Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire. Carol Finch
for a minute that he could live up to the family reputation.
When Miranda pulled up in front of Stephanie’s Palace, Vance stared questioningly at her. “Why are we stopping here? Checking for a liquor license or something?”
“Nope. This is where you get out, cowboy,” she said.
He frowned suspiciously. “Now look, Calamity Jane, you upheld your end of the deal today and I sure as hell intend to uphold mine. I’m not about to lounge around at dinner while you’re wolfing down a stale sandwich from Hoot ’N’ Holler and patrolling the streets.”
“Get out, Vance. I’m giving an order, just like the ones you gave me at your ranch. I obeyed them to the best of my abilities. I expect the same consideration from you. Now go!”
He opened his mouth to protest then clamped his jaw shut. “Okay, fine. But if you don’t come back in an hour so I can take my tour of duty I’m gonna be spitting mad. Got it?”
Miranda nodded. “Got it. Now beat it. I’m going to check the alleys to ensure the other downtown businesses are secured for the night.”
The instant he stepped from the car she whizzed off, before his guilty conscience could nip at him again and he tried to climb back inside. As for Miranda, she desperately needed some breathing space—some downtime away from the kind of temptation she’d never faced…until she ran headlong into Vance Ryder.
5
WHEN MIRANDA DROVE OFF, Vance stood by the curb until she disappeared from sight. Well, hell, he’d pretty much put her, and himself, through the paces during the day and now she was letting him off easy by allowing him to enjoy a leisurely meal. He’d have Steph dish up one of her fancy gourmet dinners-to-go and take it to Randi when she picked him up.
With that plan in mind, Vance entered the ritzy restaurant then stumbled backward in disbelief when dozens of people—his cousins included—bounded from their chairs to yell, “Surprise! Happy birthday!”
Vance stood there like a thunderstruck idiot while his friends, neighbors and family converged to shake his hand and pat him on the back.
Several minutes later, Vance cornered his cousins. “I thought you said you were throwing me a small family party this weekend,” he reminded them.
“We still are,” Wade replied. “This was Randi’s idea. She set it up.”
Vance’s jaw dropped open and his eyes popped like boiled eggs. “She did? When?”
“She called Steph at noon to make the arrangements,” Quint reported.
“Then she called Laura at school and asked her to make the phone invitations during her planning hour,” Wade added. “She also paid for the cake the chef prepared in your honor and bought the dinner you’re about to eat.”
Vance was floored—and that was putting it mildly. Randi had gone to all this expense and effort for him? He was stunned that she even remembered that he mentioned his birthday during their heated debate in Tate’s office.
Why had she done this? Hell, she couldn’t even be here to reap the benefits of a superb meal and fancy cake. And furthermore, he suspected she had no intention of swinging by to pick him up this evening. She intended for him to party until the restaurant closed at ten.
Feeling like a jerk for working her like a field hand all day, while she secretly set up this wingding, Vance put on his happy face and enjoyed the celebration in his honor. But it didn’t set well, knowing she’d outdone him. Plus, he knew she’d taken a pay cut for the shorter shifts she’d be working this week. She’d spent hard-earned money on him.
Well, he wouldn’t be so hard on her tomorrow, he promised himself as he settled in for a mouth-watering feast. Man, this was something. No one besides family had ever gone to so much effort to recognize his birthday. He wouldn’t forget her thoughtful gesture, either.
MIRANDA TRUDGED TO HER cracker-box apartment after her five-hour shift on patrol. Sitting for long hours in the squad car—after straining muscles during ranch chores—made her body stiffen like cured plaster. Every tendon and joint screamed in complaint until she half-collapsed in her recliner.
Ah, well, it was worth it to know she’d surprised Vance and compensated in some small way for getting them into this mess with the chief. No doubt, Vance had hooked up with one of the women attending the party and was celebrating his birth by practicing procreation.
The thought stung more than it should have. She and Vance had nothing going—except her itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny one-sided infatuation that was so inappropriate that it didn’t bear thinking about.
The abrupt rap at the door brought Miranda upright in her chair. “Who’s there?” she called cautiously.
“The birthday boy. Open up.”
Miranda wasn’t sure she wanted to open up—physically or emotionally—at the moment. She was too tired. But neither did she have the heart to ignore Vance on his birthday.
Wincing, she hobbled to the door to find Vance holding two foam boxes.
“A late dinner and a slice of birthday cake.” He invited himself inside then surveyed her apartment approvingly. “This is where Steph lived until she hooked up with Cousin Q. You’ve fixed it up nice.”
Miranda blinked. “This is where you strung all the colored lights and removed all the furniture, save the bed?”
“Yup,” he said as he walked over to set the containers on the small drop-leaf table. “Deep down, Quint appreciated the prank. He and Steph didn’t show their faces in public for three days. Good thing I stocked the kitchen with enough food to tide them over during their lovefest.”
“Considerate of you, joker,” she said, lips twitching.
“That’d be me. Considerate, helpful and cheerful.” He motioned her to the table. “Come take a load off. Bet you didn’t bother with supper, did you, Ms. Super-Duper Cop?”
When Miranda shook her head he sighed then said, “That figures. Now sit down and eat. I’ll fix you a drink.”
Miranda sank tiredly into the chair and lifted the lid of the box. The appetizing aroma made her mouth water and her empty stomach growl in anticipation.
Vance thrust a fork and glass of ice water at her. “No booze in the fridge,” he observed. “You a teetotaler?”
Miranda nodded, her attention fixed on the fabulous food.
“Great, Patti Perfect, you have no flaws or vices whatsoever, I suppose?” he asked as he straddled the vacant chair backward and draped his arms across the back.
“Overachiever,” she mumbled between delicious bites.
“Already pegged you as that,” he replied with a smile and a wink. “You’ve got the face of an angel and the heart of a lion. Anything else I should know about you since we’ll be partners on my ranch and on your police beat?”
“Single-minded dedication,” she admitted before she wet her whistle. “Strong sense of fair play and strict attention to rules and regulations.” She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Usually. You’re the exception. I suffered momentary lapses of sanity during our first few confrontations and now we’re both paying for it. Sorry about that.”
“You’re forgiven,” he said with a chuckle. “What else? What about scandalous affairs with married men that put you on this straight and narrow path to pursue this honorable quest for perfection?”
“None of your beeswax, buster,” she said darkly.
“What about a boyfriend waiting in the big city to slide a ring on your finger after you’ve landed a job alongside your dad and brothers?” he quizzed her.
She arched a brow at that. “I didn’t