Fated (2 page)

“Thanks for your purchase,
Patricia. Hope to see you soon.”

Mrs. L clutched the box to her bony
chest and smiled, apparently not fazed by Candy’s thinly veiled dismissal. The
little girl in her whimpered and asked for more information about her mother,
but she bade her to be quiet. It hurt, and she wasn’t going to allow herself to
experience any additional negative emotions. Candy Grant was a good time girl,
happy-go-lucky, footloose and fancy free. All that jazz.

“If you’d like to talk about your
mother, dear, give me a call. Some of my friends and their children knew her
better than I, and they’d be happy to chat.”

Lungs constricting, remembering how
her daddy reacted to anybody even speaking her mom’s name in his presence,
Candy had to force a smile in return. “Thank you.”

With a wave, Mrs. L departed, the
little bell above the door tinkling to signal her exit.

The other women soon left, one with
a gossamer scrap of lace masquerading as a nightgown, and the other with a
discreetly boxed vibrator, misleadingly labeled
personal massager
. Barrister was conservative, although Candy had
faith in the upcoming generation. Most of her coevals had
hightailed
it out of town, with the exception of those who found employment around here,
several in her dad’s company.

Not that she particularly enjoyed
the company of her peers, aside from Sinclair. Lord, she’d missed her friend.
Once again the image of the Sheriff infiltrated her consciousness, probably
summoned by the reminder of high school. She banished it, resolutely,
extinguishing that tiny flame sparking to life in her belly.

Crossing to the door, she flipped
the sign to signal her establishment being closed, and threw the deadbolt.
Nothing stirred out on the sidewalk or the street, and she figured no one else
would be shopping at Sweet ’n Sassy this late in the day. Not that it mattered.
Her need for some kind of social outlet was climbing and any hopeful customer
would have to come back on Monday.

Hurrying into the back, part stock
room, part change room, she stripped the plastic from the outfit hanging on the
rack. The camisole was a beautifully crafted piece of silk and lace, a cleverly
constructed shelf bra concealed behind the fabric. It was black with silvery
grey inserts and paired nicely with the short, flirty dark grey skirt. Candy
knew, without
conceit, that
both the cut of the
garment and the color set off her fair skin and blonde hair. Pulling off her
more decorous outfit, she hung it carefully on another hanger and draped her
bra strap over the hook. She caught sight of her curvy body in the long mirror
outside the change room, and swallowed a sigh. She took care of her health for
the most part, eating well, paying attention to nutrition, but she’d never be
the svelte catwalk type.
Poor
little rich girl
.
With that derisive thought, she shimmied into her
outfit for the evening,
then
stepped into the matching
sky high stilettos. At least she’d capture the height of one of those runway
models.

Touching up her makeup, going for a
little smokier look around her blue eyes and applying a darker rose lip gloss,
she finished things off by lifting her hair up and into a fashionable twist,
displaying the silver waterfall earrings—and her considerable cleavage—to advantage.
Surveying herself with satisfaction she snatched up her purse and keys, exiting
the building into the alley where her car was parked. She didn’t care to
display her look to the local populace, so after ensuring the door locked
behind her, she hustled to the vehicle. Her wrap was in the backseat to guard
against the inevitable chill of the evening, although she also had a small
suitcase in the event of someone or something giving her a reason to stay
overnight.

After easing out of the back lane,
she turned onto the main street, accelerating in smooth, short bursts as she
shifted through the gears. The town of
Barrister
soon filled her rearview mirror as she passed the crossroads and headed toward
the interstate. There was no traffic either behind or ahead of her, and she
kicked her baby into a higher gear, relishing the open road ahead and the
strains of her favorite song belting out from the speakers. She could really
give the car its head once she reached pavement. All unpleasant thoughts
temporarily banished, she allowed herself to anticipate the evening ahead.

