Sunrise Crossing. Jodi Thomas
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When he’d played football in college, his height hadn’t been a problem. But now anyone lower by a foot seemed to think he might just accidentally bop them on the head. He’d made it through the academy and had served two years as a deputy without accidentally killing anyone.
As he drove toward the Double K Ranch that had been in the Kirkland family over a hundred years, Fifth Weathers tried to relax. He’d been in Crossroads since Sheriff Brigman was shot and almost killed two years ago.
At first it had been just a job, a chance to step out of a big office and work with a sheriff everyone in Texas respected. But lately, it was more than that. He was starting to care about the people. He’d matured from a green rookie looking for excitement to a seasoned officer who hoped never to have to pull his weapon again.
That is, if shooting a snake counted as a first time.
For the most part, the folks in the county were good, honest citizens who loved to tease him once they figured out he was on the shy side. The grocer offered to stack his daughters if Fifth would take both of them out. The Franklin sisters, who ran the bed-and-breakfast, were always trying to match him up with one of their relatives because they claimed the family tree could use the height. And from what he’d seen, Franklins tended to grow out instead of up.
Fifth wouldn’t have minded having a date. It had been a while. But even in college, when girls flocked around athletes, he hadn’t gone out much. He’d always felt awkward and never knew the right thing to say.
He blamed his mother for his awkwardness around women. You’d think with a dozen pregnancies she could have popped out one girl so her sons could learn to relate.
When he turned onto Kirkland land, Fifth put his problems aside and was all business. If the sheriff was here, there must be something wrong. Staten Kirkland was a good man who ran his ranch like a small kingdom. He wouldn’t be calling the law in on something minor.
Dan Brigman was on the porch talking to the rancher. All signs that Brigman had taken four bullets in an ambush were gone: the sheriff looked fit and strong; his hair had grayed to the color of steel, and his eyes always seemed to look right into the heart of folks. Fifth could think of no better goal than to model his career after this legend of a man.
“About time you arrived,” Dan said with a hint of a smile that told Fifth he wasn’t in any serious trouble this time.
“Sorry, sir. I overslept.” Fifth climbed the steps and offered his hand to Kirkland.
Dan nodded once. “I thought you might when I passed the office around midnight and saw the lights still on.”
“You’re working the kid too hard,” Kirkland said as he shook Fifth’s hand. “Come on inside, Deputy. We’ve got coffee and cinnamon rolls waiting. I need to show Dan the map in my office before we start planning.”
“Thanks,” Fifth answered politely, grateful that he didn’t have to admit that right now he was far more interested in the rolls and coffee than looking at any map. Caffeine and sugar should wake him up.
Fifth followed the two men through the massive double doors of the Kirkland headquarters as they talked about the weather. The sound of their boots thumping across the hardwood floor blended with the jingle of spurs Kirkland wore.
Fifth had been at the headquarters a few times before. A New Year’s party. A meeting of the new city planning committee. He liked the big old home, and it was one of the few places he didn’t have to watch his head. The Kirklands were tall and built their house to accommodate.
The main room was a forty-foot-long living area built with mahogany and leather. A dining area to the left had a table that would seat thirty. Kirkland’s huge office opened through double doors on the right, and a modern country kitchen was in the back.
The house reminded him of a remade set from the movie Giant. Pure Texas. Western, all the way.
Only it didn’t seem like a house that people lived in. It was the headquarters, set up for work and meetings. Fifth had heard that the family lived in a smaller place a few hundred yards away, which made sense. Kirkland had two toddlers, and no one would want to have to chase them all over this amount of square footage.
Fifth had just begun to feel his muscles relaxing when he turned the corner off the main room and saw Kirkland’s wife, Quinn, sitting at the kitchen table, talking to a woman about his age.
The stranger had short, reddish-brown hair, naturally curly, and blue eyes; she was dressed in a leather jacket and tan pants with boots laced almost to her knees. For a second he thought she looked like Amelia Earhart. Then he added one more fact as she turned directly to him and glared.
One look at him and, for some reason, the woman seemed to become angry as hell.
For a second, Fifth fought the urge to step back, maybe all the way to the door. Maybe farther. He might not have a lot of experience with women, but he could see rage flashing in her icy-blues like white-hot lightning. Take cover or run seemed to be the safest options.
The anger didn’t fit until he watched her slowly stand. He added one last statistic. Over six feet tall. The possibility they’d both stepped into a match-up trap occurred to him, just as it probably had to her.
Quinn just grinned, but Kirkland made the introductions. “Fifth, I’d like you to meet my wife’s niece, Madison O’Grady.” Now Kirkland was grinning, obviously unaware that his kin was firing a look that might kill the only deputy for miles around. “We asked her to come in this morning. Thought you two might like to get acquainted.”
“Welcome, Miss O’Grady.” Fifth removed his hat and offered his hand, hoping she didn’t bite it off.
The sheriff slapped his deputy on the shoulder. “So...ah...enjoy your coffee and rolls, Deputy. We’ll be back before you finish.” At least Brigman had the sense not to grin.
Quinn, Staten and the sheriff vanished, leaving him alone with the angry woman. The instinct to run was so strong he couldn’t get his tongue untied enough to speak.
Without asking if he wanted one, she poured him a cup of coffee and slid it across the table, not seeming to notice, or care, that boiling liquid spilled out.
He sat down. He’d had women look at him with total disinterest, or sometimes even with fear because of his size, but he’d never been the kind of guy to bring out hate—or passion, for that matter—in anyone. In fact, he’d always kind of thought that women his age viewed him as a friend more than anything else. He guessed he’d be like his two older brothers where women were concerned. He’d marry a woman who was a friend and settle into an easy kind of partnership.
Fifth drew the plate of rolls close before she decided to shove them over. Maybe if he ignored her she’d calm down. He downed the first roll in two bites. It smelled good, but he swallowed so fast he didn’t bother to taste it.
The second of Quinn’s famous cinnamon rolls was almost to his mouth when Madison O’Grady spoke.
“Well,” she snapped as she paced, “where do you want to do it? Here on the table? The couch is long enough but it might not be wide enough for us, or there are several bedrooms upstairs. Pick one.”
Fifth stared at the roll, figuring she probably wasn’t talking about eating. “Do what?” he said quietly.
“Have sex, of course. We were obviously brought here to meet. My whole family has been trying to match me up like the expiration date on me is about to run out. Last month it was a six-five trucker who stopped at the café. They thought I should drop everything and come meet him. Thank goodness he turned out to be married or I’d be on an eighteen-wheeler to Des Moines, Iowa, right now.”
Fifth must have still looked confused because she added, “Why waste time talking or dating or getting married? Let’s just do it right here, right now. We’re obviously meant for one another. We’re both over six feet.”
Fifth didn’t know what to do. She may