Saving the Sheriff: A Three River Ranch Novella (Entangled Bliss) (8 page)

Okay, so they knew each other a bit.

And they’d kissed. A few times. Really nice, toe-curling kisses.

But they weren’t lovers.

“No TV, no phone. Nothing to do but stay warm.” Des examined her fingernails casually but there was mischief in her tone.

“That’s not—” began Frankie. But what had been a mere flood of conversation became a tidal wave.

“Don’t bother,” said Bliss. “I knew something was up the second I stepped inside. It better not be a fling. We don’t take kindly to our people being toyed with.”

“Like you just toyed with me?” Frankie was shocked to actually be able to finish a sentence.

Bliss chuckled, sending her helmet of curls bobbing. “We had you going, didn’t we?” Her smile faded. “Red plays his cards close to his chest, but nobody hides from Rory Granger, queen of this here Three River kingdom. One conversation and Rory knew he was suffering, a casualty of love gone wrong. She told us to look out for our new sheriff. And look what happens, you get there before us! Our Red will give you a fight, Frankie. He’s like one of Carson’s mustangs, looking at every outstretched hand with a jaundiced eye, determined he’ll never be caught again, certain that his only chance at survival is to stay huddled on the sidelines.”

The image squeezed Frankie’s heart.

“But when we came in, Frankie-girl,” Bliss went on, “he stepped up like we were a pack of coyotes trying to cut out a wounded filly.”

“I’ve never seen him closer than arm’s length to anyone, before you.” Des examined Frankie. “You make a cute couple. What’s the big deal? Are you married? Is he married?”

On and on the two women probed, gently, kindly, but relentlessly. When Red and Zach returned, Frankie flew to the door, desperate for backup.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, taking Red’s coat and hanging it up. “With the animals, I mean?”

Had he told Zach the truth?

He met her eyes for a fleeting moment and during that time her heart sank.

“It’s all fine.”

“Let’s get back,” said Zach, waving Des over. “You’re all set here, Bliss? Got your stuff?”

“I’m not staying here
now
!” She snorted and followed Des. “I gave them the food basket and as much advice as I think this little gal can handle. I’ll be heading back to Twinridge with you.”

“I thought you wanted to get the place ready for Carson and Rory.” Zach looked confused.

“No rush,” said Bliss with a smile. “No rush at all.”

Des gave Zach a meaningful glance. “We’ll fill you in when we get back.”

Red slanted Frankie a long, slow look and her cheeks flamed. Again.

“It’s fine if you stay, Bliss,” she protested.

Red, however, kept silent, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Zach let Des lean on him while she put on her boots. “Anything happens, you two get on a machine and follow our tracks back to Twinridge, got it?”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll be just dandy,” said Bliss, before Des pushed her out the door.

As the roar of the snowmobiles faded away, Red turned to Frankie. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing!” Frankie put her face in her hands. “I barely even got a word in edgewise, I swear, Red!” She lifted her face. He was gazing at her with an intensity that struck right around her solar plexus and sent vibrations running in every direction. Bliss had jumped straight to a conclusion that, while not
yet
fully true, was racing hell-for-leather in that direction. At least, it was for Frankie. If the heat in his eyes meant anything, it was for Red, too. But which one of them would blink first and admit it?

She wanted to look away, or laugh at him, or minimize the growing attraction between them. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t deny it, any more than she could break the eye contact.

But Red could.

“Zach saw the caribou,” he said, finally. “He recognized what they are, Frankie, and he knows they don’t belong here.”

The caribou. The real secret. Des and Bliss hadn’t even been close.

She sat down on the couch with a graceless thump. “Does he…did you tell him…?”

“He hasn’t seen the rig and there’s no reason for him to think you’re involved.” Red paced in front of the fire, warming his hands. “But he wants to get his trailer here ASAP. The main roads are clear apparently. So it’s just the yard and driveway. He’ll be back tomorrow with his snowplow.”

Frankie leaned back, thinking hard, a riot of emotions running through her. Relief that the animals would get returned to their proper home. Fear that her actions would be discovered, but worse, that Red’s involvement might jeopardize his career.

“The only way to keep you out of it,” continued Red, “is to get Conrad’s truck and trailer back home before anyone connects the dots.”