****

Reese Murdoch slouched comfortably
against the broken-in seat of the county’s second best cruiser, gripping the
wheel with one big hand. He was headed home after a day in court at the county
seat, testifying against some poor excuse of a criminal who’d thought to rob
the lone bank in Barrister a few months previous. The guy had used a flare
pistol for Christ’s sake, and was so intoxicated he’d dropped it—twice—before
the manager smacked him upside the head with a decorative statue enshrining one
of the town’s founders. Louisa Bennet had a wicked swing, because the would-be
thief hadn’t woken up for two days.

He found himself sighing. Barrister
wasn’t a bad place. Born and raised there, he knew pretty much all the
inhabitants, as well as those living in the surrounding area, except for the
ones who’d arrived while he was overseas. Being elected as Sheriff had been a
no brainer, his being a military man home from
Iraq
and all, presumably well
versed in weapons and leadership. Both true, except he was hampered by a paltry
budget, and the people he’d sworn to serve and protect were scattered over a
huge part of the state. Good thing the work wasn’t onerous, the abortive bank
robbing being the biggest thing to happen in his tenure thus far.

No doubt that would change over
time, people being what they were, but he was bored for the most part. The one
thing—person—who could easily obliterate that boredom didn’t deign to recognize
either his existence or his authority, and he hadn’t decided which plan to
pursue in that regard. It had been months, but if he’d learned anything in the
military, it was that an offensive had a better chance of succeeding if one
gathered solid intelligence and formulated a careful plan of attack. He wryly
admitted he’d come home because of Candace, if only to determine why she’d
ignored all of his efforts to get in touch with her over the years. Some might
call it closure. He just plain wanted her, and knew enough about women to know
that while her demeanor said one thing, something else was operating behind
that icy exterior.

 
 
In the
meantime, there was the odd drunk and disorderly to deal with, complaints about
cattle rustling to investigate, a few domestics—and didn’t he hate those—and
some traffic violations.

The road dipped to accommodate an
arroyo, and he rose up out of it to crest the slight hill. And speaking of
traffic violations, the unmistakable silver Bimmer hammering in his direction,
trailing a dusty rooster trail, caused him to grind his teeth and war with his
responding arousal.
Damn her
. She was
going to kill herself one day in that stupid car, maybe before he put the final
touches on his plan. He supposed he should be grateful Candace hadn’t bought
the convertible version. Flipping on his lights, he considered his strategy,
noting the way the smaller vehicle’s hood dipped in response to the application
of brakes. She’d been flying along.

She pulled the Bimmer over, and he
drifted on by, to pull a three point turn and come up behind her. Candace hadn’t
made eye contact at all, staring straight ahead through the windshield, and he
figured she had to know it was him. She didn’t cut his two deputies dead when
they either spoke or approached her. As he parked he reached for his hat,
running a finger along the brim, before exiting the vehicle. He took his time
settling it on his head, watching Candace’s profile in the side mirror, willing
his professionalism to the fore when all he really wanted to do was drag her
back to the cruiser, handcuffed, and take her home with him.
Someplace
safe—and easily accessible for both their pleasure.
The plan suddenly
came together.

Approaching the open window, he
spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “You were hitting seventy, Candace. We’ve had
this discussion before.”

She didn’t reply, instead thrusting
her paperwork toward him. Her picture on the license didn’t fit with the stony
visage looking dead ahead. Despite the customary,
don’t smile, hair tucked behind your ears
, dictates of the DMV,
Candace’s full mouth, with its eminently bitable bottom lip somehow quirked up
at the corners, and there was no mistaking the sparkle in those baby blues.
Just as he remembered her—full of life and joy, bubbly, vivacious, and all
those adjectives people applied to her. But then, he’d admit he’d hardly given
her anything to smile about, primarily because she wouldn’t give him the time
of day. That was
gonna
change.

Tugging the license and
registration from her stiff fingers, he decided to play her game. “Step out of
the vehicle, Miss Grant.”

