Wyatt's Most Wanted Wife. Sandra Steffen
it wasn’t shaggy around the edges. Oh, no, Wyatt McCully was probably one of those men who got his hair cut the first week of every month just like clockwork. She’d seen his eyes before, so their golden shade of brown came as no surprise, either. Today, she was more concerned about the interest smoldering in their depths.
His skin was as tanned as every other cowboy’s she’d met out here. Except Wyatt wasn’t a cowboy who wore chaps and spurs. He was the local sheriff. Lisa didn’t really care what a man did for a living, and she certainly couldn’t fault him for the way he looked in his uniform. It wasn’t his beige shirt that put her off. It wasn’t even his badge. It was his reputation. According to the grapevine in Jasper Gulch, Wyatt McCully didn’t swear, he didn’t drink much and didn’t chew tobacco. Word had it he’d never gotten in trouble in his entire life.
Lisa Markman had been in plenty. She wasn’t ashamed of where she’d been or who she’d become. But she knew what she wanted, what she needed. And she wasn’t going to find it in this office.
“Did you know it’s bad luck to open an umbrella indoors?”
She glanced from her open umbrella straight into his eyes. “Yes, well, Danger is my middle name.”
“Is that a fact?”
Lisa imagined that a lot of female heads had been turned by that deep, rich voice. It was time to let him know he couldn’t turn hers. She pressed a button on her umbrella. By the time she’d smoothed the folds into place, she knew how to put an end to the interest in Wyatt’s eyes.
“Look, sheriff, if I could have handled this myself, I wouldn’t have set foot in this place, but I really need to get my car back. I have a shipment of Western clothes to pick up in Pierre this morning. So, do you think we could get this over with?”
The stiffening of his shoulders was almost imperceptible, and so was the flicker of disappointment way in the back of his eyes. Lisa felt a moment’s remorse because she knew she was responsible for both. But she had to hand it to him; there was no resentment or condescension in his attitude.
She would have preferred it if he hadn’t called attention to his strength and agility by spinning a high-backed chair around with one hand and effortlessly placing it next to his desk, but she couldn’t fault the polite tilt of his head as he motioned for her to take a seat, or the way he moved to the other side of his desk and sat down.
He reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a form. With pencil in hand, he said, “Let’s start with your full name. First, last and middle initial.”
She handled the first and last names well enough, but before she could tell him her middle initial, her gaze got stuck on his hands, and her mind floundered. He didn’t have the hands of a man who pushed a pencil for a living. His hands were large and callused, his fingers blunt tipped, his knuckles scraped.
“Is your middle initial really D?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“For Danger?“
“It’s D,” she said automatically, “for Destiny.”
Realizing what she’d said, she glanced up and found him watching her. Trying for an even, composed voice, she said, “Really. My name is Lisa Destiny Markman. My parents didn’t like me very much.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning.”
“The beginning?” she asked.
“When were you born?”
“You want me to start at the beginning of my life?”
“I need your date of birth. For the form.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the sheet of paper in front of him and rattled off the information he’d requested. Being careful not to make any noise releasing the breath she’d been holding, she stared at his down-turned eyes and told herself she was completely unaffected by this man’s quiet presence.
Wyatt jotted down information, checking the proper boxes, filling in the usual blanks. His heart beat a steady rhythm that had nothing to do with procedure. If he’d been with anyone else, he might have laughed to ease the tension in the room, but he glanced up from the form and found Lisa watching him. He couldn’t have laughed if he’d tried.
Being careful not to snap the pencil lead, he said, “What could your parents have possibly found not to like about you?”
She leaned toward him slightly. Tilting her face at a sassy angle, she said, “I know it’s hard to imagine, but I haven’t always been this shy and sweet.”
“You’re right. I do find that hard to believe.”
Wyatt heard her quick intake of breath and saw her eyes widen. He’d surprised her. He was amazed at how much satisfaction the knowledge gave him. However, her discomfiture didn’t last long. She closed her eyes, squared her shoulders and crossed her legs. Her red raincoat fell open, and Wyatt had his first up-close glimpse of her legs. Her ankles were small, her calves slightly muscular, her knees narrow. The skin just below the hem of her red Western skirt looked soft and supple and oh so touchable. His reaction was eager and as predictable as nightfall. By the time he managed to drag his gaze back to her face, she was staring at him knowingly.
She covered her legs with her coat and cast him an arch look that spoke volumes. “Shall we continue?”
Despite the fact that the room had warmed at least ten degrees and the blood seemed to have left his brain and was heading for a place south of there, Wyatt found himself wondering where Lisa Markman had acquired her spunk, her intelligence and her independent spirit. Before him sat a woman who could smile at whim and think on her feet. She was sassy and appealing, and she knew it. There weren’t many things more stimulating than a woman who recognized her own sensuality.
“If you don’t mind, Sheriff, I’d like to get back to the report.”
Wyatt reined in his wayward thoughts and did his best to ignore the pulsing knot that had formed low in his stomach. He asked her pertinent questions and finished filling out the form, an indefinable feeling of rightness growing with every breath he took. Lisa might have turned down his invitation to dinner last night, but she was as aware of the attraction between them as he was.
He would have preferred her to be open about her feelings, but he wasn’t opposed to a woman playing hard to get. Doing everything in his power to keep the smile of anticipation off his face, he turned the form around and indicated the place for her to sign.
She wrote her name with a flourish, then rose to her feet. Rising, too, he said, “We’re not talking about a pie thief here. We’re talking about grand theft auto, and I assure you I’ll do everything in my power to get to the bottom of it and get your car back to you. Now, how about that dinner I mentioned last night?”
He liked the look of genuine surprise that crossed her face, but when she raised her chin a notch, then paused as if she was searching for the proper words, he had a feeling he was in for another letdown. When she finally spoke, it was in a soft, conciliatory tone of voice he didn’t like one bit. “I hope you don’t take offense, Sheriff, but I’m afraid you’re just not my type.”
Wyatt felt his face fall, but she wasn’t finished. “Just so you know, I already have plans for the evening. I promised Butch Brunner I’d drive down to Rosebud to watch him ride a bronco at the rodeo tonight.”
As if she didn’t expect a reply, she turned and strode to the door. Ignoring his earlier warning about bad luck, she opened her umbrella and walked out into the rain.
* * *
Lisa smoothed a wrinkle from the lightweight denim jumper then pressed a tack into the lattice boards that divided the display window from the rest of the store. She knew it was late in the season to try to sell summer clothing, but she was hoping a new display and sale prices would lure the women of Jasper Gulch inside. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to get to Pierre to pick up the new fall merchandise, now that