Single Father Sheriff. Carol Ericson
“I’d rather leave it in the past.”
“I hear ya.” He saluted. “Let’s have that lunch real soon.”
She closed the door behind him and touched her forehead to the doorjamb. Wyatt didn’t even have to be an amateur psychologist to figure out she was protesting way too much.
She’d need a supersize session with her own therapist once she left this rain-soaked place and returned to Phoenix.
Taking a deep breath, she brushed her hands together and grabbed an empty box. She stationed herself in front of the cabinet shelf that sported a stack of newspapers.
She dusted each item in her aunt’s collection before wrapping it in a scrap of newspaper and placing it in the box. She’d have an estate sale first, maybe sell some of the stuff online and then pack up the rest and take it home with her. She studied a mermaid carved from teak, running her fingertip along the smooth flip of hair. Her nose tingled and she swiped the back of her hand across it.
Kayla had loved playing mermaids, and Kendall had humored her twin by playing with her even though she’d have rather been catching frogs at the river or riding her bike along the dirt paths crisscrossing the forest.
She’d been the tomboy, the tough twin—the twin who’d survived.
She rolled the mermaid into an ad for discount prescription drugs and tucked it into the box at her feet. Thirty minutes later, she sprayed some furniture polish on a rag and swiped it across the empty shelves of the cabinet. One down, two to go.
The round metal handle on the drawer clinked and Kendall groaned. Most likely, Aunt Cass had more stuff crammed into the drawer.
She curled her fingers around the handle and tugged it open. She blew out a breath—papers, not figurines.
Grabbing a handful, she held the papers up to the light. Bills and receipts. Probably of no use to anyone now.
She ducked and grabbed the plastic garbage bag, already half-full of junk she’d pulled from her aunt’s desk. She dropped the papers in the bag, without even looking at them, and reached for another batch.
A flash of color amid all the black and white caught her eye, and her fingers scurried to the back of the drawer to retrieve the item. She tugged on a silky piece of material and held it up.
The pink ribbon danced from her fingertips, taunting her. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t breathe.
She crumpled the ribbon in her fist and ran blindly for the door.
Sheriff Cooper Sloane wheeled his patrol SUV onto the gravel driveway of Cass Teagan’s place, the damp air tamping down any dust or debris that his tires even considered kicking up.
He owed Wyatt Carson for giving him the heads-up about Kendall Rush’s presence at her aunt’s house. The plumber hadn’t even done it on purpose, just let it slip.
He opened his car door and planted one booted foot on the ground where it crunched the gravel. He clapped his hat on his head and adjusted the equipment on his belt.
As he took one step toward the house, the front door crashed open and a woman flew down the steps, her hair streaming behind her, a pair of dark eyes standing out in her pale face.
She ran right toward him, her gaze fixed on something beyond his shoulder, something only she could see.
“Whoa, whoa.” He spread his arms as she barreled into him, staggered back and caught her around the waist so she wouldn’t take both of them down.
Her heart thundered against his chest, and her mouth dropped open as one hand clawed at the sleeve of his jacket.
“Ma’am. Ma’am. What’s the matter?”
She arched back, and her eyes finally focused on his face, tracked up to his hat and dropped to his badge. She blinked.
“Are you all right?” Her body slumped in his arms, and he placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
Then she squared those shoulders, and shoved one hand in the pocket of her jeans. A smile trembled on her lips. “I am so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He gave her a final squeeze before releasing her. “What happened in the house to send you out here like a bat outta hell?”
She wedged two trembling fingers against her temple and released a shaky laugh. “You’re not going to believe it.”
Raising one eyebrow, he cocked his head. “Try me.”
“S-spider.” She waved one arm behind her, the other hand still firmly tucked into her front pocket. “I have an irrational fear of spiders. I know it’s ridiculous, but I guess that’s why it’s irrational. A big, brown one crawled across my hand. Freaked me out. I should’ve just killed the sucker. Now I don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere in there.”
As the words tumbled from her lying lips, he narrowed his eyes.
She trailed off and cleared her throat. “Anyway, I told you it was silly.”
“We all have our phobias.” He lifted one shoulder, and then extended his arms. “After that introduction, we should probably backtrack. I’m Sheriff Sloane.”
“Kendall Rush, Sheriff. Nice to meet you. I’m Cass Teagan’s niece, and I’m here to sell her place.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” He gestured toward the front door, which yawned open behind the screen door that had banged back into place after Kendall’s flight from the...spider. “Can I talk to you inside?”
“Of course.”
She rubbed her arms as if noticing the chill in the soggy air for the first time.
When she didn’t make a move, he said, “After you.”
She spun on the toes of her sneakers and scuffed her feet toward the steps with as much enthusiasm as someone going to meet her greatest fear—and it had nothing to do with spiders.
He followed her, the sway of her hips in the tight denim making his mouth water—even though she was a liar.
She opened the screen door and turned suddenly. His gaze jumped to her face.
Her eyes widened for a nanosecond. Had she busted him? He didn’t even know if she had a husband waiting on the other side of the threshold. The good citizens of Timberline probably could’ve told him, but that piece of information hadn’t concerned him—before.
Standing against the screen door, she held it wide. “You first.”
“Still afraid that spider’s going to jump out at you?”
Her nostrils flared. “Better you than me.”
Something had her spooked and she hadn’t gotten over it yet.
He patted the weapon on his hip. “I got him covered if he does.”
“Even I’d consider that overkill for a spider.”
He brushed past her into the house, and a warm musky scent seeped into his pores. He had the ridiculous sensation that Kendall Rush was luring him into a trap—like a fly to a spider’s web.
The dusty mustiness of the room closed around him, replacing the seductive smell of musk and even overpowering the pine scent from outside. His nose twitched and he sneezed.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t had time to clean up ten months’ worth of dust in here yet.” She plucked a tissue from a box by the window and waved it at him.
“Why don’t you open a couple of windows?” He scanned the room, cluttered with boxes of varying degrees of emptiness, his gaze zeroing in on a cabinet with an open drawer, papers scattered around it.
“There