The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby. Teresa Carpenter
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wouldn’t see her sing. She sighed her disappointment and followed her friends onstage.
CHAPTER ONE
HANDS braced on his hips, Sheriff Nate Connor stood looking down at the strange beauty sleeping on his couch. Rolled up in his fleece throw, purple-and-pink-striped socks peeked out from one end and sunshine-yellow hair cascaded from the other.
With a muffled curse he holstered the nine millimeter he’d palmed when he found his front door unlocked. Not that he’d really expected to need it, but a soldier was always prepared. Even in River Run, where the population was less than five thousand.
Luck and skill had kept him from shooting himself when he tripped over the guitar case negligently left in the entry hall.
He considered reaching for his handcuffs, but the woman wasn’t a complete stranger. He’d seen sufficient pictures here in this house and on his predecessor’s desk to recognize the pretty flow of hair. He was enough of a lawman to figure out she was his new landlord.
And they’d met briefly at her father’s funeral seven months ago.
Yeah, he knew who sleeping beauty was. The question was why?
Why was she here and why did she think she could make herself at home on his couch?
He’d had his own plans for that couch. Today was supposed to have been his first day off in over a month. The storm changed that. An overnight delivery truck had skidded on ice and ended up on its side in the pass, blocking traffic in both directions. By the time they got it cleared up, they were in the middle of a full-blown blizzard, and he’d given up any hope of regaining his day off.
A surge of wind knocking branches against the house punctuated the thought.
After a ten-hour day, he’d planned to come home, heat up a frozen dinner and watch the game he’d recorded earlier.
Plans delayed by his uninvited guest’s possession of said couch.
A soft snore came from the fleece-wrapped bundle. Nate’s dark brows slammed together in a scowl. Now that was irritating. Not because the sound annoyed him, but because it didn’t. It had been cute.
He had no room in his life for soft and cute, no patience for trespassing blondes interrupting the last of his day off.
In the past seven months he’d heard nothing from Michelle Ross. Now she slept tucked up on his couch. She may own the place but he had a contract stating it was his for the next four months. He didn’t know what brought her to town, but she wasn’t staying here.
A matter he meant to take up with her right now.
“Ms. Ross.”
No response.
“Ms. Ross.” Advancing on the couch, he repeated the demand for her attention, and then again, louder each time. She stirred and then settled against the cushions, sighing as she pulled the throw tighter around herself.
Finally he leaned down and shook her shoulder. “Come on, beauty, wake up.”
She stirred and mumbled something.
Instinctively, he leaned closer to hear what she said.
But suddenly she turned and her lips brushed his. That’s when her eyes opened. Lovely eyes that brought the green of spring to a late-winter’s storm. And that thought distracted him long enough for her to wrap her arms around his neck and draw him down for a deeper kiss.
Questions of who and why and what disappeared in a rush of sensation. She felt warm and soft, and tasted oh, so sweet. This was what home should feel like, what a welcome should taste like.
Nate threaded his hands in all that hair and sank into the moment. After the day he’d had, he let the heat of the kiss sweep him away.
Michelle dreamed of a man on a white horse riding through the forest. Tall and strong, he carried a sword and sought a beautiful princess, ready to save her from all her woes. Michelle was both the princess and not. She liked the safety the knight represented, but it never came free and she wanted to save herself.
Only fools and optimists believed in love. Which left her out. She was nobody’s fool. And she’d given up on optimism early in life. She preferred to control her own destiny than hope for the best.
Now the knight was on top of her, holding her gently, his hands fisted in her hair, broad shoulders blocking out the world. He smelled like the fleece that held her in warmth and comfort, of the woods and man. But he was heat and power and his lips were on hers and she didn’t care if there was a price. Safe had never felt so good.
She arched into the kiss, opening her lips at the demand of his, welcoming him in, savoring the spicy taste of the man who held her so securely.
His hand moved in a sweeping caress from her head to her waist, where skin met skin. The shock of his cold fingers reached beyond Michelle’s lethargy.
Her eyes flew open and she realized this was no dream, no Prince Charming of childish imaginings, but a flesh-and-blood man with a bold kiss and cold hands.
She broke off the kiss, planted both palms flat against his chest and pushed. “Back up, buddy!”
For a moment, just a heartbeat, he held the embrace, and then he released her and surged to his feet.
“Hell. I must be more tired than I thought.” He scrubbed both hands over a face a shade too ordinary to be considered handsome. Straight dark eyebrows topped fierce gray eyes. Cut military-short, his hair was a tawny blend of brown, blond and red. Temper, or maybe it was passion, brought a ruddy hue to his cheeks.
The khaki uniform so like her father’s had her narrowing her eyes on him as she swung her feet to the floor and sat up. Pain throbbed in her ankle, but she ignored it.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” she demanded. “Besides accosting me?”
“You mean my home?” His hands went to his hips, and he met her glare for glare. “And you kissed me.”
She raised brows at him. “A neat trick for someone asleep. I inherited this house from my father.”
“And I rented it from him.”
That surprised her. “He didn’t tell me anything about renting the house. When did that happen?”
“Ben rented me a room when I first moved to town and I continued to rent the place when he moved in with his lady friend almost a year ago.”
“Dad had a girlfriend?” She’d been dreaming of princesses and white knights, but clearly she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. As far as she knew, Dad had never had a lady friend.
“I remember you now, from my father’s funeral.” Usually great with names, she reached for his and came up short. The funeral had been hard for her. She took a stab. “Gabe?”
“Nate.” He corrected. “Nate Connor.”
“Well, Nate, it seems you took over Dad’s job, and you took over his house.”
His expression frosted over. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing nefarious.” She waved off his paranoia. “I’m just saying this is my house.”
She’d only come back to River Run to sell the house so she could move to Los Angeles and pursue her songwriting career.
She’d escaped this town when she graduated from high school—couldn’t leave the little burg fast enough—and nothing had changed since. With her dad’s passing the small town had even less going for it now than it had when she was a kid.
So no, she hadn’t crept through Dead Man’s Pass praying to a deity she hadn’t spoken to in way too long to be kicked out of her own home.
“It’s your house, but it’s rented to me. I have a contract if you’d like to see it.” Nate