Chapter Three

      Reid stared at the modest pile of boxes in the middle of his new kitchen. He suspected that most people, by thirty-four years of age, had acquired more stuff, but when he and Trish had separated, he’d moved into a fully furnished apartment and let her keep the house and almost everything in it.

      While looking at the housing options in Haven, he’d found an in-law suite available to rent only a few blocks from the Sheriff’s Office—furnishings available—and decided that was again the easy option. Glancing around his new home, he acknowledged that he should have asked for photos.

      Whether or not his decision to move to Haven, Nevada, would prove to be the right one had yet to be determined. But he’d needed a fresh start, he’d liked what he’d seen of the town on his first visit and he’d been assured by Jed Traynor, the former sheriff who had been forced into early retirement by some health concerns—and his wife—that Haven was populated by mostly good people.

      And then, of course, there was the Katelyn factor.

      He wasn’t foolish enough to let his career decisions be influenced by a weekend fling, no matter how spectacular and unforgettable the sex had been. But he’d been thinking about her a lot and he was looking forward to the opportunity to see her again.

      Seeing her naked again would be even better.

      She was a woman of intriguing contrasts. When she’d walked into the conference room, she’d been the picture of cool professionalism, but it hadn’t taken long for him to realize how much heat simmered beneath the surface. The passion she’d displayed in advocating her position in the conference room was just as evident in the bedroom.

      She’d made the first move—not just when she’d invited him back to her room, but when she’d kissed him. There had been nothing tentative about that first kiss. No questions or doubts about what either of them wanted. Their mouths had come together eagerly, almost desperately.

      They’d both been enthusiastic participants in their lovemaking. Tearing at their own clothes while simultaneously trying to undress each other, laughing when limbs got tangled in uncooperative fabric.

      When she’d been stripped down to a tiny pair of black bikini panties and a low-cut bra, he’d stopped laughing.

      Hell, his heart had almost stopped beating.

      She was so incredibly hot.

      So wonderfully agile.

      So totally willing.

      And even six weeks after only two nights together, he hadn’t forgotten any of the details of the time he’d spent in her bed. Not the way her eyes went dark when she was aroused or the soft, sexy sounds that emanated from deep in her throat. Not the rosy pink buds of her nipples or the tiny brown mole beside her belly button. Not the way her hair looked fanned out on the soft pillow behind her head, or the erotic brush of those long tresses as her lips leisurely explored his body. Not the way her thighs quivered when he stroked deep inside her or the way her inner muscles clenched around him when she finally succumbed to her climax.

      Yeah, he was definitely looking forward to seeing her again.

      With that thought in mind, he decided to abandon his unpacking for a while and wander the neighborhood—to get his bearings. At least that would be the justification if anyone asked. The truth was, he’d already located the most important places: Sheriff’s Office; courthouse; Diggers’, the neighborhood bar and grill; Jo’s, a local pizza place; The Trading Post, the general store; and, a few blocks down from the courthouse, The Law Office of Katelyn T. Gilmore.

      Her practice was set up in a beautiful old building with a cornerstone that established the date of its erection as 1885. Maybe the old library, he speculated, since Jed had pointed out the new community center, which included a swimming pool, gymnasium, “the new library,” several multipurpose rooms and administrative offices.

      “Are you in need of legal counsel?”

      Reid turned to face a woman who appeared to be in her mid-to late-sixties, about five-four with shoulder-length dark hair liberally streaked with gray, wearing a plaid shirt with faded jeans and well-worn boots.

      “No, ma’am,” he said. “Just admiring the building.”

      “The old library,” she said, confirming his supposition. “It was built in 1885, as were most of the buildings on this stretch of Main Street, but the doors didn’t open until 1887. It’s rumored that sixteen-year-old Elena Sanchez hid out in the basement of this very building for three weeks in the fall of 1904 to avoid being forced to marry.”

      “Did she succeed?”

      The woman nodded. “With the help of the librarian, Edward Jurczyk, who sneaked in blankets and food for her. Two years later, they were married. Nine years after that, Edward was killed fighting in The Great War in Europe.”

      “Haven has quite an interesting history,” he mused, his gaze returning to the wide front window where Katelyn T. Gilmore was painted in bold black letters outlined in gold and Attorney at Law was spelled out below in slightly smaller letters.

      “Katie opened her office here almost two-and-a-half years ago,” the woman continued. “If you’re ever in need of an attorney, you couldn’t do better. She sometimes has office hours on weekends, but she’s out of town right now.”

      “You seem to know a lot about Ms. Gilmore’s schedule,” he noted.

      And sharing more information than you should with a stranger, he wanted to caution. Of course, he kept that admonition to himself, as he was eager to hear anything about Katelyn that she was willing to tell him.

      “Of course, I do,” she replied. “Katie’s my granddaughter.”

      “I’m beginning to believe that everyone in town knows—or is—a Gilmore.” He offered his hand. “I’m Reid Davidson, the—”

      “The new sheriff,” she finished for him, as she gripped his hand in a surprisingly firm shake. “I know who you are. And I’m Evelyn Gilmore, not some dotty old woman who would spill personal information about my family to a stranger on the street.”

      Then her gaze narrowed speculatively. “So you apparently know that Haven was founded by the Gilmore family,” she acknowledged, “but what do you know about the Blakes?”

      He forced his expression to remain blank. “Who?”

      She laughed. “It might turn out that you’re exactly what this town needs, Sheriff Reid Davidson. You plan on staying beyond the completion of your current term?”

      “Maybe you should table that question until after I’ve actually started my job,” he suggested.

      “Maybe I will,” she decided. “Until then, if you’ve got time for a cup of coffee, I can introduce you to Donna Bradley. She’s been working the counter at The Daily Grind for longer than it’s been The Daily Grind.

      “Cal’s Coffee Shop, it used to be called,” she continued.