around here. Actually, maybe you do. It’d be just you and me…and the snowplows.”

Just you and me…

“I really, really like your hat,” she added with that twinkle in her eye again. “Really.”

Ben found himself reaching up self-consciously to touch the brim and made his hand jerk back to his side. It was the same kind of Stetson most law enforcement wore in the Rockies. Nothing special enough to make her look so…naughty.

“Back to the car,” he growled. “If it can be called that.”

Molly opened the door wider and a breeze swept in, molding the shirt to her chest. Ben almost swallowed his tongue at the sight of hard nipples outlined so lovingly by thin white cotton.

“You want some coffee?”

She turned, leaving the door open for him, and Ben stepped inside in self-defense. He had to close the door before another gust of wind caught her shirt, because he did not need to get that well acquainted with the curve of her ass. Even if his brain was giving a little victory whoop.

“Jesus,” he muttered, and stayed next to the door. It was time to go. He couldn’t remember why he’d come in the first place. She still needed waking up about that toy car, but now was the time for a strategic retreat.

“You want cream and sugar?” she called from the kitchen.

“No, I—”

The jangle of an old-fashioned phone interrupted him.

“Hold on!” Molly called.

Ben heard her answer cheerfully, then her voice dropped to an ominous note that brought all his cop instincts to life.

“Where did you get this number?” she growled.

Ben headed straight for the kitchen.

“Yes, I turned my cell off. Take the hint, Cameron.”

He slowed as he came to the white molding that outlined the kitchen archway, but she’d stopped talking. She stood with her hand pressed to her forehead, murmuring “Mmm-hmm,” every once in a while.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them to catch Ben staring at her. Eyebrows flying high with alarm, she whipped around to face the sink, but he could still hear her side of the conversation.

“No. Is that clear enough? No. Now goodbye.”

Her smile was bright and cheerful when she spun back around, still clutching the phone. “The coffee’s almost done!”

“Who was that?”

“Who?”

“On the phone.”

The wide smile didn’t budge as she shook her head in patently false confusion.

“‘Cameron,’ I think you said.”

“Oh, Cameron! He’s just a guy from Denver.”

“An ex kind of guy?”

“Huh?” She raised her hands, palms up, and frowned as if he’d just asked if Cameron were a superhero. “Of course not. No. Why?”

“No reason.” More secrets. Perfect.

“So, cream and sugar?” She moved through the small kitchen with easy grace, completely comfortable wearing almost nothing in front of him. Who was this girl he’d known his whole life? This girl with secrets and…and…nipples?

“Yes,” he heard himself answering. “Cream and sugar.”

She flashed a smile over her shoulder as she poured. “A real man’s man, huh? Confident enough to drink girly coffee? I’m impressed.”

“Girly coffee? Wow. Thanks, Molly.”

“I said I was impressed.”

“Right.”

She handed him a cup, then leaned against the counter with her own mug clasped between two hands. Ben was very aware of her eyes taking him in, pausing on his chest and his mouth. He was very aware of her thighs, golden and rounded and totally off-limits and what the hell was he still doing here?

He closed his eyes and raised the cup to his mouth.

“So…” she said. “About that night…”

Coffee exploded into his windpipe, burning and choking him. He wheezed and coughed until he could breathe again, then opened his eyes to her stunned laughter.

“Are you okay?” she gasped.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?”

Ben set his cup down with a thunk. “I’d better go.”

“It’s been ten years, Ben. I just wanted to apologize. I should never have walked in like that. And I certainly shouldn’t have watched.”

He froze in the act of turning away. His muscles seized up as prickly heat spread over his skin and horror turned his stomach. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know you had, um, company. And then I was just…”

“What the hell do you mean, you watched?”

“Oh…well…”

“No. I looked up and you were standing there in the doorway. You’d just walked in.”

“Yeah, um…there may have been a few seconds between my walking in and you noticing me. You were a little distracted by that blonde. She was—”

“I know what she was doing. Jesus, Molly.”

“Right. Anyhoo…I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I caused you any embarrassment.”

Embarrassment? More like abject torture. Mortification. Guilt. The knowledge that he’d corrupted a young girl. The utter shock in her eyes when Ben had looked up to see her there, both hands pressed to her mouth. The endless moment when his muscles had refused to react, when he’d tried to stop his date’s avid attentions. Ben hadn’t been able to fully enjoy a blow job for two years afterwards.

And now Molly was confessing that she’d been standing there for…how long?

“Oh, Jesus.” He pressed a sweaty hand to his fore head. “You were just a kid.”

“Ah…Yeah, not really. I lost my virginity that night, and I turned eighteen a week later. And then there was college.”

“Stop it!” Ben slammed both hands over his ears. “Oh, my God!”

Her muffled laugh echoed through his head. “Ben, what is wrong with you?”

A picture of himself suddenly flashed before his eyes. He was standing in Molly Jennings’s kitchen with his eyes clenched shut and his hands over his ears. Ben forced his heart to slow and lowered his hands. A little dignity here, Chief.

He let out a long breath. “You were like a little sister to me. It was very disturbing.”

“Oh, it disturbed me as well. But if it makes you feel any better…” She leaned closer as if to confess a secret. One corner of her soft mouth quirked up. “You were never like a brother to me, Ben Lawson.”

“I…”

She leaned closer still, just six inches away. Ben could smell coffee and something soft and sweet. Her shampoo or lotion or some other feminine thing. Her lips flushed a dusky pink that drew his eyes like a magnet as they smiled at him.

“And you definitely weren’t like a brother to me after that night.”

“Molly…” Good God. “I don’t suppose you’re just staying for the winter, are you?”

She pulled back and frowned. “No, why?”

“No reason. I’ve gotta go. Get a real car and check the flue before you fire up the woodstove. Bye.”

“Thank you, Officer!” she called as he rushed for the door.

The cold air slapped him back to reality as soon as he stepped outside. Ben slammed the door behind him and made himself stop rushing. He rolled his shoulders and set his jaw.

Yes, Molly had grown up into a hot woman, but she was still off-limits. Nothing had changed. Nada.

He was almost to his truck when a white pickup approached from the west. It slowed, coming nearly to a stop before it rolled by Ben’s truck. Through the window, Ben spied the gawking, wrinkled face of Miles Webster, proprietor of the town’s biweekly newspaper, if one could call it that.

“Shit,” Ben whispered.

He met Miles’s eyes, careful not to show trepidation or guilt. You’ve got nothing on me, old man, he transmitted through his gaze. Then the man’s eyes shifted, and Ben followed, turning to look toward Molly’s house.

There she stood, waving, framed like a picture in the doorway, the early morning light glowing off her bare legs.

“Oh, shit,” Ben groaned.

Miles offered a smug grin when Ben turned back, then he sped off in a cloud of diesel fumes.

Ben had managed to stay out of the paper’s gossip section for thirty-two years. Come Thursday that was going to change.

And if there was anything he hated more than secrets, it was scandal.



HER COMPUTER SEEMED to be purring at her when Molly sat down to work that morning. Or maybe that was just her body. She’d gotten her groove back and she could feel it. Hoo-yeah.

She knew what her next story would be. Months had passed with not a flicker of an idea, but now she knew.

A serious, hard-jawed cowboy. No, wait. A sheriff. Not in a mountain town though. She’d made that mistake before. She would use Ben Lawson again, but only for inspiration this time, not as the flesh-and-blood man made into fantasy.

Her first story, the one that had made her into a star, the one that still sold better than any of her other books…that had been far too close for comfort. She’d written about Ben, about that night. She’d even identified him as the best friend of the heroine’s older brother. In a small mountain town. In Colorado. Then suddenly her first attempt at erotic fiction had been sold, published, and read by thousands…and it was far too personal. She couldn’t tell anyone what she’d done.

The big secret of her life had been entirely accidental, but she supposed it was for the best. She had a wonderful career that she loved, a decent income, and a little mystery to go along with her boring life. And now she had her muse back.

That first book had been her most inspired, but she had a feeling she could make this one even hotter. She was older and wiser and she had a few good ideas of what she’d like to do with a certain hard-jawed police chief.

“Sheriff,” she corrected herself. “A sheriff in a Wild West town with dark brown eyes and a heart of steel. And maybe some kinky needs he just can’t satisfy with the God-fearing women of the county.”

Molly giggled in guilty delight. Oh, yeah. The sheriff is a lonely man until a mysterious widow moves in next door. A widow who leaves her curtains open at night, lamps blazing. Even an angel would be tempted to watch the show, and the sheriff is far from angelic. But indecent exposure is a crime, and the lawman is determined to make her pay with his own special kind of private discipline.

