A Stetson On Her Pillow. Molly Liholm
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mother was a waitress who used to make extra money by hiring herself out as service help for large society parties. Peter went with her, helping in the kitchen. Clearly that’s when he became obsessed with high society. The longer a family’s been in America the more impressed he is.”
“But…” Laura started to interrupt again but quickly thought better of it.
“Yes?” The captain smiled at her predicament but Laura wisely decided not to ask how she fit into the scenario. At least the woman acknowledged the silver spoon she was born with.
Clint wondered what it would be like to be accepted because of one’s family name. He was placing extraordinary demands on himself because of how badly his own family was perceived. His father had run off with the life savings of too many people in Two Horse Junction for him to be comfortable accepting the sheriff’s job just because he was a good cop. He needed to show that he was a great cop.
Captain Clark smiled. “Unfortunately the Chicago P.D. isn’t overrun by socialites. Luckily you transferred in. In fact it’s good that the pair of you transferred in. I never dreamed I’d be happy to have a cowboy and an heiress working for me.”
“I’m not…an heiress. My mother—” Another look at Captain Clark’s face and Laura stopped. She didn’t bite her lip or fidget or anything. She just waited. Clint had to admit he liked how calm she was. It was the only thing he liked about Miss Nose-Stuck-Up-In-the-Air Laura Carter. When she’d transferred in from Boston he couldn’t help but admire her beauty. But her ice-maiden attitude didn’t appeal to him. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to laugh out loud, who wasn’t afraid to step in a puddle in order to cross the road. He preferred having a warm loving body in his bed, not a prickly cactus. She had about as much personality as a cactus, too.
It hadn’t taken long for the rumors about her to spread. Clint didn’t believe every story he heard, but there were so many of them about Laura Carter—and her relationship with her last boss—that he had wondered. She had been transferred out of Boston to Chicago very quickly—and under a cloud of secrecy. He knew how much paperwork was involved in switching from one city to another. It had taken him over a year to get himself approved for the move from Dallas to Chicago and that was only after he’d received a hero’s thank-you for rescuing a kidnapped baby.
Clearly Little Miss Society had been sent to Chicago because of her misdeeds. He had seen her having dinner with the police superintendent just last week, probably thanking him for her job. Having dinner with the highest-ranked police officer in Chicago certainly didn’t hurt her career. None of the other officers in their department had ever had such an honor, yet there she’d been, only a couple of months after joining the Chicago force.
He’d been having dinner with his own date, and unfortunately had become bored with her too quickly. He found that happening a lot recently. Probably because he missed home and was looking forward to finding himself a sweet Texas gal. A woman who appreciated a man like him.
The SFI agent took the center of the room. “The wedding of two of Chicago’s most established families will be playing into Peter Monroe’s psyche. It’s the perfect opportunity for Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, the personification of his ultimate fantasy, to become his new best friends.”
Laura frowned. “What you’re saying makes a certain kind of logic, but once Clint and I worm our way into Monroe’s circle then what? He’s not about to confess his well-thought out criminal activities to us.”
“The psychologists think he just might.” Garrow shrugged. “I admit, the plan is kind of crazy, but it’s our last chance. You can have all the paperwork on the profile, but our psychologist suggests that if Clint and Peter could become friends and then enter a one-upmanship contest—which Clint must win—Peter might show his own hand. At the very least he may be more careless than usual at the wedding when he meets with Vasili. This is the first time that we’ll be able to prove that these two men have even been in the same room together. I need you two to be there and take advantage of whatever the situation may offer.” Vincent ran a hand through his hair, “I realize this sounds desperate and—well it is. Basically you’re going to have to improvise—including how to get Peter Monroe to show his hand.”
Laura stood. “We’ll do it.”
When had she turned so sympathetic? Clint stood as well. “Well Captain, I’m honored to have the opportunity to work with an officer as fine as Ms. Carter. Plus, as my dear mother always says, the sooner we get started the sooner we’ll be finished.”
Laura glared at him.
“The most important thing is to convince Peter Monroe that you two are madly in love,” the captain said.
“I’ve usually found the fillies do fall madly in love with me,” Clint said in his very best Texas drawl.
Laura harrumphed. Clint slid an arm around her, hugging her to him. “Now, honey, was that any way to show enthusiasm for this project?”
She stiffened against him. He felt her take a deep breath and he counted to five before she disengaged herself and moved away from him slightly. It figured Laura didn’t have to count to ten like a regular person; she regained her composure in five. “Cowboy, there’s nothing I would like better than to be married to you for the weekend.” She smiled sweetly and he felt incredible pain—and realized she’d ground one heel of her pump into his boot.
Determined to show her he wasn’t the hick she thought he was, and wondering why he wanted to prove otherwise, he limped to the office door and opened it. She swept past him, her chin up in the air and her back ramrod straight as she marched away. He let his gaze fall to her buttocks which nicely filled out the tailored navy skirt but there was no seductive sway of her hips.
Damn, he had to admit she was beautiful, especially when she was mad at him, but she was not the kind of woman he was attracted to.
Laura Carter might be gorgeous but she was also a royal pain in the butt.
She kept going past his desk to the women’s bathroom while he picked up his messages. His brother Ben had called, as had Amber, a working girl who sometimes had good tips. Naturally she hadn’t left a number for him to return her call, but he knew that if it was important she’d find him.
Stan Lesky stopped at his desk and grinned. “Score man. You got assigned to Carter.”
“Only for this assignment. There’s nothing permanent about us as a team.” In his year with the Chicago P.D. he’d had three different partners. Willy and he had partnered up for six months before Willy’s retirement. Contrary to popular cop movies, they’d thrown a nice goodbye party and Willy had retired to the suburbs to annoy his wife. Then Clint had partnered with whoever was available, most often with Lucy Wong, a veteran of fifteen years in the department, and with Jeff Knight on his first rotation as a plainclothes officer. Despite the fact that Jeff Knight had grown up in Chicago, Clint knew he had never been as young or enthusiastic as Jeff.
It wasn’t only the big city that had hard lessons to teach. Anyone looking at Jeff and Clint side by side at age twenty-two would assume Clint was the sophisticated, cynical man from the big city and optimistic Jeff the bumpkin from Two Horse Junction, Texas, population five hundred and eighty-seven.
Every year the population of Two Horse fluctuated by five to ten. Some years it decreased as the young people left; then it would swell again as some disillusioned souls came back home. Clint planned to increase the number by one very soon—his brothers needed him, and more importantly he needed to be back home. And once he was back he planned to find a nice local girl to marry—he knew his mother had a list of suitable single women—and to increase the population of his hometown even further with a houseful of kids. A sweet and loving wife he would treasure, look after and never leave. And he would be sheriff.
Sheriff in a small town was much better than being a detective in Chicago. Both jobs were important, he acknowledged, but back home he would know the people in his town. He’d be able to help in a real way—and be able to stop trouble before it grew out of hand. A small-town sheriff was a law enforcer, the first