The Sheriff’s

      Runaway Bride

      Arlene James

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      “Because of the oppression of the weak

      and the groaning of the needy, I will now arise,”

      says the LORD. “I will protect them

      from those who malign them.”

      —Psalms 12:5

      For my cousin, Terry Lynn Morris,

      veteran, wounded warrior, retired peace officer and

      so much more, definitely one of the “good guys.”

      With love,

      DAR

      Special thanks and acknowledgment to Arlene James for her participation in the Rocky Mountain Heirs miniseries

       Chapter One

      “You’re a long way from Miami, my friend,” newly sworn Deputy Sheriff Zach Clayton muttered to himself, surveying the small,? narrow office.

      Disorganized and poorly arranged, with dust covering every conceivable surface, it hardly invited confidence. Apparently, his predecessor, Linden Diggers, hadn’t filed anything in years. The best thing to do seemed to be to find some boxes in which to store all this detritus. He’d clean as he went along, then rearrange later.

      Turning, Zach walked back through the door and past the white sedan bearing the logo and symbol of the county sheriff. The sheriff had promised that the rattletrap would be replaced “next year sometime.”

      Zach hadn’t mentioned that he didn’t intend to stay long enough to see that happen. He’d pass the year in Clayton, Colorado, as required by the terms of his grandfather George’s will, but after that Zach would be ready to get back to his real life.

      At least he prayed he’d be ready.

      Plucking his mirrored sunshades from the chest pocket of his forest-green shirt with the Sheriff’s Department insignia at the top of each sleeve, Zach slid the glasses onto his face and adjusted the brim of his forest-green ball cap. His khaki pants boasted wide green stripes that ran down the outside of each leg from his waist to the tops of his black western boots.

      The uniform felt strange. He’d made detective his fourth year out of academy and had worn plain clothes ever since. Now here he stood in full regalia with a gun on his hip and a utility belt. He’d never expected to wear a uniform again, but then, he’d never expected to return to his hometown either.

      From sheer habit, Zach took stock of his surroundings, surveying for activity in the immediate area. Swathed in bunting and American flags in honor of the upcoming Independence Day celebration, the downtown square seemed deserted, despite the two dozen or so cars in the small parking lot to the east of the familiar white clapboard church in the southwest corner of the greensward. Sweeping his gaze across the green, Zach saw that the gazebo, playground and picnic tables remained empty. Across the way, the parking spaces all stood empty in front of the pharmacy, the grocery, and the Cowboy Café diner. Even the Hair Today beauty parlor looked abandoned.

      Zach turned his attention to Railroad Street, the town’s main avenue, which ran east and west. A fat, red hen leisurely strolled beneath the only traffic light in town. Crossing Railroad, it wandered right down the middle of Eagle Street toward him. That meandering fowl seemed quintessential Clayton, Colorado. With a population around nine hundred, the whole town—which had been founded by his great-grandfather, Jim—wasn’t much bigger than a good-size chicken coop and about as exciting.

      Shaking his head, Zach moved past his black Jeep Wrangler, intending to snag a few boxes from the grocery. As he crossed the street, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Halting, he turned his head just enough to get a full view. His brown eyebrows went up, arching over the gold rims of his sunshades, as he registered the sight before him.

      A bride, white veil flowing out behind her, long skirt belling, ran toward him from the vicinity of the church, bouquet in hand. Zach dipped his chin and pushed down the dark glasses, peering over the rim, just to be certain that the altitude wasn’t playing tricks with his sight.

      Hot on her heels ran none other than his old nemesis and cousin, Vincent Clayton, dressed in a cheap black suit. Behind him trundled a stocky middle-aged fellow in a tuxedo. Instinctively, Zach strode forward just as Vincent caught up with the bride at the edge of the greensward. Zach didn’t know what was going on, but he did know what a bully Vincent was, and the badge pinned to his shirt gave him all the authority he needed to intervene. Smiling grimly, he prepared to perform his first official act as deputy sheriff.

      A beefy hand grabbed Kylie Jones’s arm, yanking her to a stop.

      “Dagnabit, Kylie, hold up!” Vincent bawled, hauling her around to face him.

      “Let go!” For emphasis, the bride whacked him in the face with her bouquet, which he then tore from her hand and threw to the ground.

      “It was just a kiss!” Vincent yelled, grappling with her.

      “It was not!”

      “Just a last kiss before I become a married man,” he wheedled.

      Yanking free, Kylie stumbled backward, then began edging closer to the uniformed officer who she’d spied coming out of Linden’s old office only moments earlier. Everyone in town knew that they were getting a replacement to man the satellite office of the county sheriff’s department now that Linden Diggers had retired, but no one had expected the new guy to show up on a Saturday morning. Conventional wisdom said he wouldn’t make it to town until after the Fourth of July holiday. Thank God that had proved wrong!

      Livid about her breaking their engagement just minutes before the wedding would have taken place, Vincent had tried to force her into the church. Spying the deputy, she had run instead. Now, with rescue just feet away, she stood her ground.

      “Vincent, I heard you! The two of you were obviously together all night. And you were planning to meet her again next weekend!”

      He turned on the charm … he was good at that. Pity he wasn’t as good at telling the truth. “It was a joke, baby. That’s all.”

      Vincent stood only a half foot taller than her own five-foot-three-inch frame, but he outweighed her by sixty or seventy pounds, all of it muscle. With his spiked blond hair, smooth, lantern jaw and bright blue eyes, he was a better than average-looking man, his features marred only slightly by a somewhat crooked nose. However, she’d been bothered for some time by a sense that Vincent was not all that he seemed, and now she had proof.

      “I’m not an idiot, Vincent! I saw what the two of you were