She pictured Ben in his jeans—unbuttoned—and his black cowboy hat tilted low over his face, and nothing else.

“This,” Molly murmured as she typed the first few words, “is going to be good.”




CHAPTER THREE (#u26a6b4c7-0275-59f9-9037-129c265a9608)


STRIPPER.

Ben wrote the word in his notebook in black ink and underlined it. Then he crossed it off.

That couldn’t be right. Sure, she’d started some mystery career during college, and plenty of good, nice, college girls had been sucked into dancing for money, but it still couldn’t be right. There were no strip clubs up here. Whatever she was doing, she had to be able to do it from home. Stripping was good money, but she couldn’t have saved enough to retire at twenty-seven.

Unless she was one of those headliners who traveled the country and got paid big bucks to dance at the best clubs. Maybe he shouldn’t have crossed it off so quickly.

Or maybe he’d seen too many HBO specials in his life.

Ben threw the pen onto the flimsy newspaper open on his desk and turned back to the computer to search for her on Google one last time. His name was there in black and white in the weekly rag, right next to hers. He wanted to find out her secret before Miles Webster did.

Good old Miles had ruined Ben’s high school years. Or more accurately, Ben’s father had ruined those years, and Miles Webster had gleefully magnified each painful moment, drawing out the scandal until every last detail—true or not—had been reported.

Ben had hated Miles for years, perhaps because it had been so hard to hate his own father. Hard, but not necessarily impossible. Not for a teenager anyway.

Still, he’d worked through all that, or thought he had, but seeing his name in Miles’s gossip column was burning a hole in his gut.

And our dedicated Chief Lawson added a new duty to his job description this week. He played welcoming committee to Tumble Creek’s newest citizen, visiting her in the early morning hours to offer a friendly and thorough hello. And who is this new citizen? Our very own Molly Jennings, returning to a hometown that welcomes her with open arms. Check back next week for more information on what Molly’s been up to for the past decade!

“More information,” Ben snarled. Miles was going to love this.

What a fiasco. He was going to have to avoid her like the plague, at least until he figured out her secret. What if she’d been a prostitute, for God’s sake?

“You’ve lost your mind,” he muttered to himself. He was not going to let Miles drive him crazy again. He was an adult now, not some tortured kid.

“Chief?” Brenda asked from the doorway. “You’re not upset about that column, are you?”

“No.” Ben closed the Google screen and reopened the report he was supposed to be working on.

“He’s got no right to gossip about you when you’re doing your job.”

“It’s nothing, Brenda. I was just doing a favor for a friend. No big deal.”

She nodded, but her eyebrows fit together like two puzzle pieces. “How’s Molly Jennings holding up?”

“Fine.”

“I suppose she’s…” Brenda tapped her fingernails together and shrugged. “She must be real different after living in the city so long.”

Different. Ben frowned at his computer. Yeah, she was different.

“Chief?”

“What?” He glanced up just in time to catch Brenda shaking her head as she headed back toward her desk by the front door.

Disgusted with himself, Ben forced his mind back to his Monday duties. He reviewed the report he’d finally finished, then sent it off to the Creek County Sheriff’s office. They kept in close coordination so Sheriff McTeague didn’t have to waste time patrolling this part of the county. If anything needed his attention, Ben got in touch. If Ben needed something—rescue equipment or a search party—the sheriff volunteered it.

A few minutes later, the sheriff’s own report popped up on the screen and Ben took a half hour to go over the whole thing. Nothing out of the ordinary. A few accidents. One dead moose in the middle of the highway. Two DUIs. Domestic incidents.

Ben memorized the names involved and printed out the document to add to his files. Done.

A weather alert popped to life on his screen and Ben scanned it quickly, then breathed a sigh of relief. The first big snowstorm of the season, but it looked like they’d only catch the edge of it. Good thing, since it was supposed to hit on Halloween night. The poor kids around here had a hard enough time with the steep streets, sloped lawns and ancient, icy steps leading to every door. And the teenagers would have the inevitable party—the same Halloween party every generation had had in this town for forty years—and Ben didn’t want them driving home in a whiteout.

With a reluctant smile, Ben thought of the costume party he’d been to when he was sixteen, the last one they’d managed to throw in one of the old mines. Damn, that had been a good one, complete with strip poker and smuggled tequila. And he was darn glad it’d been the last. The idea of a party in an abandoned silver mine had been exciting as hell as a kid, but it scared the shit out of him now.

Ben made a mental note to go check the locks on all the mine gates sometime in the next four days. A drunk kid falling down a mine shaft would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Chief, I’m heading out to lunch,” Brenda interrupted.

“I’ll walk you out. It’s time for my patrol.” He grabbed his hat and, with a glance out his small window, reached for his quilted uniform coat as well. Snow or not, a cold front had moved in with a vengeance. “You haven’t heard anything about the old mines, have you? I thought I’d better check the gates before Halloween. Remember that last bash when we were kids?”

Brenda’s face blossomed into a rare smile that made her pale blue eyes sparkle. “Well, I don’t know what you remember, but my night ended when Jess Germaine threw up all over my new boots.”

“That’s right. I had to take both of you home, then go wash out my dad’s truck.”

“You always were a gentleman.”

Ben opened the door and gestured her through with a wink. Brenda was laughing as she passed him, but when he tried to follow he walked right into her back.

“Sorry. Is something—”

“Hi!” Molly said to both of them from the bottom of the steps.

Ben nudged Brenda to get her to move out of the doorway and down the three steps to the sidewalk. Molly grinned up at them, a pink, fuzzy hat pulled low over her ears. Her wool coat was feminine and way too white to be practical, but at least it was warm.

“Hey, lovah,” she said to Ben. “I hear we’re a hot item. You move fast for a big man.”

He stumbled on the last step—the cement must have buckled this summer—and had to lock his knees to keep from falling.

“That’s not funny,” Brenda said. “Chief Lawson hates gossip.”

“Oh, I’m—Oh.” Molly grimaced. “I totally forgot about that. Sorry.”

Ben shook his head. “No big deal. Brenda, I’ll see you when I get back.”

Brenda hurried off, glancing back to scowl in Molly’s direction more than once.

Molly watched her go. “Brenda? Oh my God, is that Brenda White? She looks just like her…um, never mind. Wasn’t she in your class?”

“Yes.” Ben scanned the block, looking for Miles’s old pickup.

“Ben, I’m sorry. I forgot about that thing with your dad. I didn’t mean to get you into Miles’s column.”

“Not your fault.” Great, now she was feeling sorry for him. “It’s really no big deal. That was a long time ago.”

Her face brightened, eyes sparkling once more, and Ben was shocked again at how different she was. The same, almost, but more. No longer hesitant or self-conscious, she practically oozed assurance, as if the constant flow of people in the city had burnished her to a lovely glow.

She’d braided her hair into two little pigtails that followed the line of her long neck. She looked soft there…really soft.

“Sooo…” she said. “I was just coming over to tease you about the paper, but now I want to see the station.” She looked behind him toward the double doors.

“It looks the same as it did ten years ago.”

“Well, I don’t know what you were doing with your youth, Ben, but I never saw the inside of the police station. I was a good girl.”

Jesus. He successfully fought off the blush this time, which was a great relief. She seemed to take joy in embarrassing him.

Ben opened his mouth to explain that he was leaving and couldn’t give her a tour, but then he noticed that her nose was beginning to resemble the color of her hat. She clasped her pink-mittened hands together and blew against them.

“All right. Come in.” He waved her up and followed behind her. Yes, her ass looked perfectly perky in tight jeans. Round and succulent. Two little globes of—

“Off-limits,” he whispered. When Molly looked back at him, he just shook his head.



HE WAS FROWNING AT HER, clearly not having a good time, and Molly felt a twinge of guilt.

She’d forgotten about his issues with his father when she’d walked over here to laugh about the column. It had all happened when she was twelve and not quite tuned into the scandal of Mr. Lawson having an affair with a teenager. Mr. Lawson, the high school principal, having an affair with a teenage student. What a nightmare.

Ben gestured toward the oversize front desk. “During the summer, the station’s always manned. But in the winter, it’s just us locals. Everyone knows where to find Brenda at lunchtime.”

“Do you guys only work half-time during winter?”

“No, we have an Aspen officer who works here during the summer. It works out perfectly because they need her for their busy season, then when the pass opens in spring, she commutes here for a few months, and the rest of us get to work full-time during the slow season.”

“Quinn said there’s a lot more traffic through here than there used to be.”

Ben nodded. “The mountain biking has really taken off. The rafting companies expanded to include biking and bought more buses. They take the riders and their bikes up to the top of the trail, then meet them back at the bottom to do it again. Helluva way to break your neck, if you ask me.”