“But Red, you can’t risk being mixed up in this! It’s your career we’re talking about.”

“Did you steal the truck?”

His eyes were fathoms deep, twin shafts in a gold mine calling, beckoning her to explore.

“It’s complicated—” she began. He silenced her with a finger to her lips, the touch as fleeting as a spark.

“Did you steal the caribou?”

“No! At least—”

“Hey.” His finger slipped to her jaw, then her collarbone. He lifted a strand of hair and sighed. “Have you done anything wrong here?”

The spark from his fingertip turned to a line of fire that sent rational thought flying out of her head. She struggled to concentrate on his words.

“No,” she whispered.

He smiled. “So we have no real problem, do we?”

“You…you believe me?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Bending the law is different from breaking, my lovely, strategically-challenged Francesca. I’m willing to consider that for the greater good. But that means we’ve got a Herculean task in front of us for today. You up for some shoveling?”

Red held out his hand and pulled her to her feet, where she wobbled, close enough to warm her skin with his breath.

“There’s a million miles of driveway,” she said, faintly. He held her close, his hands on her upper arms, his feet on either side of hers.

He’d called her
lovely
.

The sheriff had bent the rules. For
her
.

“Not quite,” he said, smiling. “Once we get the shed clear so I can pull out the tractor, it’ll go quick. Once that rig gets where it’s supposed to be, there’s nothing for either of us to worry about. How does that sound?”

He tipped her chin up then and put one light kiss on her nose. Despite the look in his eyes, despite the touch of their bodies, it was not the touch of a lover. Her throat tightened and grew thick at the sweetness of the gesture.

Was it her imagination or did she sense sadness in that soft kiss?

“Sounds great,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.

She should be kicking up her heels, hooting and shouting. This was exactly the solution she’d been hoping for. And she was thrilled. She was.

But once Conrad Toole’s rig was back where it belonged, and she had her little car out of the incriminating location, she had no reason to return to Three River Ranch. The caribou would be relocated and who better to do it than these good people? With the snow cleared, she could head on back to her old pre-Sheriff LeClair life, just pick up where she left off. With a clear conscience, an exciting adventure to remember—a chapter in her life that she could share with no one but him.

A chapter that wasn’t finished, at least, not for her.

Frankie cleared her throat, willing away the tears. She should be happy! She could go home, get back to normal.

“Sounds perfect,” she said. This time, her voice was steady.

Chapter Eight

Frankie straightened up, every muscle in her back creaking and complaining. Shading her eyes with her free hand, she leaned on her shovel and looked to the tractor at the end of the yard where Red was plowing the last few feet that might allow them out.

Might
being
the operative word.

The drifts had that wind-packed resilience that made removal more like chopping glaciers than shoveling snow. And all she’d done was clear around Red’s pickup.

Red cut the tractor engine and silence descended onto the frozen landscape. The earlier howling winds had retreated, but even lower temperatures accompanied the brief, brittle sunshine, lending an ominous sense of foreboding to their enterprise.

“Ready for step two?” he asked. His cheeks were ruddy and rough and his words slurred through lips numb with cold. Frankie felt a rush of gratitude.

“You bet.”

They’d pull Conrad’s rig out of the ditch and she’d drive off, watching him in her rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller.

Unlike when she arrived, she was fully aware of the risks she’d taken in coming out here in this weather, alone, in an unfamiliar vehicle, on unfamiliar roads, hauling a load of caribou.

She’d still be alone, as usual. But at least this time, the trailer would be empty.

Empty. Alone.
The words echoed in her mind. She shook her head, but it didn’t help.

“Let’s warm up first,” he said, walking past her to the house.

Red went straight to the fireplace, heedless of his boots, and stripped off his hat and gloves, groaning with pleasure. “I’ve got icicles instead of fingers,” he said, flexing them.

“No one wants that,” said Frankie, unable to look away from his hands, wanting to take them between hers and warm them against her skin.

If all went as planned, this day would end with her chugging back to Kalispell, reducing Three River Ranch and Red and the caribou to a sparkling episode in an otherwise dull, lonely Christmas.

Red’s eyes met hers but he misinterpreted her expression. “Don’t worry. I can get the tractor down to the truck and trailer now. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but we should be able to haul you out.”

