Oregon Outback (10 page)

Her smile warmed. “I’m sorry it took an extreme situation for me to see things clearly. If you made a promise to my father, then you’d better keep it.”

“Are you sure? The condition was that I win your heart back.”

“I’ve never been surer of anything. You’ve always had my heart, Jonas. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Then I’m going to do this right.” Jonas dropped to one knee, tugging the ring from his pocket. He’d been prepared to lay it on the line, one way or the other—whether he stayed here or he went back to the bureau—today, this was happening.

He held the ring up for Darcy to see. She gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was your grandmother’s. Your father gave it to me. Maybe he had it with him at the hospital, planning to give it to you, but then I showed up. I guess he was showing his confidence that we would end up together. Darcy Nichols, will you marry me?”

“I’m flying, Jonas.” A tear streaked down her cheek. “Yes, oh yes.”

He’d waited oh-so-long for this moment. Finally …

S
heriff Sheridan Hall stood one aisle over in the local ranch and farm supply, hating herself for eavesdropping. She pretended to compare the brands of insecticide for killing ants, which she’d stopped in to buy, and listened to Carver Love make a fool out of himself, or out of her.

She couldn’t decide which.

“The way I see it, she could have gotten herself killed.” Though his voice took on a hint of concern, he didn’t deceive her for a second. He didn’t think a woman could handle the job.

“But aren’t you glad she was willing to put her life on the line for your brother when she faced-off with a Chicago mobster?” the other man asked.

Why was he interested in Carver’s opinion? Everyone knew the rancher was arrogant and stubborn as the day was arid in the high desert country. Still, the town respected him.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We don’t see many hardened criminals around here. My brother is a trained professional, a special agent. He can take care of himself.”

The rancher had nerve letting everyone know his opinion of her—at least his opinion of her serving as sheriff of Rimrock County.

But then that wasn’t against the law, or she’d have arrested him a long time ago.

She wanted to jump into the middle of that conversation and explain what really happened. There were two henchmen. Jonas Love was down after a battle with only one of them.

She’d paid her dues. Did a good job managing her deputies as they covered a large region. Because she was a woman, she’d worked three times as hard as any man to earn respect in her position.

The last thing she needed was an influential rancher undoing her work with a few well-placed words. From her perspective, his words were misplaced.

“But—”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s—”

“Can I help you with something, Sheriff?” Tom Harvey, the owner of the supply store, stood in the aisle, with a grin that connected his ears.

Not only had he announced her presence to everyone on this side of the store—his voice deep and bold—he’d just cut off Carver’s next words. Sheridan desperately wanted to hear them. It almost sounded as if he was going to pay her a compliment, but that was probably a stretch.

Aware the conversation on the other side of the aisle had stopped, Sheridan placed one of the boxes back on the shelf. “No thanks. I’ve got it figured out.”

Tom’s grin slipped. She knew the guy had a crush on her, something she refused to acknowledge. If he never asked her out then she wouldn’t have to turn him down.

“I’ll just be on my way.” She nodded.

Tom took the box from her. “I’ll ring you up.”

“Thanks.”

“Ladies first.” He motioned for her to walk ahead of him.

While she didn’t mind him being the gentleman, his actions magnified Carver’s opinion that she wasn’t fit to be sheriff. Bristling, she plastered a smile in place to hide her reaction and walked in front of Tom.

At the cash register, Tom rang up her purchase, and after she paid, he stuck the insecticide in a sack. Sheridan grabbed it, itching to be out of the store before she saw Carver.

“Sheriff.” Tom kept her from a quick escape. “Sheridan,” he said, turning personal. “There’s something I’ve been meaning …”

She tugged her cell from her pocket. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”

Sheridan stepped away from the counter just as Carver plunked down a fifty-pound bag of dog food.

Now was her chance to make her getaway. Though she hated that she’d cut Tom off, she couldn’t stand the thought of rejecting him. But she hadn’t given him any indication she returned his interest.

In the parking lot, she hurried to her vehicle. After she opened the door to the Yukon marked R
IMROCK
C
OUNTY
S
HERIFF
, she tossed the sack in, preparing to follow.

“Sheriff Hall,” Carver’s familiar voice called.

This time, her raised hackles might get the best of her. She should let the man know she wasn’t intimidated by him. Without hesitation she slipped into the vehicle and closed the door, but opened the window. “What can I do for you, Carver?”

He strode toward her, carrying the bag over his shoulder. A few feet away, he let the bag drop to his feet. At just over five nine, the eldest of four brothers wasn’t a tall man, but years working his father’s ranch that now belonged to him had produced a sturdy cowboy, muscle-bound in all the right places. His worn and form-fitting jeans and T-shirt, taut against his physique, didn’t leave much to the imagination. With his bronzed skin and dark hair, faded to wheat by the sun, the man had his share of good looks.

Despite her errant thoughts, she forced herself to stare at him, face him head-on. One bullheaded person to another.

Carver looked at her from behind dark sunglasses, so she couldn’t read his eyes. After a few seconds, he tugged them off and squinted. “I’m sorry.”

“’Bout what?” Sheridan slid her own sunglasses in place and started the ignition.

“What I said in there. You must have heard.” Carver’s piercing chestnut eyes held her in place.

If only she could shift into R
EVERSE
and press her foot hard against the accelerator. “That you don’t think I’m man enough to be sheriff isn’t news. After all, Rimrock County still has a few men who live in the Dark Ages.”

His chin jutting out, strong and sure, he slid his sunshades back in place.

“You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. There’s no love lost between us,” Sheridan said.

If she’d wanted to act like she’d been unaffected by his words, she’d failed. To prevent herself from saying more, she nodded and backed out.