“Professor Logic as always.”

“God, no one’s called me that since your parents moved away.” He led the way back, giving cursory explanations. “My office.” He waved into a small, plain room with a neat desk. “The other offices.” A larger room with three desks crammed into it. “Holding cell.”

“Whoa, this is your jail?” She walked up to the big metal door to look through the thick glass window. Nothing very interesting, just a toilet and sink and cot.

“It’s just a holding cell. Anyone we place under arrest gets put over in the county lockup.”

“So who’s this for?”

“Minor violators.”

She glanced back to find him watching her closely.

He raised an eyebrow. “Girls who block snowy streets with their tiny, useless, stranded cars even after they’ve been warned by the police.”

“Ha!” She turned and stepped closer to him, happy when he backed up into the wall. “I’ll be nimble as a little bunny. You’ll see.”

“I do have experience in this kind of—”

“Oh, I know you have experience, Chief. But I’m no beginner, either.”

Clearing his throat, Ben pushed off the wall and headed back toward the front. Unfortunately his coat hid most of his butt, but she could still appreciate the movement of his hard thighs and the tempting sight of the nape of his neck beneath his hat. “Thanks for wearing the cowboy hat for me, Ben.”

The neck turned pink. “It’s part of my uniform, Molly,” he growled.

She was almost positive he was more than a little interested in her, but she suddenly had the fear that his blushes were more the “just leave me alone” kind than the “you’re hot, don’t tease me” variation. He’d always been quiet and almost shy, until he loosened up and got funny. So was this shyness or interest? How to find out?

Well, she’d always believed in the shortest route. “My brother says you’re single.”

Ben stopped so quickly that Molly reached out to stop herself from bumping into him. Her hand connected with a rock-solid back. When he turned, she felt muscles shifting even under the heavy coat, and then, instead of her hand resting on his back, her arm was actually curled around his waist, her hip touching his. Even Molly was startled at how she’d just made herself at home.

He raised a meaningful eyebrow at her arm until she removed it.

“Accident. Sorry. I swear I’m not a hussy.” The word hussy made her laugh until she snorted, and Ben’s eyes crinkled a little in amusement.

“Look, Molly. I think you’re cute. And I am single. But it’s a small town, you know? Too complicated.”

“Too complicated? Really? Jeez, you’re a real live wire, Professor.”

“Come on. You know how it is.”

“I was only trying to finagle a date. A date. I promise not to chain you to the basement stairs.”

“I don’t date women in Tumble Creek.”

“Seriously?” Yes, he was probably being serious. He’d always been too logical for his own good. “Come on, Ben. What do you do, fly north when the days get longer? Do you have a set migration route or do you have a different set of stops each year?”

“I…It’s complicated.”

“Huh. I’ll say.” She brushed past him, making sure to inhale his scent when she got close. Mmm. Cold air and forests. Nothing complicated about that. He reached past to open the door and his chest brushed her back. Nice. She wasn’t giving up that easy.

Grinning, she walked down the uneven steps and waited for him at the bottom. “It’s not complicated,” she finally said. “I promise you I’m a simple girl.”

He didn’t look as if he believed her. It probably didn’t help that a man across the street started shouting her name. Please don’t let it be one of Cameron’s boys, she prayed as she turned toward the sound of a car door slamming.

“Molly Jennings, is that you? I was just on my way to your house.” Mr. Randolph was heading for his trunk.

“Hi there, Mr. Randolph.”

He popped the trunk, then reappeared with a big vase of roses. “These are for you.”

“Oh, good God,” she groaned, though she did manage to paste a smile on her face.

The flowers bounced jauntily in the man’s arms as he jogged across the street. “Two dozen roses. This young man must think real highly of you.” Mr. Randolph shifted the flowers to one hand, fumbling for the note. “Was it Devlin or Evan?” He patted around for his reading glasses.

“Devon,” Molly snapped, reaching for the damn flowers. She caught the smirk on Ben’s mouth and sent him a glare.

“Simple, huh?” he muttered. “Just another Denver guy, Molly?”

“Yes. He’s a friend. From Denver.”

Mr. Randolph exploded with laughter, totally overdoing it in Molly’s opinion. “A friend! Ha! Those are long stems. Forty dollars a dozen. What’ve you been up to down in Denver, Ms. Jennings?”

“Nothing.”

“You one of them rich business women?”

“No.” She tried to leave it at that, but Mr. Randolph just waited, his rheumy blue eyes staring hard. Molly sighed. She’d been through this before. She knew the easy way out. “I do some sensitive work for a tech company. Nothing exciting though.”

“A techie, huh? Well, congratulations on the flowers. I’ll be seeing you around. Good to have you back.”

“Thank you, Mr. Randolph.”

She watched him go, ignoring the burning sensation at the back of her neck. The older man waved and disappeared into his flower, gift and fly-fishing shop, leaving Molly with no choice but to turn around and meet Ben’s hard eyes.

“So you work for a tech company.”

“No.”

“Then you’re a liar.”

“Yes. I’ve found it’s a lot easier than the truth.”

“The truth being?”

“That I don’t discuss my work with anyone.”

He rocked back on his heels a little, looking her up and down with a suspicious glare. “And why is that, Molly?”

“That’s none of your business. Plus it’s complicated, and I know how you hate complications.”

Ben didn’t look any friendlier at that. In fact, Molly felt an undignified urge to squirm under his examination and blurt out a false confession. When he put his hands on his hips, she could see his big gun, and not the big gun she was interested in, either. She clutched the flowers hard to her chest.

“I won’t have anything illegal going on here.”

“I’m not—”

“Is that clear?”

“Jeez Louise, Ben!” She threw up one hand and waved it in frustration. “Who do you think I am?”

He looked her up and down one more time, sweeping her body with little tingles. “I have no idea anymore.”

“I’m just Molly Jennings, all grown up. And hopefully charming as hell.”

“It shouldn’t be any mystery to you why I don’t appreciate the excitement of a secret life. I wouldn’t date a woman who kept half her life hidden, even if I wanted to.”

“Do you want to?”

He only gave her a frown, so with a little groan of defeat, Molly gave up. “All right, I’m leaving. Bye.” She turned up the sidewalk and headed toward her house, but she couldn’t resist one last attempt. “But I will be at The Bar tonight,” she called back. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

A blast of cold wind kicked up and drowned out his reply. If he’d made one.

The breeze carried the scent of snow and pine and crisp, gold aspen leaves. Molly smiled despite Ben Lawson and his ridiculousness. Fall had always been her favorite season, and nothing was better than fall in the mountains. Dry leaves tumbled down the narrow street, scraping and tapping the blacktop. Clumps of red berries clung to leafless bushes, bobbing in time to the gusts. On the steep hill above town, groves of bright yellow leaves quaked against a backdrop of green pines so dark they were nearly black.

She couldn’t believe it had been ten years since she’d come home. But when she’d left for college—after hiding out from Ben for the last three weeks of summer—her parents had sold the feed store, packed up the family home, and moved to St. George, Utah (“Just like Santa Fe! Only less crowded and snooty”).

Her brother lived mostly in Aspen, and she visited him a couple times a year, but other than that…Her world had been in Denver. But not anymore. Unless she needed new clothes.

Tumble Creek was her home again, and if Ben Lawson wanted nothing to do with her that was fine. There was no history between them; she certainly wasn’t in love with the man. Okay, maybe she’d had a crush on him for a few years. And maybe she’d spent more than a few years fantasizing about his lean, strong body and big, sure hands. But she would take care of that the same way she always did.

Molly picked up the pace and hurried toward home.



HE WAS STANDING in the dim light of her bedroom, waiting in the doorway for some signal from her. Molly let him wait. She wanted to take him in first, explore his body with just her eyes. And what a body it was.

His wide shoulders curved down into arms that looked carved from stone. Dark hair dusted his chest and danced a thin line over his sculpted abdomen. Oh, she wanted to feel his bronzed skin just there, where his belly was ridged with strength. She wanted those firm muscles to jump under her touch.

His cock grew harder as she watched, and she ceased to care about his abs. He was long and thick, the skin stretched tight until it glowed like silk.

Itching for something naughty to do, Molly’s fingers drifted over her hip and pressed against her damp panties. A moan crawled from her throat as she pictured Ben watching her, getting harder, his cock throbbing with need. She wanted him desperate, delirious. She wanted him to watch until he snapped, until he took her rough and hard.

Molly’s free hand reached blindly for the knob on the nightstand drawer as her other slipped beneath pink cotton and stroked.