That garnered him a wary look, a
quick glance that she instantly modified into boredom. He didn’t miss the way
she flickered her eyes to her watch. Was she meeting someone?
On her way to a hot date?
Sheridan
lay in that direction, and whatever
Candace got up to, she didn’t do it in Barrister. The rumors he’d overheard
flourished, of course, in a town that throve on gossip, but her father’s money
and position served to feed such things. Resentment and bitterness always
lurked beneath the superficial, often fake, regard, when people were beholden.
Reece had access to a different form of contacts and knew the truth of some of
those rumors. He wasn’t surprised about Candace’s interests, merely
disappointed he hadn’t been able to guide her and take the journey with her.
But he’d done what he had to back then. That she hadn’t accepted his
explanation and apology, wouldn’t even give him the opportunity to discuss it
further, grated him raw.

He opened her door and stood back,
breaking procedure, instantly grateful for the way the door frame concealed his
sudden erection, his cock saluting the vision emerging from the Bimmer without
any regard for his bigger brain. The top she wore, if one could call it that, as
it hardly covered her attributes, cried out for him to touch the silky fabric
and tug on those discreetly concealed laces. The length of shapely leg revealed
by the short skirt flirting around her thighs forced his hands to grip the
metal until he thought it might groan beneath his grasp. Better it than the sound
he barely managed to swallow.

Once again his woman was on the
prowl,
no matter if she didn’t know she was his. He was
damned if he’d let her take what she was offering up to Sheridan or any other
place loaded with men who couldn’t possibly appreciate her the way he planned. Disappointment
again soured him, and he impatiently shoved it aside. He’d waited long enough.

“What?” A hint of nervousness
whispered through the aloof question.

“This is the third time, Miss
Grant. I assume you recall what the consequences are for speeding. Three
strikes.”

Narrowing, blue eyes locked
with his own,
and then a flush of pink colored her
décolletage and rose up the long, lovely column of her throat to paint her
cheeks. She spoke between set lips, and he thought to tell her that it was
criminal to thin that lush bounty, another crime she’d have to pay for in the
end. He’d keep adding them up.

“Give me the ticket,
Sheriff
. I’ll pay it like I did all the
others. Help out with your salary.”

The snide comment nearly made him
smile. He was getting past that wintry demeanor, and the feisty Candace he
remembered was still there after all. Then his brain snagged on something she’d
said. He’d given her two tickets, and that didn’t jibe with her paying
all
the others.

“Cody and Jason catch you as well?”
His deputies would be hearing from him. No doubt little Candace had been all
winsome and charming, sweetly taking care of the tab while convincing them not
to tell
him
. That in
itself
cheered him, too.
Not
so indifferent after all, little
miss
.

“Don’t you keep tabs with what’s
going on in your department,
Sheriff
?”
He could tell it was costing her, poised on those ridiculous shoes on the
uneven gravel surface. But she stood tall and didn’t give an inch. Time he
asserted his lawful authority.

“I know enough about what goes on
in my jurisdiction, Miss Grant. Now, assume the position.”

Ignoring the sudden blinking of
those beautiful eyes, he stepped around the door and into her, reaching out to
grasp a slender bicep. He pulled her toward him and, using her imbalance as an
excuse loop his other arm around her waist, effectively folded her over his
forearm. As he made the turn, she fetched up against the side of the Bimmer,
helpless against his strength and weight, her delectable backside pushing
against his groin. The move made him grimace, as there would be no mistaking
his erection, a fact proven by the way Candace froze and then inched her
buttocks forward. His cock struggled to follow that soft cushion, but he leaned
back and freed his arm to take one wrist, then grasped the other, pulling them
behind her back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She
nearly shrieked the question, clearly outraged, and began to struggle.

He cuffed her without comment, then
leaned to speak into her left ear, the scent of her hair—something floral—nearly
distracting him. “Language, little
miss
. You’re
racking up the offences.”