At which point they’d shake hands and that would be that. Or maybe they’d kiss. They probably should kiss. It would be weird to go back to shaking hands after the kisses they’d shared.

Her gaze drifted to his lips. She imagined them warming beneath hers, coming to life, full and mobile…

Stop thinking about kissing!

They’d shake hands. They’d had a brief and somewhat dramatic interaction that had inspired responses that she’d never have felt under ordinary circumstances. Handshaking was definitely the way to go.

But how did one shake the hand of a man who’d had his tongue in your mouth?

Politely, and a bit abruptly, like a business partner? Eagerly, with two hands, like a politician?

Why not put on a glove and wave like the Queen, while you’re at it!

She should be happy about escaping what could have been a deadly event, she knew she should be. But all she could think about was the moment that she and Red would say good-bye.

Handshake, kiss or white-gloved wave, it would mark the end of their relationship.

“That’ll be a relief,” she said, too heartily. “I should gather my things, then. Get back in my own clothes. Give the dog a good-bye kiss.”

Seriously. Enough with the kissing.

Maybe she should stay one more night. Better that than drive tired.

Right.
Safety
was her main concern.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Red. “It might be best to leave in the morning, anyway.”

Was he reading her mind?

Red narrowed his eyes, a smile teasing his lips. “This isn’t the end for you, Francesca. Not by a long shot. You’ve got the law watching you now.”

The image of his long arms, roped with muscles, firelight dancing over his skin, sprang into her mind. Lightness billowed up, pushing away her dark thoughts.

“What about the greater good and all? You deciding I’m innocent.”

“I never said you were innocent.” He looked her up and down slowly, as if he could see straight through the bulky layers. “I just said I wasn’t hauling you in for vehicle theft or violating the Fish and Wildlife Act.”

The heat that rushed through her had nothing to do with the fire. His smoky voice promised way, way more than kisses, she thought. Definitely not how you’d talk to a business partner or a politician. Or the Queen.

“So…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “What am I guilty of then?”

He pulled his gloves back on. “First things first. We have to get that rig out now. We’re wasting daylight.”

Their eyes met and for an endless moment, they held. He looked…vaguely bewildered, she thought. Uncertain. Maybe a little irritated. Would he miss her when she was gone? Would he miss her the way she’d miss him?

“Each second counts,” she added, as they left the house. “We better make the most of every last one.”

…

It wasn’t only daylight he was wasting, thought Red as they reentered the frozen world. It was minutes and hours. Opportunity. His life. Something had happened since he’d met Frankie.

“Hop on,” he said, gesturing to the tractor.

She looked at the small seat behind the steering wheel. “Forget it. I’m not driving that thing.”

He laughed. “Damn straight you’re not. But you’re not walking down alone. And since there’s no passenger seat you’re riding with me.” He climbed up, straddled the seat and slapped his thigh. “When we first met, you were an elf driving a load of Christmas reindeer in a stolen truck, on unfamiliar roads, during a blizzard. You’re trying to say
this
is beyond your comfort zone?”

She colored but her lips twitched. “Ignorance is bliss, Sheriff. I’m wiser now. Happy?”

She clambered up over the frigid steel and slid between his legs, barely perching on the molded metal seat. He put one arm around her and pulled her closer, settling them for what would be a bumpy ride. She clutched his leg to brace herself.

Oh yeah, he was happy.

He laughed again and pulled her tight. He was laughing a lot these days, he realized.

“We don’t exactly fit,” she muttered, squirming against him.

His grin faded. He swallowed. Hard. If he got any happier, he’d have trouble driving. “We fit just fine.”

We fit perfectly.

The thought surprised him but he realized it was true. Not only did they fit, but in the brief time he’d known Frankie, her energy, her optimism and determination had breathed life into the cold, dead ashes inside him, warming a spark he’d forgotten was there.

He tightened his legs around her.

“Ready?”

She turned her head and the movement brought their lips close enough to touch.

“Ready,” she answered.

Before he could think, he took the risk and made it happen, one quick soft touch, lingering just long enough to warm him through and through. Frankie caught her breath, but she didn’t pull away or turn her head, not until he released her.

“Mm.” Her little sigh made him want to do it again, immediately, inside by the fire. “For luck?”