“Oh,” she whispered, encouraged by her own slickness and heat. God, she wanted him there, sliding in, stretching her until she begged for more or for mercy or for anything he’d give her.

Her other hand closed around her favorite toy. Not Ben, but it had been her best friend for months now.

Molly slipped off her panties and clicked the switch. The familiar buzzing made her smile, and then it made her arch her back and moan in approval. Oh, yeah. Oh, yes, yes, yes.

She began floating up into pleasure and turned back to her fantasy of Ben. He was eyeing her with hot anger, furious that she hadn’t let him near yet.

Molly stroked one of her nipples, imagining the way he—

A sudden metallic screech interrupted, terrifying her into a scream. She sprang up, flinging the vibrator across the room. It landed with a thud and writhed itself into a dim corner. “Jesus! What the—?”

The ancient phone next to her bed rang again, nearly jangling itself off the table.

“Oh. My. God.” She thought she’d electrocuted herself with a defective sex toy. Her heart was still trying its best to escape from her chest, jumping ship at the first sign of danger. She pressed her hand to it, panting to catch some air.

Brrrrrrr-ring.

It had better be Ben. Maybe the two of them had some sort of psychosexual connection. If they did, she’d been giving him a hell of a ride for the past ten years.

Molly snatched up the phone and attempted to answer with some dignity. “What?”

“Hey, beautiful.”

Unfortunately, she knew exactly who it was. Cameron, that bastard. “Go away!”

Molly slammed down the phone, hoping she broke the ancient menace in the process, but of course they didn’t make ’em like they used to. No, this phone wasn’t slapped together in China. The damn thing was probably made of pure American steel.

It jangled alive again. Loudly. Her aunt had clearly been hard of hearing.

Molly was nearly weeping with frustration when she answered. “Please, Cameron, for the love of God, leave me alone!”

Cameron just chuckled. “Pete said you were in a bad mood. I don’t think mountain living suits you.”

“I’m not coming back to Denver. Now, goodbye.”

When she hung up this time, Molly turned the phone over, searching for an off switch. But apparently Ringer Off switches hadn’t been invented forty years ago, so she just unplugged it.

Un-fricking-believable. Cameron Kasten was now officially ruining even her solo sex life. Had he known she was masturbating? Molly glanced at the windows, just to be sure, then shook her head to clear the shocked buzzing away.

The buzzing stayed. Frowning, she tugged the sheets up over her chest and glanced around the room. But of course it was nothing menacing, just her favorite toy, shaking its little blue self half to death against the baseboards. Despair slapped Molly full in the face.

She didn’t even want her favorite blue toy. She wanted Ben Lawson, and he didn’t want her.

Legs weak and heavy, Molly forced herself to get up and retrieve the vibrator. She stared down at it for a moment, but she wasn’t even close to being in the mood now. She just switched it off and headed for the shower.

Thank God she hadn’t adjusted to the altitude yet. She was going out tonight and she needed those drinks to hit her hard. It was all the hard she’d be getting for a while.




CHAPTER FOUR (#u26a6b4c7-0275-59f9-9037-129c265a9608)


PROSTITUTE.

Ben cringed even as he wrote it.

No way was Molly Jennings a hooker. She was sweet and smart and had always been a good student and daughter.

But then who were all these male “friends” she seemed to have acquired? Sure, she’d claimed she was doing nothing illegal, but she’d already lied about a half dozen other things, why not that?

He glanced at his computer, tempted to do a background check. It’d be easy enough to find out if she had any arrests on record. But it felt unethical; he didn’t really have a good reason to pry into her life.

Even if she had been a hooker in Denver, it was nothing to him. He wasn’t going to date her. She certainly wasn’t going to be turning tricks up here; she’d have moved to Aspen for that. So he just couldn’t convince himself he had a reason to look her up.

“Plus, she’s not a prostitute,” he muttered. There was no way in the world she’d be so cute and shiny if she’d been living that lifestyle. She had a sharp wit, but that was the only thing hard about her. Molly Jennings was all softness and light. And heat.

Ben crossed the offensive word off his list and let his body fall back in his chair. He cracked his neck, ran his hands over his face.

It was almost seven. He was exhausted and frustrated and jumpy. He needed a damn drink.

Leaning as far to the left as he could, Ben craned his neck to catch a glimpse of The Bar outside his office window. The h on the sign had burned out long ago; half the locals called it T-Bar now. The place was worn-out and small, and it was the only place in town to get a drink.

And she’d be there.

He couldn’t avoid the woman; there was only one gas station, one grocery store, one bar. Still, maybe seeing her tonight wasn’t a good idea. He’d been picturing her in her fuzzy pink hat and white coat and high-heeled boots…and nothing else. In his mind, she looked all wrapped up and proper, bundled against the cold. But then she untied the belt on the thigh-length coat and tossed it open and there she was in all the natural pink and white glory of her naked body.

“Jesus, I need to get laid,” he groaned, rubbing his face again. Except that he immediately thought of Molly and his body began to cast its own vote on the subject.

No, he wouldn’t date her. But drinking wasn’t dating, after all. Neither was flirting.

Ben shut down the computer and headed for home. A shower and then…bed. Probably.



MOLLY PRACTICALLY hopped down her front steps as she left to meet Lori Love at The Bar. It had been a good evening, despite her disastrous afternoon. All that sexual desperation had served her work well. She’d channeled her lust into the new story and managed to bang out twelve pages. Twelve awesomely good pages, if she did say so herself.

Hips swaying over her heeled boots, Molly hurried down the hill toward Main Street, her grin widening as she walked. Even the new e-mail from that nasty Mrs. Gibson hadn’t ruined her mood. The woman wrote to Molly and her colleagues on a regular basis to call them whores and smut-peddlers, but she was strangely well-versed in the stories. In fact, it seemed clear that she read every one. Sometimes Mrs. Gibson even provided statistics about which dirty words were used and how many times. This new book was really going to set her off.

Molly had never written anything quite so wicked before, and Mrs. Gibson wouldn’t be the only one shocked by it. Molly expected her editor to be very pleasantly surprised. Though Molly wasn’t into bondage herself, there was a huge market for that kind of story.

And heck, even if she wasn’t into being tied up, she just might change her mind after this book. That sheriff was one hot hero. Almost as hot as Ben himself.

Ben. If he didn’t show up at The Bar tonight, Molly had promised herself she’d leave the poor guy alone. If he did show up…well that was another beast altogether. She didn’t want to add complication to her life any more than he did, but there was nothing complicated about gettin’ it on.

She was giggling at her own thoughts when the night darkened around her. She’d passed all the houses on her street and walked right out of their friendly porch lights and into the small strip of forest that divided her neighborhood from Main. Her neck prickled in warning. She stopped.

She wasn’t scared. This was Tumble Creek, after all. But she did turn in a slow circle all the same, searching every shadow for signs of movement. Nothing except her city-girl imagination.

The full moon shone on the street a dozen yards ahead of her, illuminating the back lot of the feed store. The apartment above the store was where Ben and Quinn had lived together during college summers. The rent had been cheap—really cheap—and the summer jobs plentiful. And Molly had hung around as much as she could manage.

She’d made herself at home there, even to the point of bursting in without knocking.

Oh, her little heart had broken that night, even if her sex drive had roared awake at the sight of Ben naked and impressively aroused. That girl—definitely not a local—had…

Molly’s familiar thoughts froze when dry leaves crackled behind her. Her steps stuttered as she shot a look over her shoulder. That wasn’t the sound of the wind tossing dead leaves around. A twig snapped. All her muscles jumped.

“Who’s there?” No answer.

She hurried toward the lights ahead. She’d had this feeling before of being watched and followed. But that had been in Denver, where Cameron had shown up in odd places—at restaurants, at her local Starbucks, even a women’s clothing store. A complaint to his supervisor had resulted in nothing but a lecture about how she was clearly sending mixed signals.

Was he here now? Trying to scare her? Chase her back to Denver where he could control her life?

Molly rushed down the sidewalk, almost to the light, and the corner of Main Street was only a little farther. She broke free from the shadows, gasping, and dared a look back.

Dark shifted against dark, then deepened to nothing. But she was sure that shadow had been movement, and not just her imagination.

It took only seconds for her to reach the corner and dash around it. Leaning against the brick wall of the feed store, Molly drew freezing air into her lungs and watched it rush out in clouds as she exhaled.

This is Tumble Creek, she told herself. You’re in the wilderness. It was a raccoon or a possum, maybe even an elk.

Her heart seemed to believe her. It slowed to an almost normal pace, and Molly risked a glance around the corner. She saw nothing. Was it possible that cheap coffee had more caffeine in it than the good stuff? She’d been jumpy all day. Her vibrator hadn’t tried to kill her and neither had that raccoon or whatever the hell it was.

