The Sheriff and The Amnesiac. Ryanne Corey
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there were times when he ended up eating dust, but the sympathy he received from the buckle bunnies was ample compensation for a wide range of physical injuries. Tyler was young, curious and restless, and there were times when the pace of his small-town life got on his nerves. Like, all the time.
If truth be told, Tyler knew it wasn’t so much Bridal Veil Falls that irritated him as it was his own father’s attitude toward his only son. Gerald Cook believed that boys were to be molded with a heavy hand, and he had the heaviest hand in town. While Tyler’s little sister, Rosie, was spoiled and indulged, Tyler himself was the target of constant criticism and harsh physical punishment for any perceived weakness. According to his father, this would make a man out of him. Which it may have done, but it also made Tyler determined to leave his hometown in the dust the first chance he got.
After graduation from high school, Tyler wasted no time packing up his Chevy truck and heading for college at Montana State University. He had an athletic scholarship, which, along with a part-time job and a government loan, enabled him to get an education far from his father’s harsh disapproval. Unfortunately, his formal education came to an abrupt end ten months shy of graduation. His father had a stroke that prevented him from working the family farm. Tyler realized he had a responsibility to contribute to the family finances. Rather than go home and try to wring a pittance out of fifteen hundred acres of dry farm during a drought, he opted to join the rodeo circuit. Professional rodeo paid real well if you had a talent for it, and there wasn’t a bronc in the world Tyler couldn’t ride—saddleback or bareback. He had an empathy for wild things, possibly because he recognized some sort of long-suppressed wildness in himself. He sent home his winnings, though his father never openly acknowledged his son’s hard-won success. Even Tyler’s picture on the cover of American Cowboy magazine went unnoticed…or at least, unremarked.
The same day Tyler received the gold buckle proclaiming him the World Champion All-Around Cowboy, his father passed away from a second stroke. Though it was too late to come to an understanding with his father, there was no one else to look after his younger sister and grandmother, which necessitated his return to Bridal Veil Falls.
And so Tyler went home to uphold law and order, inciting a near riot among the unattached females of Bridal Veil Falls. For eight long years he dodged and ducked and sidestepped the avalanche of feminine attention, sweet potato pie and Toll House cookies continually coming his way while he waited for the right girl to come along. He knew exactly what he was looking for—someone he could chase until she caught him. How hard was that? She would be tall and willowy, with lustrous dark hair and an adorable dusting of freckles across her cute little nose. Oh, he’d know her the minute he saw her, that much was certain.
Which was why he was nearly knocked out of his Tony Lama cowboy boots when he walked into Enchilada Ernie’s to arrest a criminal and found his soul mate.
There she was. There she was.
It was destiny at first sight. Tyler certainly hadn’t expected her to come barreling into town on a Harley-Davidson, with wild copper hair and a “just try me” expression on her face, but there she was, anyway. She wasn’t what he had expected all these years, but she was so much more. Barely five feet tall, with enormous doe-brown eyes shimmering over high cheekbones. Her tank top was tight beneath her studded leather vest. Her ears were triple-pierced. Her hands were perpetually clenched in frustrated little fists. Not the woman he had expected all these years, but damned if she wasn’t the one he’d been waiting for all his life. Best of all, there was no predatory glint in her eyes, just a hectic, high-flying spirit that reminded him of his own. No, best of all she had a ring on every single finger except the all-important “she belongs to me” finger. Yippee!
Unfortunately, when sweet Ella had turned out to be the criminal, Tyler had been left with no way to keep his soul mate in town. Fortunately, a stroke of genius had prompted him to ask Jenny for her motorcycle license. It was a happy man indeed who walked out of Enchilada Ernie’s with the woman of his dreams slung over his shoulder like a rather light bag of potatoes.
She didn’t wear perfume. In fact, she smelled a little like motor oil and salsa, but he didn’t mind that at all. Had she been able to see his expression while he walked to his patrol car, she would have seen the crooked, whimsical smile that had been pulverizing female hearts for years. But she couldn’t see anything but the black asphalt parking lot, poor thing, and all her energy was going into squirming and shouting and pounding on his back with those frustrated fists.
“Settle down,” he told her, trying to sound stern and commanding, rather than amused. “You’re going to hurt your lovely petite self.”
Jenny’s chin bounced hard between his shoulder blades. “I’m not the—ugh!—the one who is going to get hurt. You’re going to be so sorry you ever—”
“Listen, if you don’t behave yourself, I might get the idea you’re resisting arrest. You don’t want to be charged with that as well, do you?” He set her down next to the passenger door, being careful to keep her arms pinned to her sides. “Face the facts, Trouble. You’ve just been put in protective custody, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
Jenny tossed her head so high her hair hit him in the face. “Protective custody? That’s a joke. Just what are you supposed to be protecting me from? Normal people? I hate to tell you this, Sheriff, but you don’t fall into that category.”
His smile came ever so slowly, crinkling his eyes, denting one cheek and glossing him over with a heavy dose of country charm. He leaned forward, putting his mouth close to her ear. “I’m protecting you from yourself,” he said softly. “I hate to break this to you, but you’re not exactly normal, either.”
Jenny swallowed painfully, rubbing hard on her neck where his breath had tickled her. She really didn’t like anyone this close to her, invading her personal space and making her stomach feel as if a fist had grabbed hold of it. There was a disturbing warmth in his eyes, radiating through her skin and bones, heating her up way down inside. Instinctively she tried to back away, only to come up hard against an unyielding police car. “Thank you for your honesty. Now tell me how much it’s going to cost me to get out of this motorcycle license thing. That’s what you want, right? Some kind of bail money?”
That’s not at all what I want, Tyler thought. But aloud he said, “I’m in such a good mood today, I’m willing to forgo the whole bail thing—on one condition.”
Jenny’s defensive little chin went up another notch. “Really? And what might that be?”
Tyler grinned. “I hope you don’t think my interest in you is anything but official. I’m simply looking after your best interests. The road from here to Helena is murder if you’re not familiar with it, one switchback after another. Are you familiar with it?”
Immediately she replied, “Yes.”
“Liar. You wouldn’t make it ten miles on that road before you plopped yourself and that nuclear scooter in the river.”
“That’s my problem.”
Tilting his head thoughtfully, he slowly rocked up and down on the heels of his boots. “Well, now…that’s where you’re slightly confused. As a public official, I’m charged with the welfare of every man, woman, child and childlike woman in my jurisdiction. As long as you’re in this town, you’re my responsibility. In daylight the idea of you on that Harley is scary enough. But at night? No way are you leaving here tonight.”
For a moment Jenny felt queasy. She had the unnerving sensation of being out of control, caught like a mouse in a trap. Her freedom was more important to her than food, air or water. “You can’t force me to stay here overnight. You can’t force me to stay anywhere.”
“Not here in the parking lot,” he agreed. “That would be cruel and unusual punishment. You have two options, Trouble. You can check into the Cotton Tree Motor Lodge or you can stay in our little jail. I wouldn’t recommend the jail—the mattresses are like concrete. But the choice is yours. In the morning, after I give you a crash course on riding that Harley—no pun intended—you’ll be free to leave. I’m a friendly