The Sheriff's Runaway Bride. Arlene James
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trying not to stare at Macy Perry. It wasn’t unusual for two unrelated people to look alike, of course, but in a town filled with Claytons, such resemblance did not seem random. Who, he wondered, glancing around at the thinning crowd, was Macy Perry’s father?
Shoving the flimsy, disposable aluminum pan back into Kylie’s hands, Jerome shook his head. “That’s perfectly good meat. Serve it.”
“It’s all fat!” Kylie protested.
Unlike Gerald, his happy-go-lucky, roly-poly brother, Jerome was tall, rail thin and as cheap as chewing gum. Both were excellent cooks. Neither, however, could make beef fat palatable.
Erin Fields, the owner of the Cowboy Café and their boss, breezed by, her long, copper-red ponytail flashing out behind her. Snatching the pan from Kylie’s hands, she carried it away, saying, “You’re just cooking the meat, Jerome, not paying for it. We’ll make this pan an Independence Day treat for the local dogs.” With that, she hurried toward the serving tables being set up on the green.
Jerome rolled his eyes disapprovingly and turned back to the enormous wheeled grill. Built into a trailer frame, it had been towed to the edge of the street in front of the diner for easy access. The huge chunks of beef, donated by one of the local ranchers, had been smoking on the grill since six o’clock the previous evening, making dogs howl all over town. Erin and her employees had volunteered to serve it.
Kylie moved to the steel worktable that had been moved out of the kitchen and set up beneath a bright blue canopy tent. Humming, Gerald busily sliced smoked meat with an enormous knife and mechanical precision, piling the slices into a series of disposable pans. Kylie covered one with tin foil and carried it across the street toward the serving tables. Ahead of her, Vincent sauntered by with Sherilyn Rader on his arm.
They’d been burning up the edge of the green nearest the diner all afternoon, strolling back and forth, over and over again. Apparently, Vincent found it necessary to flaunt his girlfriend in public to save face. At first, Kylie hadn’t recognized Sherilyn because the silly thing had dyed her streaky chestnut hair an unnatural black. Despite studiously refusing to acknowledge the pair’s existence, Kylie couldn’t help noticing that Sherilyn wore next to nothing. Her outfit seemed to consist of flip-flops, a white sports bra and denim short shorts. She made Kylie feel positively overdressed in her usual work clothes: athletic shoes, jeans and a T-shirt, red in honor of the holiday. She’d wisely added a white visor, which meant that she could avoid looking at Vincent by just dipping her head slightly.
The next couple hours passed in a flurry of activity as Kylie and her coworkers laded the tables and served hundreds of pounds of mouth-watering, slow-cooked beef, which the diners carried back to their picnic spots and augmented with their side dishes of choice. Many of them actually carried the meat home with them and ate it there, several of them admitting that they’d be back to watch the fireworks being readied over at the football field. Zach came through near the end of the line, smiling behind his sunshades and carrying two large disposable platters.
He lifted the one on his right and said, “For me, Brooke, Gabe and A.J.” Shoving forward the platter atop his left palm, he explained, “This one’s for Arabella and her crew.”
Arabella Michaels was another Clayton cousin. The divorced mother of triplets baked for the diner, and everyone greatly appreciated her offerings. Kylie started piling on the meat.
“Is Jasmine with Arabella?”
“Yep.”
In addition to her own three kids, Arabella had taken in a teen abandoned by her drunk of a father. Jasmine Turner, who had recently become engaged to marry Cade Clayton, a first cousin to Vincent. Neither side of the family seemed thrilled by that relationship, but wherever Jasmine could be found, Cade would likely be, so Kylie kept piling on the meat until Zach chuckled and moved the first platter out of her reach.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asked idly, filling the second platter while she eyed his dark green uniform shirt, which he wore today with blue jeans and boots.
“Sure. How about you?”
“Too busy. I’ll enjoy myself after the meat’s all gone.”
“Pity,” he said.
“Aw, I don’t mind.” She could’ve let him go then but found that she didn’t really want to. Despite what he’d said on Saturday night, she liked this gorgeous man. Not only had he been in church on Sunday, he’d apologized for his remark and then he’d stood around worrying about poor old Mrs. Rader. Besides, something about his smile made her smile, so she asked, “Are you working, too?”
He dipped his chin in a nod. “I am.”
“Wasn’t sure. I mean, you’re wearing the shirt but not the rest of the uniform, and you’re not carrying your gun.”
Leaning forward, he confessed, “Frankly, I’m not keen on the uniform. Too many years in plain clothes, I guess.” He looked at her over the rim of his shades, his dark-blue eyes gleaming, and quietly added, “As for the gun, it’s a law that a peace officer has to go armed in public at all times. Just because you don’t see a firearm, darlin’, doesn’t mean I’m not packing one.”
“Oh,” Kylie squeaked, undone by his nearness, the deep, smoky timbre of his voice and that perfectly meaningless word “darlin’.”
A microphone whined, and they both looked to the gazebo in the center of the green as Reverend West stepped up to speak. The crowd quickly hushed. Red, white and blue bunting ruffled in the breeze as he welcomed the crowd and led them in eloquent prayer before introducing the mayor. As soon as Pauley pulled a sheaf of folded paper from his pocket, everyone went back to what they’d been doing before the pastor had spoken.
Zach spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Guess we know who commands the respect around here.”
Kylie said nothing, but she couldn’t stop a smile from breaking across her face. Chuckling, he moved off then, and Kylie nodded at the blue-haired matron waiting behind him, her handbag dangling from one wrist, cardboard platter in hand. When the woman’s narrowed gaze cut to a loudly laughing Vincent, Kylie realized that the woman had overheard every word of her conversation with Zach, most likely weighing every word for gossip potential.
As if to prove that assumption, the woman thrust forward her platter, remarking, “Those Clayton boys make fine-looking men, don’t they?”
Kylie hummed a noncommittal reply and dished out the beef. Fine-looking men, indeed. She glanced surreptitiously from Zach to Vincent. Handsome, yes, but at least one of them had proved himself to be a jerk. Her gaze moved back to Zach, following him across the green. It remained to be seen whether the other was as fine as he looked.
By the time Kylie found herself free to enjoy the day, it had all but ended. Just the barest lip of the sun clung to the horizon as she strolled across the grass toward her parents, who had placed their chairs on the church lawn, her father having been charged with opening the church to provide access to the restrooms in the tiny vestibule. A tall form fell into step beside her. Smiling, she glanced up at Zach Clayton, noticing that his jaws had taken on the faint shadow of a day’s growth of beard. The slight stubble gave him a rakishly handsome appearance.
“Where you headed?” he murmured.
“Going to sit with my parents a while.”
“That’s good. I won’t worry about you then.”
Kylie stopped dead in her tracks. “Worry about me?”
He winced. “I, um … well, you’ve seen how Vincent’s been acting.”
“No, not really,” she said. In point of fact, she’d done her dead level best not to notice what Vincent had been up to, but she felt a glow in the center of her chest at the knowledge that Zach worried about her. With all these people here, three or four hundred at least, tall, good-looking Zach Clayton had been keeping an eye on her.
Zach cleared his throat, but the eruption of