Willing herself into a shaky laugh, she pushed off the wall. The Bar was just across the street, less than a block away. As if on queue, she heard the door of the place open and tinny music spilled out. Someone pulled out of the grocery store parking lot and drove toward her. Life resumed its normal pace. Everything was fine.

Forcing a smile, she headed for The Bar.

“Molly Jennings!” the barkeep called as soon as the door swooshed shut behind her.

Molly tilted her head, studied his face, and then grinned. “Juan! You look great.” A bit of an exaggeration, but he smiled and shrugged. Juan was two years older than her. He’d been a star football player at Creek County High, but his bulky muscles had softened to something that looked suspiciously like fat. His smile was just as wide and genuine, though. Molly grabbed a seat at the bar.

“Lori called,” Juan said right away. “She’ll be a little late. Had to go pull a car out of a ditch.”

“Thanks, Juan.”

“What can I get you? Some kind of wimpy drink? Cosmo? Appletini? Pomegranate Twist?”

“Oh, um, really? You’ve got pomegranate juice?”

“Nah, not really. But I do have cranberry juice and apple sour. What’s your poison?”

Molly glanced around. Most of the booths were full and every single person had a beer or shot glass in front of them. But, damn, she wanted a cosmo.

Her sigh ruffled the little napkin Juan had set in front of her. “I’ve got to build up some street cred here, Juan. I’d better have a Coors.”

Juan glanced up and down the bar, then leaned a little closer. “How about if I make you a lemon-drop martini and put it in a highball glass with ice? Think you could pull it off as a vodka tonic?”

Molly sat straighter and laughed. “Hell, yeah. Bring it on.” This night was gonna be all right after all.

While Juan turned his back on the bar to mix the secret drink, Molly strolled over to the jukebox to check out the selections. Apparently they hadn’t been updated since the eighties; all the selections were still classic country or guitar rock. She chose George Strait and made a beeline back to her drink.

When the door opened, she turned to say hi to Lori. The sight of Ben walking through the door froze her tongue to her front teeth. Oh, hell yeah, this night was gonna be all right.

He was looking down at the floor, but he shot a glance at her past his lashes. Warmth melted from the top her head to her toes. Her tongue relaxed.

“Hey, Ben,” she drawled. “What’re you doing here?”

He raised his face to her, wearing the policeman mask. “Just dropping by to check on things like I always do.”

“Hey, Chief!” Juan yelled from the other end of the bar. “What’re you doing here?”

Blood rushed to his cheeks, but one side of his mouth turned up. “I’ll have a bottle of Bud,” he answered.

Molly grinned, then she let her eyes drop and her smile faded. Ben wasn’t in uniform tonight. He was wearing his jeans and boots and an old brown coat, but besides that he wore a faded green T-shirt that clung to his chest. When he took off his hat and shrugged out of the coat, she felt like she was seeing him naked. Her sex actually tingled.

Oh, God, his shoulders really had gotten wider, his arms more solid. His hair was slightly damp and it clung to his nape. Molly bit back a groan, trying to fight the urge to walk over and run her tongue down the back of his neck.

She’d never even kissed the man, but right now she wanted to eat him up, swallow him whole, ditch Lori Love and this bar and drag him home with her for mindless, sweaty, dirty sex. He looked young and hot and delicious. And he was here. With her.

Molly grabbed her drink and drained half of it in four swallows.

“Maybe I should start making you another,” Juan guessed, and Molly confirmed his question with a hurry-up motion as Ben took the seat beside her.

She didn’t look at him. Her panties were already wet, her nipples hard, and she was sure if she met his eyes his police instincts would pick up on her horniness right away.

Yes, she wanted to do him, but there was a difference between seduction and taping a big sign to your forehead: You don’t have to bother with small talk, mister. Just take me in the broom closet and use me like the cheap ho I am. That kind of thing should really come later in a relationship.

“So, um…” Ben cleared his throat. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Yes.”

When he shifted, his knee brushed hers, making Molly jump.

“Sorry,” he offered and moved his leg a few inches away.

Molly slumped and sucked down the rest of her drink. A pleasant warmth soaked into her muscles and relieved some of her concerns. So she was horny? It wasn’t a crime even if she was thinking about molesting a policeman.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Ben said softly. “I didn’t mean to offend you today. Asking questions is my job.”

“It’s fine.”

Juan set the new drink down and Molly picked it up.

“I just can’t understand what you’re hiding and why. If you’d tell me…”

“Dream on, Chief.” Buoyed by the lemon drops, Molly turned on her bar stool and let her knees press against his hip. “My secret is the most interesting thing about me. Why, look! You can’t stay away! Don’t deny that you came here to see me. You’re not even on duty.”

“Maybe.” He arched a look down at her knees, bare except for the black tights she wore under her miniskirt. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“Well, my legs have forgiven you, and isn’t that all that matters?”

His eyes warmed by slow degrees, and when he met her gaze, alcohol or not, Molly plummeted right back into heady lust.

“I won’t deny the importance of that,” he murmured. Then he took his sexy eyes off her and raised his empty bottle to signal for another.

The door opened behind them and Molly prayed it wasn’t Lori. Let there have been an accident…. No injuries! Just a slow-speed pileup in the gas station parking lot that will keep her busy for another hour. Ben’s resolve was weakening, Molly could see it, like he was stripping his clothes off right in front of—

“Long time no see!” Lori said from behind her.

Ben tipped his head and stood. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

“You don’t have to—” But he was already moving away. Molly watched him go with mournful eyes.

“Don’t tell me Miles actually got it right?”

“What?” Molly asked, distracted. What a gorgeous ass that man had, all tight muscle and—

“Are you and Ben hooking up? Didn’t you just move back to town—” Lori looked at her watch “—about seventy-two hours ago?”

“No.” Molly laughed as Lori perched her petite little behind on the seat Ben had vacated. “It’s been a full four days. Wait, how many hours is that? More than seventy-two?”

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” Lori said quickly. Juan raised an eyebrow at Molly.

“It’s a lemon-drop martini,” she confessed in a whisper.

“Perfect.”

“And I’ve waited ten years to get in that man’s pants, so don’t begrudge me.”

“Only ten?” Lori asked, green eyes sparkling like polished jade.

“Okay, more like twelve. I can’t take it anymore. Something’s gonna fall off if I don’t use it soon.”

“Oh, no, you can’t have my sympathy on that, Molly. I’ve lived in this town my whole life and most of the eligible men think I’m gay. You got to go to Denver to spread your wings. And legs.”

Molly nearly spit her drink out as she collapsed in laughter. Juan was blushing, so he must have overheard, but surely he’d heard worse than that before.

When she recovered, Molly looked over her old friend’s tiny waist and narrow hips, then up to the big curls she wore in a chin-length bob. “Why does everyone think you’re gay?”

Lori held her drink with just her thumb and pinky and raised the other three fingers above the rim. “One,” she said and ticked it off, “I never put out in high school. Two, I refused to give Jess Germaine a blow job in his backseat when I finally did start dating. Three, I fix cars. Lesbian, all the way.”

“Well, I’ll try not to drop my keys near you, then.”

“Oh, I’ll be on you like white on rice, sista.”

They both roared with laughter at that, drawing looks from the other patrons. “Sorry,” Molly called. “Nothing to see here.” The men turned back to their beers, all except Ben, who sat at the other end of the bar, watching them like a movie. He aimed a disapproving glance at her drink, so Molly ordered another.

“I noticed you painted all the Love’s Garage trucks lavender.”

“Aren’t they pretty?”

“And your dad doesn’t mind? How is he, by the way?”

“He died a few months ago, Moll.”

“Oh! Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, Lori. No one told me.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been gone a long time.”

“I just…Last I heard he was doing better. Oh, Lori, I’m sorry.”

“No, it was time. He was ready—I could see it in his eyes.”

Molly nodded. “So you own the garage now?”

“Yep, the garage, the tow truck, the snowplows, all the land. And the glory, of course.”

There was a definite edge to her friend’s voice. “That’s great,” Molly said carefully. “But…I thought you were only going to put off school for a couple of years.”

“Yeah, so did I.”

“Didn’t you get an internship in Europe or something?”

Lori smiled, but there was no mistaking the sadness in her eyes. “Responsibility’s a bitch sometimes, you know?” She shook her head, setting her curls rocking. “Enough about that. Let’s talk about Ben. Did you two have a thing going before? I thought you were dating Ricky Nowell.”

“Yeah, I—Jeez, he doesn’t still live here, does he?”

“No, why?”

“Because I’ve told dozens of people how small his dick was, so that would be totally awkward.”

