Borrowing Trouble

STEALING A KISS

“I bought locks for all your windows and dead bolts for your doors. The security in this place stinks. So as a precaution, I'd like to install them tomorrow.”

“Brady, that was very thoughtful of you,” Sloane said, “but I'm perfectly adept at taking care of myself.”

“I have no doubt about that. But sometimes a man likes to feel useful. Humor me, would you?”

“Since I wouldn't want to put a crimp in your manhood”—she tossed him a wicked smile—“then go ahead and get your tools out and do what you need to do.”

“Yeah?” Brady leaned over to kiss her. Just something quick and sweet in case he'd misunderstood.

But when she opened her mouth for him and slipped her arms around his neck, he went all in.

It was a supremely bad idea, but he couldn't help himself . . .

Books by Stacy Finz

 

 

GOING HOME

 

FINDING HOPE

 

SECOND CHANCES

 

STARTING OVER

 

GETTING LUCKY

 

BORROWING TROUBLE

 

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

B
ORROWING
T
ROUBLE A NUGGET ROMANCE

STACY FINZ

LYRICAL SHINE
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thanks to fire captain John Darmanin for his fire knowledge. Any mistakes, technical or otherwise, are mine.

Thanks to Kairee Krause for coming up with “Gold Country” for Tater's band name.

Thanks to my beta readers: Jaxon Van Derbeken, Wendy Miller, and, as always, my family.

And to everyone who made this book happen: My agent, Melissa Jeglinski of the Knight Agency, editor John Scognamiglio, production editor Rebecca Cremonese, and all the other folks at Kensington Publishing who worked tirelessly on the entire series. Thank you.

S
loane McBride didn't know what to make of Chief Shepard. He was young for the top cop of a police department—somewhere in his thirties if she had to guess. Good-looking and cocky. Not a good mixture for a boss, in her experience.

The good-looking ones tended to have roaming hands and the cocky ones tended to be spineless.

Of course she'd been jaded by her experience at LAPD. Not by the work. She'd loved being a homicide investigator in the gritty city. Her father and brothers liked to tease her that Los Angeles—filled with palm trees, swimming pools, and movie stars—was amateur night compared to the South Side of Chicago. But she'd seen the devil in the City of Angels.

This place, Nugget, was nothing like it. Serene as the surrounding Sierra Nevada mountains. The place even had one of those old-time burger drive-throughs, and the citizens actually knew their neighbors. It was the epitome of Small Town USA. Although a few months ago there'd been a murder and a drug bust that rivaled some of the gangland slayings down South. So maybe she could do good work here.

“We're a team.” The chief continued spewing platitudes about the department, trying to sell her on the job. She knew her former LAPD colleague, Jake Stryker, had told Rhys Shepard about her difficulties in Los Angeles. The chief had offered her the job anyway. “We've got each other's backs here.”

Yeah, yeah. That's the way it was supposed to be at LAPD
.
What a joke
.

The dispatcher—Sloane thought her name was Connie—lightly tapped on the glass door, then barged in. “Maddy is on the phone. She said you're not answering your cell.”

The chief immediately picked up his line. “Everything okay? . . . Sure, sugar, that'll work. But I'm in the middle of an interview right now. Can I call you back?” He smiled over something she said and hung up. “Sorry about that. My wife.”

Connie still loitered in the chief's office, checking Sloane over. “You taking the job? It would be good to get some estrogen in this place.”

The chief shot the dispatcher a look.

“What? I'm just saying.” The dispatcher turned to Sloane. “When you're done in here come find me. I'll give you the real skinny.”

After Connie left, shutting the door behind her, Chief Shepard apologized. “We're a little loose around here. But we're a good department. Before I came back from Houston, the town contracted with the Plumas County sheriff out of Quincy. That's more than a half hour away. Folks here are real appreciative to have us.”

He didn't have to push so hard. So far, this was Sloane's best option since the larger departments around the state wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. The good-old-boys' network at LAPD had made sure of that. But here she had Jake advocating for her, and if she had to guess, Nugget PD was hard up for officer candidates. The rural railroad town, four hours northeast of San Francisco, was way off the beaten path. Too small a department to attract ambitious, experienced officers. It wouldn't have appealed to Sloane if she didn't need the job so badly.

At least it was a pretty place—lots of trees, rivers, and lakes—and since she'd originally come from Chicago, the cold and snow didn't scare her. She'd make the best of it until her situation changed.