“If you say so,” he answered, feeling as if his chest could burst wide open at any moment, letting music, Christmas carols even, pour out of him. He turned the key. The tractor rumbled to life and he clenched his thighs to keep her small body secure. “Hang on.”

She whooped and hollered the whole way down, grabbing him, slipping away, then back, again and again. He joined her, yelling and laughing until his throat was sore. Red was sorry when the bumpy, jolting ride to the corral was over and it was time for Frankie to jump down. Cold rushed in where her body had snuggled against his. Letting the tractor idle, he stepped off as well.

While Frankie chopped away the bigger drifts from the wheels of Conrad’s truck, Red attached the towrope. He’d never seen a woman work as hard as she did. She didn’t wait to be rescued; she was the
rescuer
. When something needed doing, she did it. No self-pity, no dissolving in a pool of tears or blame. No heavily laden silences where he was supposed to guess what he did wrong and how she expected him to fix it.

He gave a last tug on the rope.

“If this doesn’t work we’ll have some explaining to do when Zach shows up tomorrow,” she said with a grin, “Maybe you’ll have to come clean and haul me off to jail.”

Jail sounded like a good option at the moment, if it kept her nearby.

“I hope you brought your handcuffs,” she added. “I won’t go quietly.”

“I might use them anyway, for fun,” he answered, remembering the sensation of her warm lips against his.

“You talk big, Sheriff,” she said with a laugh, “but you don’t scare me.”

Funny, fearless Frankie. He was going to miss her. He forced his mind back to business.

“Okay, you drive while I pull,” he instructed. “Think you can manage that?”

Within minutes, the rig was back on level ground. Frankie leaped out, letting the truck door bounce back on itself.

“We did it! We did it! Thank you, Red.” She grabbed him and smacked a kiss onto his cheek.

His cheek. A cheek kiss. Like you’d give a friendly uncle.

She stepped back, awkwardness settling over her all of a sudden. “I guess this is it then.”

Was that sadness he saw? Regret? Would she miss him, too?

“Not so fast, missy. I told you, this isn’t over until I say it is.”

A thought occurred to him suddenly, like a life preserver.

“No way I’m letting you drive this rig back all by your lonesome. You’ll end up in another ditch somewhere and that’ll be no end of inconvenient for me.”

“What do you mean? Are you coming with me?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. We leave first thing in the morning.”

And to his great delight, she leaped up against him and this time, the kiss landed where it was supposed to.

…

Kissing, kissing, and more kissing.

Ever since they’d gotten Conrad’s rig out of the snow, there’d been a lightness between her and Red, as if they’d both realized that this was their last chance to explore this unnamed thing between them that they were dancing around. They had another snowball fight in the dark, Mistral barking and leaping between them. Inside, Red stoked the fire while she heated yet another meal on the camp stove.

And now they sat in front of the fire, his arm slung casually over her shoulders, her back leaning against his warm chest. It shouldn’t feel so easy, given the short time they’d known each other. But Frankie admitted to herself that, as the clock wound down to their good-byes, she’d allowed a desperate now-or-never intimacy to develop.

There’d been more kissing, too.

Just the thought had her turning her face up to his. He smiled as their lips met and suddenly she knew that this was it. The end of their seclusion was in sight. She’d leave. He’d leave. In opposite directions.

Would he look back? Would she?

She arched into him, reaching deeper, further, unable to get enough. There was no reason to pretend she didn’t want this. If she’d never see him again, she had to store up every kiss, every sigh, every stroke, enough to get her through a lifetime without him.

Red gripped her hips and lifted her onto his lap. The movement brought her closer to where she wanted to be, but not close enough. His hands splayed across her ribs, his thumbs grazing the underside of her aching breasts. She ground herself against him, grateful to feel an answering urgency.

“You sure about this?” Red’s eyes were liquid gold. His fingers, now caressing the sensitive skin at her waist, trembled.

“I’m sure.”

Gently, he slid her thin undershirt off. She shivered as goose bumps rippled across her skin.

“No fair.” Her voice hitched. She grabbed his shirt, but before she could do more, he hauled it over his head himself, swearing when the sleeve caught.

“Better?” he asked, pulling her against his body.

“Much.”

Much, much better
, she thought later, as they held each other, skin to skin, while their blood cooled.

Best.