Lori snorted citrus vodka up her nose and spent a full thirty seconds coughing and wiping her eyes. Everyone was staring again.

And it only got worse after that.



BEN NODDED AT THE giggling pair of tipsy women. “I think I’d better offer you ladies a ride home,” he said as if he were just polite and not a police officer.

Molly waved him away. “Oh, I walked.”

“Then I definitely insist.”

“What, you think you’d find me ass-up in a snowbank tomorrow morning?”

“Not enough snow yet,” Ben answered and steered her out the door. To her credit, she managed to walk without weaving.

Lori followed behind, giggling. “I’m only two lots down, Ben. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll feel better if I drive you.”

“Yeah,” Molly added. “And it’ll give everyone something to talk about if we all leave together. Lori’s totally hot for me, Ben. She’s on me like…something. And we might let you watch if you ask real nice.”

Jesus. Not the image or the gossip he needed.

“Deal,” Ben said. “Let’s go to my place.” That shut her mouth quick. Lori collapsed against his back, shaking with laughter, and he couldn’t help but smile. “All right, ladies. Let’s see if we can get you home before you embarrass yourselves.” That only sent them into another fit of laughter. “Nobody’s gonna throw up, right?”

“I only had three drinks!” Molly protested, but when Ben stopped to open the passenger door of his truck, he shot her a quelling look.

“All right, four, but that was over two full hours.”

“So you’re just naturally hilarious?”

“Yes! Didn’t you know that?”

He had, actually, and he’d also known she was cute as hell before she’d shown up in her black boots and tights and tiny black miniskirt. Then there was the snug pink turtleneck. Pink, pink, pink. It was his new favorite color.

“Lori, you need help?”

“I’ve got it,” she called as she crawled into the backseat. Ben didn’t bother asking her to buckle. She really was only about a hundred feet from home.

Molly started to climb up, pulling herself in slow motion, so what could he do but wrap his hands around her waist to hoist her in? The sweater was thin, her skin hot beneath, and Ben had an almost irresistible urge to follow her up, stretch her out on the wide front seat and cover her up with his body.

Then again, all the computer equipment in the middle might put a damper on things. Not exactly satin sheets and feather pillows.

“Ben?” she breathed, as if she wouldn’t mind having a keyboard pressed into her back at all.

“Mmm?”

Her eyes were wide in the dark, her face turned up to his. She licked her lips, calling all his attention to her mouth, his favorite shade of his new favorite color…and then she collapsed into laughter.

Right. The drunk-off-her-ass part had escaped his mind for a moment.

“Let’s go, Chief,” Lori called from the back, reminding him there was also a friend-in-the-backseat part of the evening. Then there was the possible-illegal-sex-trade complication.

“Okay,” he breathed and stepped far out of the way before he shut the door on Molly and her many shades of pink. He’d only had two beers tonight; he was fine to drive, but apparently not fine to press his hand into the hot curve of her waist.

Ben tried to convince himself he wasn’t half-hard in the middle of Main Street as he rounded the truck and slid in behind the seat.

Lori waved her hand from the back as he started the engine and jacked up the heat. “Ben, do you think I’m a lesbian?”

“Um…” A glance in the mirror showed nothing but her upraised wrist and limp fingers. “No, I hadn’t really…Why? Are you trying to, uh, find yourself or…?”

“I just want a decent date!” she wailed. “And not with some Ricky Nowell!”

“Mmm-hmm.” He’d found over the years that it was best to simply feign understanding with drunk people.

“If the opportunity ever arises, would you send a nice guy my way? I just want to go out to a movie, you know? Maybe get a little some-some. Is that so wrong?”

“Of course not.”

Molly was shaking her head in very serious sympathy. “I was just kidding about getting it on in front of you, Ben.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Lori’s not really a lesbian.”

“I’m getting that, too. And here we are!”

Lori popped up from the seat, and her forehead made a slow beeline for Ben’s headrest.

“Ow.”

That settled Ben’s question about whether she needed to be walked to her door. He ended up walking her all the way to the couch. By the time he returned to the truck, Molly was curled up with her cheek pressed against the seat back and her feet tucked beneath her.

“Hey, Ben,” she breathed and opened her eyes in a slow, sleepy smile. Some malevolent force sat hard on his chest. It was the devil, or maybe just a random satyr, whispering that this was exactly how she’d look after a night of good, hard sex. This was exactly how she could look tomorrow.

Ben twisted the ignition with extra force and heard the outraged screech of the starter. Right. The truck was already running.

“What’s wrong with your truck?”

“It’s horny,” he muttered.

“Mmm.” Another sympathetic shake of her head. Apparently it all made perfect sense to her.

Though he was well-versed on every speed limit in town, Ben broke every one on the way to Molly’s house. Professor Logic he might be during the daylight hours, but he was becoming acquainted with a whole new personality tonight. Captain Man-Slut, maybe. He didn’t care about complications or questions or intoxication. He knew he’d care in the morning, and he didn’t give a shit about that, either. He just wanted some Molly, bad.

The two hours in the bar had been pure pleasure for Ben. He’d recognized the old Molly he’d liked so well all those years ago. She’d been silly and immature, giggly and girly, but all of her still glowing with that sheen of comfort, of being at ease with herself.

She seemed to draw eyes without even noticing, seemed comfortable with attention without needing it. And she laughed. A lot. Ben didn’t laugh much, and he thought it would be a grace in his life, a blessing, to hear a woman laugh every day, every hour. To hear her laugh in his bed.

Something shivered inside his chest, scaring the hell out of him. Ben eased his foot off the accelerator and slowed down to twenty-five. He had to get it together, or he was going to make a serious mistake. He didn’t know a damn thing about her, not anymore.

As soon as he pulled into her driveway, he put the truck in Park and turned to her. “Please tell me what you do for a living.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you trying to take advantage of my blood alcohol level?”

“Absolutely. You know me, Molly. You know how much I hate secrets. You know I could never trust someone who wouldn’t be honest and up-front.”

“I am being honest and up-front.” She didn’t seem at all disturbed, just sad. She was still curled up and sleepy, unconcerned that his guts were tangled in knots.

“You must be doing something you’re ashamed of or you wouldn’t hide it.”

“No, I’m not ashamed.”

Instead of banging his head against the steering wheel, Ben made a calculated move. Calculated, but pleasurable all the same. He reached across the space of the truck and touched her, brushing her temple with the pad of his thumb. “Why won’t you tell me?”

Her eyes closed. She made a tiny humming sound as he dragged his knuckles over her soft skin. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, a kiss of her pink temptation against his rougher texture.

“Why, Molly?” he whispered.

She opened eyes full of sorrow. “Lots of reasons. My parents…Quinn is so smart and successful. They’re so proud of him, and they should be. He’s amazing.

“But I’ve never been as smart, never as good in school. And my work isn’t like his, either. It’s easier this way. They understand that they’d probably be disappointed, but they don’t know. They can’t be sure. Maybe I’m a spy. Maybe I’m an artist. Whatever it is, they can’t measure it against Quinn’s accomplishments, because I won’t let them.”

“Jesus, Moll. I know they’ve always been gaga over Quinn’s grades and awards, but they love you to death.”

“Yeah, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“What does that mean? Just tell me, I promise not to say anything to Quinn. Tell me what you’re doing.”

She turned and looked out the windshield. “No. If you’re going to think I’m a bad person, just go ahead.” She made a wide gesture, nearly clocking him in the face. “Look, I know I said all that stuff about Ricky Nowell, and nice girls don’t do that, but he was really horrible to me that night, and I just…” She turned a corkscrew with her left hand.

“Ricky Nowell? I don’t…Wasn’t he your boyfriend in high school?”

“Yes, unfortunately! So don’t go judging me!”

“Molly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong, that’s what I’m talking about! If you’re not gonna like me, fine! Don’t like me. You just sit over there and be cute and disapproving. And sexy. And…I don’t have to—”

When he leaned in and kissed her, she drew a sharp, deep breath and then held it. Ben smiled against her mouth and took advantage of the quiet moment to explore the satin texture of her lips. She was just as soft as he’d fantasized, warm and yielding as he brushed his lips slowly over hers. But she didn’t taste pink; she tasted shimmery yellow.

“Why do you taste like a Jolly Rancher?” he wondered aloud.

“Oh.” She breathed citrus against his tongue. “Three lemon drops and an appletini.”

Then he followed the sweetness into warmth and wet. She opened for him, pressed closer, and Ben forgot about lemons and apples. She let him explore slowly for a moment, gliding against the slickness of her mouth, but then she wanted more and so did he, and she moaned and coaxed him deeper.