“How is the rental market around here?” she asked.

Chief Shepard lifted his shoulders. “Not the best, I'm afraid. A lot of rental cabins that aren't really fit for year-round living. There are lots of homes for sale in Sierra Heights, our only gated community. But they'll run you close to a mil. Griffin Parks, the seller, might be willing to rent you one, but we're talking big bucks. I own a duplex on Donner Road. One of the apartments is vacant. I don't know how you'd feel about me being your boss and your landlord. But it's cheap and clean. I'll give you the key and directions. You could drive up and have a look at it. If you're not interested, you could swing by Sierra Heights. See if you can make a deal.”

A half hour later she chugged up a craggy road in her Rav4. Good thing it was four-wheel drive. Although people she'd talked to said the winter so far had been mild, the place typically got sixty inches of snow a year. And it was only January, after all.

She hadn't wanted to offend Chief Shepard, so she'd agreed to look at his duplex. But after what she'd gone through in LA, Sloane didn't want her private life overlapping with her professional one. She'd just make an excuse why the apartment wouldn't work and try to find something else.

At the top of the hill she nosed down the driveway, parked on a well-maintained pad next to an old van, and got out to take a look around. The duplex was nothing fancy from the outside, just a single-level rectangular box made of wood shingles with two apartment doors and a nice front porch. On one side sat a pine-log rocking chair and a matching swing. Cozy. The view included downtown Nugget, which up close wasn't much, but from this height looked like a Christmas card with the snowy Sierra mountain range looming in the background. She had to admit that it was way more picturesque than the glimpse of the bougainvillea-covered cinder-block wall she got from her Echo Park apartment window. Lots of pine trees and a river on the other side of the railroad tracks.

In her jacket pocket she found the key and climbed the porch stairs. One of the doors creaked open and a man came outside.

“You Sloane McBride?”

She took a step back. He had startled her for a second.

“Rhys said you were coming over to look at the place.” He stifled a yawn, and from his smooshed hair she got the impression that he'd been taking a nap.

“I'm Sloane. You must be Brady.” The chief had mentioned the tenant, something about him being a chef at the chief's wife's hotel, where Sloane was staying. Given that he wore a pair of baggy black-and-white striped pants and a chef's jacket, Sloane thought this had to be him.

“You don't smoke, do you?” he asked. “The duplex shares the same ventilation system.”

She blinked up at him. “No.” And she wasn't taking the place, so it didn't matter.

“Good. I've got to get back to work.” He headed to the van and opened the door.

“Hang on a sec,” she called and jogged over to him. “Have you lived in Nugget long?”

“Since summer. Why?”

He had about six inches on her, so she had to look up. “I'm just trying to get a feel for the place.”

He gazed at his watch. “I've got about fifteen minutes. What do you want to know?”

She shrugged. “Anything you can tell me.”

He smiled and she noticed he was nice-looking. Really nice-looking. Brown hair, hazel eyes, and a day's worth of stubble on his chin. She hadn't missed his Southern accent either. She was a sucker for a Southern accent. Between him and the chief, she had to wonder what the rest of the guys in Nugget looked like.

“Good people,” he said. “But gossipy as all get out. Great skiing a half hour from here in Glory Junction. If you like to hike, there's a ton of trails. Great fishing and hunting too. Lucky Rodriguez will hook you up with a horse over at his cowboy camp if you like to ride. It's a great way to see the countryside.” He nudged his square jaw at her. “What are you into?”

“I like to run.” And until she'd gotten promoted to the robbery-homicide division, she'd liked to dance. Salsa. “Go to the gym.”

“No gym here. But there's a yoga studio on the square. And you can run anywhere. It's safe as long as you don't mess with the wildlife. A couple of the women in town organize bowling parties over at the Ponderosa. It's probably slower paced than what you're used to, but it's a welcoming little town. So, you taking the job?”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure I am.”

“LAPD, huh?”

“Uh-huh. How'd you know?”

He chuckled. “Everyone here knows everything about everybody. What they don't know, they make up.”

She waited for him to ask her why she'd left the department, but he didn't. Maybe the whole town knew already.

“I've got a wine and cheese service in thirty minutes. You renting the place?” He cocked his head at the apartment next to his.

“I haven't looked inside yet.” She wasn't about to tell him the truth. “I was hoping for something a little closer to town.”

“You can walk from here,” he said, and started getting into his van. “I'm over at the Lumber Baron Inn if you have any more questions.”

