Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire. Carol Finch
gimme a break,” Quint said, and smirked. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her for the past two hours. She’s definitely getting to you.”
“I saw you grimace when she defended the pasture gate,” Wade put in gleefully. “You’re showing all the signs of a man with a woman on his mind.”
“Can you blame me?” Vance erupted uncharacteristically. Funny, this tormenting teasing between cousins had been more amusing when he was dishing it out rather than taking it. “The Robo Cop defied injury and death, right in my corral. I’ll be a basket case after riding patrol with her. No telling what brave deeds she plans to attempt in the name of truth, justice and the American way.”
“If you ask me, she’s trying to prove herself competent and worthy to you. Hmm, wonder why that’s so all-fired important to her?” Quint remarked.
“Good question,” Wade said, smiling wryly. “Could it be that you’re getting to her, too?”
“Are you two yahoos going to stand here harassing me or are you going to help?” Vance demanded crankily.
“Harassing is more fun,” Wade replied devilishly.
“I have to agree with Wade,” Quint seconded.
Swearing ripely, Vance shouldered past his cousins to climb into his truck. Dealing with this gutsy, fearless female was problem enough. Being hounded by his evil relatives was turning his stomach. Vance was beginning to wonder if he’d be able to get through the first day of his tortuous sentence without murdering one—or both—of his cousins. And don’t forget the very real possibility of getting Ms. Eager Beaver killed in a ranching accident, he mused uneasily.
EXHAUSTED, BRUISED AND unwillingly impressed by Vance’s commitment to his ranch, Miranda made use of his shower then changed into her uniform. There hadn’t been time to rush back to her apartment before she reported for patrol duty. There had been time at lunch, however, for her to make some hurried requests by phone. The secretive arrangements were her way of apologizing to Vance for the comedy of errors that had befallen him.
After contemplating the incidents of the past week Miranda decided the blame rested entirely on her shoulders. If she hadn’t taken her job—and herself—so seriously, hadn’t been so defensive about her physical attraction to Vance, they wouldn’t have ended up handcuffed together for seven long days and a considerable portion of the nights.
Fact was, Vance wasn’t what she’d expected. He was diligent, skilled and got on well with his family. He and his cousins combined forces to manage their ranches and help each other with various tasks. Part of the reason the Ryders could pull it off, she realized, was that Vance had a knack of neutralizing difficult situations with laughter and smiles. As much as Miranda loved her dad and brothers she wondered if they could work together with such ease.
Well, one day she’d have the chance to find out, she mused as she applied a thin coat of makeup. She was determined to fulfill her dream of joining her family at OCPD.
After a quick self-inspection in the bathroom mirror, Miranda veered into the hall. Earlier she’d taken time to admire Vance’s spacious home and countrified décor. Pictures of Vance and his cousins during their rodeo career hung on the walls of the paneled den. Trophies and silver belt buckles lined the shelves. She wondered if that scar she’d noticed on the underside of his chin was a battle scar from his wild rides on broncs while he traveled the suicide circuit.
Oh, yes, she’d been paying close attention while Wade and Quint filled her in on Vance’s past, during their short breaks. She’d discovered that the older generation of Ryder men had deeded their ranches over to their sons and headed south with their wives to a retirement village in Texas. They were living on the royalties of the oil wells that dotted these sprawling ranches.
She’d also learned that Vance had never wanted to do anything but excel on the rodeo circuit before he returned to run his ranch. According to Wade and Quint, ranching was in the Ryder blood. It wasn’t a job, they insisted, it was a way of life.
Miranda could relate to that because she’d never wanted to do anything except follow in her dad and brothers’ footsteps. You might even say she was driven to it.
“Should I strap on my six-shooters?” Vance asked as he followed her down the hall. “How much gunplay can I expect while patrolling with you?”
“You can leave your guns at home,” she told him as she led the way out the front door. “I’ll be the only one packing hardware on the night shift—” Her voice dried up when Vance snagged her arm and turned her to face him on the front porch.
“One request,” he murmured, staring somberly at her.
The feel of his lean fingers on her forearm was as gentle as a caress. She tried very hard not to respond to his touch. It was like trying not to breathe.
Damn, he was so easy on the eye, so big and brawny and totally male. The scent of his cologne threatened to lure her closer, but she stuck to her guns and kept her distance.
“What’s your one request?” To her dismay, her voice wobbled in helpless reaction to his devastating presence.
“Don’t scare me to death the way you did while we were separating cattle.”
His husky voice caused gooseflesh to pebble her skin, but Miranda willfully ignored the reaction and flashed a smile. “Not to worry, cowboy. I can guarantee that won’t happen.”
His shoulders sagged slightly. “Good. I didn’t like knowing you were hurt this morning but were too proud to admit it. I’m pretty sure I’ll like you a whole lot better without any bullet holes in you, so no daring heroics for my benefit, okay? I’ve already recognized the fact that you’re no lightweight, despite what I said in a snit of temper.”
His roundabout compliment and the teasing hint of concern flattered Miranda.
“You aren’t afraid to take risks and you don’t mind getting your hands dirty with hard work,” he added as his dark gaze skimmed over her face. “You don’t hover on the perimeters of life—you dive in headfirst. I respect those qualities and I can relate to them. But I still don’t like seeing you hurt.”
She was so flattered and pleased that she very nearly caved in and pressed an impulsive kiss to that sexy mouth that had driven her crazy each time she ventured close enough to appraise the shape and texture of it.
“For the record,” she murmured unsteadily, “I don’t hate you and I’m not out to get you.”
When he smiled rakishly her heart slammed against her ribs—and stuck there momentarily. “Maybe I’d like it better if you were out to get me,” he said in an ultrasexy voice as he inched closer.
He was practically standing on top of her, crowding her space, surrounding her with that magnetic male aura and staring at her mouth as if he wanted to devour her. She wondered how it would feel to have those sinewy arms wrapped around her and give into this fierce, illogical attraction that was growing by leaps and bounds.
Just one taste and touch. What could it hurt? You could like it too much, came the voice of caution. And that would be dangerous. This, she reminded herself, isn’t the kind of danger you’re equipped to handle so back off.
Swallowing hard, Miranda retreated from temptation. She pivoted to scuttle down the steps on legs that suddenly felt like cooked noodles. “We better get going,” she chirped. “I’m a stickler for punctuality.”
“Figured as much,” Vance said as he followed her to the squad car.
Miranda didn’t try to engage in conversation during the drive, just let silence reign supreme. She just kept sneaking peeks to study Vance’s profile in the dash lights. Of course, she’d been guilty of sneaking peeks at him every chance she got during the day. She was too aware of him, too aware of her attraction to him.
Now that she’d come to like him he was even more difficult to resist. But she had to resist