His earlier lust exploded through him, dragging him into urgency as quick and wild as the creek in spring. He felt he’d waited forever for this, through countless youthful fantasies when his hormones had nearly driven him mad. Ben grasped her hips and lifted her over all the clutter that kept them separated.

“Oh, my God, did you just pick me up?” She wiggled against him, settling her knees on either side of his legs. “That is so sexy.”

That surprised a laugh out of him, but it turned to a groan as she finally got her skirt hiked high enough that she could settle her ass against his lap. He curled his hands around her thighs, because what else was he supposed to do? And the black fabric was like cashmere, it clearly demanded petting…stroking, even.

“Oh, yes, Ben,” she whispered, pressing small kisses to his jaw. “Your hands are so hot. So hot and, and so…big.”

Jesus, was she talking dirty to him? No one had ever done that before, but he was damn sure he liked it. Ben kissed her hard and stroked up to cup her ass in his palms, and oh, what a perfect fit. All that firm, flexing muscle and, damn it, her mouth tasted like heaven.

Her encouraging noises weren’t hurting anything, either. He pushed higher on her hips, slipping her skirt up until his fingers touched the bare skin waiting for him above her tights. Her skin was even softer than cashmere and scorching hot.

Molly arched back, pressing her sex down, and Ben, determined to oblige, lifted her and scooted down a little in his seat. When she rocked forward, she fit perfectly against the bulge in his jeans.

“Ah,” they said in unison.

“Oh, Ben,” she went on, while he was still trying to reconnect with the speech center of his brain. The hollow between her legs, the plump flesh there…it all seemed perfectly designed to cover him, torture him. Her thighs strained as she shifted herself against him.

“Oh, Ben, you feel so good.”

Hell, yeah, he felt really good. She seemed to have everything under control as she rocked back and forth, so he let go of her hips and reached for the pink sweater instead. As he pushed the hem up, he made a mental note to remember the sight of her in that white lace bra later. Right now he just needed to get rid of it, and Molly seemed in agreement. She shrugged out of her coat, tangled her arms in the sweater and pulled up and then suddenly it was off, her hair falling around bare shoulders.

The delicate bra had a front clasp, thank the sweet Lord for genius inventions. All it took was one little flick of his clumsy fingers and it was falling away. Her breasts were white and small and perfect, begging for attention. He licked one rosy nipple, a slow circle around the hardening bud.

Her sigh filled the truck as she worked her fingers into his hair and rocked her hips faster.

“Ben. Yes. Oh, yes. I’ve wanted this for so long. Ever since that night. I saw you and I wanted to be her. I wanted to be on my knees for you, taking all of you into my mouth.”

Holy shit. He knew his fingers were digging too hard into her waist, but he couldn’t stop them, just as he couldn’t stop his mouth from being too rough. He scraped his teeth over her pebble-hard nipple and Molly keened. When he reached up her back to ease one hand into her hair, to hold her tight to his lips, Molly moaned in eager approval.

He knew she was close to coming, the friction of her rubbing driving even him close to the edge, and Ben’s mind was a writhing mess of conflicting ideas. He wanted to push her further, make her come screaming, and he wanted to lift her up and unzip his jeans and sink deep inside so they could come together. He wanted to gather her up and take her into her house and do this right, on a bed, in private, for hours.

And, Jesus, he wanted her talking to him the whole time.

“Ben,” she panted.

“Yes.”

“Please, I’m…Oh, God.”

He moved to the other breast, licking more softly this time, knowing just what he wanted. And he got it.

Molly began to beg. “Ben, please. Please. I’m so close.”

Her fingers wound tight into his hair, demanding and pleading. He refused to give in until she began sobbing his name over and over. Finally, he sucked hard and pressed her carefully between his teeth.

She drew in a long, rough breath and raised one hand to the ceiling to press her body harder against his cock. All her muscles tensed into long, shaking lines…and then Ben saw stars and she was screaming and the world exploded into color and…and sirens?

Caught at the very edge of an orgasm, Ben looked up and saw one of her clutching hands pressed high, right against the light controls of his truck. Sirens blared, blue and red beams danced and jumped off the front of her house. And the neighbors’ houses.

“Oh, fuck.”

She was still shuddering against him.

“Molly. Molly!” He tried to flick the switches, but her fingers wouldn’t move. “Move your hand, Moll!” She moved the wrong one, letting go of his hair.

Finally, he was able to push her loosening hold away from the box and turn off the light-and-sound show. But it was too late, of course. Porch lights were coming on as far as five houses up the block. He wondered if the loud speaker had been on.

Shit, shit, shit. One more second and this would have ended in a high-school-era orgasm for him, too, and now he had to think his way out of this? Ben snatched up her sweater and tugged it over her head. Her eyes blinked at him above the turtleneck.

“You’d better get dressed, sweetie. We’re about to have company.”

He saw the exact moment that awareness flashed to life in her clouded gaze. Her eyes got bigger, rounder, and then she forced her arms into the sleeves and yanked everything down over her unfastened bra.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Her voice shook. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right, Molly. It’s okay. Calm down.”

“No, it’s not!”

Several dark shadows huddled on stoops, stomping their feet and craning their necks. “I don’t think anyone even noticed. Just get your coat on and I’ll walk you to your door.”

“No one noticed?” She started to look around, so Ben gathered up her white coat and handed it to her.

“Here. Your hat’s under my foot, can you reach it?” That busied her long enough for most of the neighbors to give up on the winter show and go back inside to spy from the window.

He didn’t know why he was trying to protect her. The Thursday edition of that pitiful ink-jet excuse for a paper would reveal all. But it didn’t seem right that her pleasure should end like that, tripping over mortification and regret.

The thought made him cringe in memory, though it was just habit at this point. Molly was here now to replace that old incident with new, more spectacular disasters. He’d probably care more once his dick gave up hope and eased its monopoly on his blood flow. But right now everything seemed okay, because Molly was gorgeous and flushed and confused and still perched half on his lap.

“Molly?”

“Yeah?”

She looked up from tugging on her hat, and he caught her in a simple, soft kiss. “I had fun tonight.”

“Oh,” she sighed, eyes closed, lips turned up in a secret smile. “Oh, so did I.”

There was nothing to be done, so Ben walked her to her door, gave her a quick lecture because she’d forgotten to lock it, declined her invitation to spend the night, then told her to sleep well. She assured him that she would.

Whatever his regrets, Ben walked back to his truck feeling glad that one of them was in for a peaceful, sated night.



UNBELIEVABLE. Molly Jennings was out of control.

An owl screeched from somewhere close by, probably irritated with the human hiding in the moon shade of the trees, scaring all the prey away. But the shadow watching Molly didn’t budge.

The girl had just had sex in a truck, in public, with a man she barely knew. She’d been in Tumble Creek all of, what? Four days?

She didn’t even look ashamed of herself as she closed her front door. Hell, she probably knew she’d been watched, and had enjoyed it all the more. It would be in keeping with her personality. Always drawing attention.

Perhaps she slept with strange men in public all the time. Perhaps she’d screwed all the patrons in the bar tonight before leaving with Chief Lawson.

Damn it.

She probably felt safe here, living a charmed life in these mountains, but the razor peaks and icy nights had broken thousands of men over the centuries. It would be easy enough to change her mind about returning to this town.

The lock-pick gun shifted in the black bag, heavy as a gold bar but so much more valuable. People—single women in particular—locked their doors at night and felt secure, but that was pure ignorance. Every locksmith owned one of these gadgets that could open any cheap lock. Every locksmith…and every police department.

Molly would sleep soundly tonight, satisfied with her evening’s fun, and she’d have no idea of her vulnerability. No idea that someone could stalk through her house with no fear, even stand over her bed and watch her sleep.

But she would realize her ignorance soon enough. Her female instincts would try to warn her, niggling at the edges of her consciousness. Fear would worm its way into her head, but there’d be no proof of anything, no implication that her terror was well-founded.

She’d be afraid. She’d feel confused. Soon enough, paranoia would set in. And then she would move away from Tumble Creek and back to Denver where she belonged.




CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_10228c08-93a9-5db2-ae70-d344dd9c5a00)


ONLINE SEX PERFORMER.

“Jesus,” Ben sighed into his hands.

It was a good possibility. Better than the first two had been. It wasn’t illegal, she could work from home, and she could make a heck of a lot of money doing it. And how the hell was he supposed to rule it in or out?

The background report glowed on his computer screen, bathing him in its censuring light. Nothing. Not even a traffic violation. Molly Jennings was a good girl, at least as far as the system was concerned. As far as Ben was concerned, she was fascinatingly bad. But just how bad, he didn’t yet know.