In the rearview mirror, she watched him stalk to his truck and lay the dog food in the truck bed.

At one time in her life, Sheridan had been enamored with the man.

When he smiled, the way his cheeks dimpled, creases forming around his chestnut eyes, she’d have thought her heart would stop, but that was years ago.

To be fair, she’d been young then. Impressionable. Some had wondered why Carver had yet to marry at thirty-five. But Sheridan knew. He was a stubborn mule of a man. His opinion was the only one that counted.

But at thirty-two and unmarried herself, she could hardly be his judge.

If only Carver showed her a little respect, she might fancy herself thinking about him as more than an egotistical rancher.

Which was exactly why she had to keep her distance.

Carver maneuvered out of the parking lot. Turning right—the opposite direction from where the sheriff had headed—he steered toward the Circle L Ranch, just east of Ridgeview, near Carnegie.

He slowed up. The fifteen-mile drive out of town wouldn’t give him enough time to bridle his annoyance with himself if he drove the speed limit.

Eventually someone would grouse. He didn’t have to wait long. A truck grill filled his rearview mirror. He chuckled, unwilling to bend to the pressure, wondering how long it would take the driver to pass him.

Sure enough, the obnoxious driver honked then swerved around Carver’s dually—not an easy task—flinging hand signals as he did. Though he wanted to respond in kind, Carver stared straight ahead, acting like he didn’t care—much like the sheriff had done to him in the parking lot.

The man wasn’t from around here, or he would have avoided taking issue with Carver Love. He knew he thought too highly of himself. What kind of moron would speak so candidly in a public place where he could be overheard? An opinionated, mule-headed moron like himself, that’s who.

Wouldn’t be the first time his perspective had gotten him into trouble. But he was equally annoyed with Sheridan for her lack of backbone. The usually hard-hitting sheriff hadn’t said a word to him. She should have challenged him on what he’d said. Either she didn’t care, or she wanted to hide her animosity toward him.

No. That wasn’t it either.

To use her words,
There’s no love lost between us
. She hadn’t gone out of her way to conceal her hostility.

Hanging one elbow out the window, Carver ran his hand over his face and sighed. He was a cattle rancher just like his daddy, and his granddaddy before that. He was sturdy and tough. Had to be. The high desert was harsh land. Carver had to be harsh in turn.

There was only one thing more difficult than managing a cattle ranch in the arid country of south central Oregon. Tempering the soft spot he had for the fine-looking Sheriff Sheridan Hall.

With her antagonism toward him, he’d rather chew nails than have her find out how he felt. He certainly wasn’t her only admirer.

Poor Tom. Didn’t appear the guy would ever get his chance with the thorny sheriff.

Brown-and-white flashed in Carver’s peripheral vision.

He slammed the brakes, jerking the wheel. A steer hit the grill then lumbered away like nothing happened. Carver’s truck veered into the ditch, ramming an old fence post. He sat there, waiting until his pounding heart slowed. At least the steer had survived, though not unscathed.

If only Carver could say the same. Hank Hogan owned a spread nearby. Carver would let him know about the steer. Had to be his.

He swung the door open and climbed out to assess the damage. Dog food covered the road. Great. That was what he got for thinking about Sheriff Hall. He knew never to brake and swerve.

Carver marched around his truck where it joined with the post and frowned. The damage would take Bobby a week or more to fix and would cost Carver a pretty penny. He hated using his insurance for the little jobs.

If he hadn’t been driving so slowly, things could have been much worse. A full-on impact could have killed the steer, and even Carver. He yanked his cell from the truck cab and called Bobby. Carver stood in the road and shook his head at the mess he’d made as he explained the situation to Bobby, who was on his way with a wrecker.

And just up the road …

Oh no
.

The siren blipped, lights flashed once. The sheriff steered her Yukon to the side of the road. She stepped out, looking official.

“You all right, Carver?” Animosity aside, Sheridan sounded like she cared this time.

“I’ll live, and the steer that hit me will live, I think. But I’ve called a tow for the truck.”

She crossed her arms and angled her head like she planned to challenge his story. “You say a steer hit you?”

He could have sworn she almost grinned. “Came right across the road straight at me.”

Pulling her sunshades off, she frowned, stepping closer. Her emerald eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Her hat covered long, dark hair held back by a rubber band. While the dull brown Rimrock County sheriff’s uniform was snug against her slim figure, it didn’t do her justice. He’d seen her in a little black dress once, years ago. What he wouldn’t give to see her like that again—a beautiful, tender, and pliable woman. Instead, her job had made her determined and unbending.

Just like him.

Carver admitted that some part of him admired her for her unwavering attitude. Maybe she was the only woman in the world who could handle him. He grinned at the thought.

She gave him a funny look. He was glad she had no clue what he’d been thinking.

“You’re hurt.” She lifted his hair then touched his forehead, but jerked her hand back. Her touch sent a stampede of heat charging all the way to his toes.

“You hit your head. I’ll run you to the ER.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass.”

“Don’t worry. You’re in good hands with me. I’m perfectly capable of driving you to the hospital.” Hands on her hips, she scrutinized him. “If I can handle a mobster from Chicago, I can handle you.”

Bobby’s wrecker rumbled as he backed up to Carver’s truck.

“Sheriff, I’ve already apologized. I don’t have time for a visit to the ER. But I’d appreciate a ride to the ranch.”

Bobby jumped out of the wrecker and attached the tow to Carver’s truck. “Oh, I can drive you. We’ll drop your truck off and be on our way. It’s no problem. The sheriff probably has sheriffin’ to do.”

Thanks a lot, Bobby
. “I appreciate your help.” Carver inhaled and waited for her reply.