She waved goodbye, then let herself inside the apartment to have a look around. It wasn't much, but it was roomier than her LA place. It had a decent-sized living room and her queen-size bed would easily fit in the bedroom. The bathroom was right off the kitchen. She assumed the layout was what people called a railroad apartment, because it resembled a passenger car on a train. It made sense, given that this was a railroad town. The chief hadn't been lying when he'd said the place was clean. More like spotless.

After Donner Road she headed to the subdivision called Sierra Heights. For a gated community, the security sucked. She got right past the empty guard kiosk and zipped around, looking at the mammoth houses, their elaborate decks and giant yards. The chief had been correct in assuming that this place was too rich for her blood. Gorgeous, though. If she had the money, she'd live here.

On Main Street she found a real estate office and popped inside. A woman named Carol said she had a couple of rentals Sloane could look at, but her hopes deflated after the house tour. The first stunk like a dog kennel and gave Sloane the creeps. Lots of chain-link fence and gaudy statuary in the yard, including one of those boy-peeing fountains. The second was a cabin that hadn't been winterized. The third would've been perfect. It was right in town with a sweet little rose-garden backyard, but it was also for sale. The owner would only rent it on the condition that it be made available for showings. No go. Not only didn't Sloane want the inconvenience, but she didn't want to have to move again in a few months.

Disappointed, she drove back to the Lumber Baron. If only she'd found an apartment or a house half as comfortable as her room at the inn. The bed and breakfast was pretty spectacular with its period architecture and elegant furnishings. Sloane hadn't realized that the chief's wife owned the place until he'd mentioned it during their interview. Last night, when she'd gotten in, there was only the young guy, Andy, manning the desk. And this morning she'd rushed out to meet Jake for breakfast at the Ponderosa, the kooky Western restaurant /bar/bowling alley across from the inn on the town square.

When she walked in the lobby she nearly collided with Brady, who looked to be on his way out. He had changed into jeans and a long-sleeved waffle-knit shirt—and he was seriously ripped. Not like a gym rat, but like a guy who spent a lot of time outdoors. Mile-wide chest, big pecs, flat stomach, and muscular arms.

“You staying here?” he asked by way of a greeting.

“Yeah. I checked in last night. Is that hamburger place any good? I was thinking of grabbing something before it closes and bringing it up to my room.”

“It's good,” he said. “Or if you want to be around people, you can go to the Ponderosa for happy hour. The food's good there too.”

She wondered where he was off to since other than bowling there didn't seem to be anything to do. Unless he was headed to the Ponderosa's happy hour or to meet a girlfriend.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Chicken-fried steak and eggs for breakfast,” he said, grabbing a down jacket from a closet behind the check-in counter and slinging it over his shoulder. “Catch you later.”

“You must be Sloane.” A dead ringer for the beautiful woman in the wedding picture on the chief's desk came into the lobby. “I'm Maddy, Rhys's wife.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You taking the job?”

Whoa, people around here get right to the point
. “I'm gonna sleep on it, but probably . . . yeah.”

Before she knew what was happening Maddy enveloped her in a hug. “You don't know how happy that makes me.” Sloane didn't usually get this kind of reception from the wives of other cops. “It'll just be nice to have a fourth person on deck, you know what I mean?”

Yeah, they need someone to work graveyard and holidays
. “Sure,” she said, and tried to pry herself loose from Maddy's embrace. She was stronger than she looked.

“Rhys said you might be taking the apartment on Donner Road. That used to be my apartment. It's where Rhys and I fell in love.”

“Really?” A little TMI, but sweet just the same. For whatever reason, it made her feel better about Shepard. She didn't know why he'd left such a bad taste in her mouth in the first place. The chief had seemed completely professional—even decent.

Then again, they all did until you broke the code of silence. That's when the people who you thought had your back left you to fend for yourself while the world blew up.

“It's a great apartment,” Sloane said. “Conveniently located, clean, spacious. But to be completely honest, I feel a little weird about having my boss as a landlord.”

Maddy nodded. “Rhys feels weird about it too. We decided that if you take the apartment we'd have my brother, Nate, act as the go-between. Nate and I co-own the Lumber Baron.”

“How would that work?” Sloane asked, thinking that this might be a more comfortable solution.

“You would just have all your dealings concerning the apartment—rent, deposit, repairs—with Nate or my sister-in-law, Samantha. Rhys and I would stay out of the picture.”