When she’d had the wi-fi antenna attached to her roof the day after she’d moved in, he hadn’t thought much about it, but he was thinking now. Was it just about a city girl’s love for speedy Internet connections or did she need to upload huge amounts of information?

A few days ago he wouldn’t have been able to imagine her doing sex shows for money, but now he could picture it all too well. She was…easy to watch. Even easier to listen to, and holy hell, what if that was how she’d learned how to turn him on like a goddamn switch?

“Please, no,” he whispered to the computer. The vast universe of online sex loomed on Ben’s horizon, glittering and ominous and writhing with danger. He’d never find her in there, even if he searched for weeks. Which brought up the question of how he was supposed to search anyway. He was on dial-up at home, and he could just imagine trying to explain to the mayor why he’d visited hundreds of online sex sites on his office computer, stalking a female citizen who hadn’t broken any laws.

Nice. Just the kind of behavior Ben had been aiming for his whole life.

He reached for his cold coffee that was sitting on top of the latest Tumble Creek Tribune. “Tribune, my ass,” he growled into the mug. “More like the Tattler.”

He’d called Molly on Friday morning to apologize and warn her what was coming—she’d seemed fairly unconcerned—and his gut had been churning the rest of the weekend. But when he’d found the paper on his porch this morning, the column had been only slightly enraging.

I’m officially declaring our esteemed Chief Lawson a workaholic. You may remember that last week he greeted our newest citizen, Molly Jennings, with unexpected enthusiasm. This week he’s become a one-man fire brigade, putting out fires at the Jennings home in the darkest night. It’s all on the up and up, though. He even used a siren to announce his late-night arrival.

As for Ms. Jennings, she’s presenting a bit of a mystery. Her very own brother has confirmed that she keeps her work life a secret…even from her family! Check back on Thursday for more details.

So no one had seen Molly half-naked in his truck—or no one had reported it to Miles—but that bastard had finally sniffed out the really important question. Who was Molly Jennings? No doubt he’d hang on like a pit bull for months, trying to shake out the truth. Ben just had to be sure he found out before Miles did.

There was nothing scandalous about the chief of police dating a single young woman. People might smile as they read the details, they might talk it over with their friends, but it wasn’t a scandal. Ben had seen a true scandal, and he knew the difference.

He’d seen people stop their errands to stare at his family. He’d watched friends’ parents snatch their children back before they could approach. He’d seen hateful joy on faces he’d known his whole life. And pity. And disgust. Hostility. Mocking laughter. Superiority. Delight. Sorrow.

Everything he’d ever known about himself had cracked and crumbled when his father had slept with a girl only one year older than Ben. Lucky for all of them she’d been eighteen at the time. Unluckily, she’d still been in high school. There had been the initial denials, then the small irrefutable details, then admissions and confessions and apologies. There’d been police investigations, emergency school board meetings, dismissal, serious money problems. The townspeople’s outrage, his mother’s horror and grief, Ben’s own confusion and anger. Tales of his father’s sex life. Divorce. Bankruptcy. And all of it reported in loving detail in Miles’s paper.

So, yes, Ben knew the difference between harmless gossip and true scandal. And true scandal would be Tumble Creek’s chief of police dating a prostitute or a porn star. Miles would love it. And Ben would be a pitiful echo of his father.

He could not date Molly Jennings until he found out the truth, even if he had spent the past days thinking incessantly that he should have taken her into the house and done things right.

“Happy Halloween, Fire Chief!” his second in command called as he walked by. He waved the paper as he passed, just in case Ben failed to get the joke.

“Kiss my ass, Frank,” Ben called back in a cheerful tone.

Brenda appeared almost immediately in his doorway, shooting a disapproving look at Frank’s back. “I’m sorry, Chief. You shouldn’t have to put up with this nonsense.”

“It’s fine, Brenda. Honestly.”

“Miles Webster should be shot.”

“He’s just doing his job.” The words stuck in his throat, but he got them out.

“Job,” Brenda spat, her face turning red with anger.

“Did you have a message for me?” Ben asked quickly.

The blood began to fade from her cheeks. She shook her head, setting her graying hair bouncing. “No, but you wanted me to remind you to check the mine gates before tonight.”

The chair squeaked as he leaned back with a sigh. “Right. I got to three of them yesterday, but I’ve still got to check the one up on the ridge. Everything looks fine so far.”

“Be careful if you’re going up there. You seem a little tired.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She held up a plastic bowl and stepped in to set it on his desk.

Ben couldn’t help but smile as the aroma of spices and tomatoes filled the small room. His stomach growled. “Chili?”

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction and her cheeks balled up into rosy globes when she smiled. She really did look just like her mother.

“Thanks, Brenda. This’ll get me through a long evening.”

“You work too hard,” she sighed, shaking her head as she left. “And try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

Ben didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because all he really wanted to do was get into trouble. Deep into it. As if he’d never learned anything from his father at all.



“LOVE’S GARAGE.”

“Lori, it’s Molly. Can I ask you a favor?”

“It doesn’t involve martinis does it? I think I’m still hungover.”

Molly laughed. “We need to get you out more often.”

“I…Really? All right, I’m in. Training, right? Practice makes perfect.”

“We’ll start tomorrow. But first…Listen, we’re supposed to get snow this weekend, and I need a favor. If I get stuck in the snow, will you pull me out and—here’s the important part—not tell Ben about it?”

“Well, I rarely report back to him anyway, so no problem. But if you’re that worried, why don’t you get a truck?”

“I had one all picked out in Denver, but they wouldn’t give me the deal I wanted. I’m just driving the Mini until I can wear them down. I think they’re close to breaking.”

“I think you’re close to breaking your ass in that tiny car.”

“Eh. I’ll be fine. And I’m having fun scaring the hell out of Ben in the meantime.”

They were both still laughing when Molly hung up, but her humor faded the longer she held her new cordless phone in her hand. She was going to have to call Cameron, because she was starting to get that feeling again. That feeling she’d had in Denver. Of being watched, of little things being out of place.

First, the noises on her walk down to The Bar, then afterwards, the front door had been unlocked. She’d thought she’d forgotten, but she’d woken the next morning with the thought still on her mind…I could’ve sworn I’d locked it. But maybe she hadn’t, or maybe it was hard to lock. She didn’t know this house yet, didn’t know its quirks. And that was a problem, too, all the shifts and sighs of the house as it cooled at night.

In her paranoia, she’d even let Mrs. Gibson’s latest nasty e-mail get to her. Maybe the old lady wasn’t so harmless. Maybe she was more like Kathy Bates in Misery than an eccentric grandma. But when she’d done a Google search for Mrs. Gibson’s name and address, all the hits had pointed directly to an eighty-year-old woman who lived in a Long Island nursing home and wrote frequent letters to the editor of the local newspaper. Mrs. Gibson wasn’t only outraged by erotic fiction; she was equally upset by liberal school boards and unfair sales taxes.

All of that pretty much eliminated her as a stalking suspect, which left only Cameron.

It occurred to Molly that she should consider getting a gun, just so she could sleep soundly. Or a dog. “Probably a dog,” she said to the phone.

When the doorbell rang, Molly jumped about a foot and her new phone arced through the air. It clattered against the countertop, slid two feet to the sink and dropped in with a hollow clunk. No harm done.

“Coming!” she yelled, grabbing her bowl of candy on the way. The kids here didn’t have many houses to visit, so she’d filled the bowl with full-size candy bars and packs of bubble gum and had received squeals of approval from all her visitors so far.

“Trick or treat!” the little girl chirped from behind her scarf as her mom offered a wave from the bottom of the steps.

Molly grinned down at the girl in her bulky parka and white sweatpants. A pink tutu stuck out between the layers and a sparkly crown perched on top of her knit cap.

“What a beautiful, beautiful princess you are!” she gushed as she dropped a big chocolate bar in the girl’s bag. The girl’s eyes bulged. Oh, yeah, Molly thought, I’m a rock star in this town. “All princesses deserve chocolate.”

The big eyes sparkled, warming Molly’s heart. She loved this small-town thing—

“I’m not a princess!”

Oops. That didn’t sound like delight. “Oh! Sorry, I’m…”

Big fat tears began to drop from her eyelashes to the scarf. Molly threw a desperate glance to the mother, but she just stood there cringing.

“I’m not a princess!” the girl screamed, waving a previously unnoticed wand. “I’m a fairy. I’m a fairy!”

The mom reached up. “Kaelin, let’s just go, hon—”

“I don’t wanna wear my stupid coat. No one can see my w-w-wings!” She crumpled into a little sobbing mound of down and waterproof nylon. “I told you no one would see my wings!”





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