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That southern way he had about him of grinning and tipping his hat, had her heart fluttering for a minute, but only a minute. What was she thinking? She didn't need a man, especially right now. Hadn't she learned anything?
"But I told you what happened ..." she protested. Then repeating his name she smiled, "As in pigs?"
She hadn't meant to smile, but that name startled her.
"Yes ma'am," his lips firmed into another frown. Obviously he was used to the question. "Look I sympathize, but we're gonna have to do something real quick about your state of dress." He cleared his throat and looked away. "You do have a change of clothes in that little bag of yours, don't you?"
"Well of course I do, I mean, I think I do. Oh, I should have gotten some clothes yesterday, but under the circumstances…"
"You don't have any clothes in the bag." His expression turned serious, the fabulous smile faded into oblivion.
Savannah bit her lower lip. "A Sleep shirt."
"A what?" he asked as though he'd never heard of such.
"A Sleep shirt, you know a t-shirt to sleep in," she explained. "Well," she felt compelled to explain. "One doesn't plan these kinds of things out, when one runs from a wedding."
"That doesn't sound much better than what you have on," he shook his head and looked away again. "But I guess you have a point."
Savannah felt an unease creep up her back. She shuffled the camera equipment and set it down beside her. The man was infuriating, despite the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous, despite the fact that her whole body seemed aware of him. He saw what had happened to her, basically. He knew where her car was, that she was practically stranded. And the invitation to stay with him was issued with such reluctance she wouldn't go with him now if he pleaded.
"Thanks for all your help, Sheriff, but I'll figure something out," she muttered miserably and turned again toward the gas station. Bold words, but exactly what she was going to do. She didn't have a set plan, and she hadn't bothered calling her aunt because she wanted to put distance between her and the congregation at the church. Besides she'd already spent $40 of her $250. It wasn't going to last long at this rate.
"If your car wasn't twenty miles down the road, and your bag had something decent in it, I'd say you were probably right, but under the circumstances, ma'am, you're gonna have to come with me." Ben insisted as he got out of the jeep and approached her again.
His legs were long and lithe and he moved toward her like a predator, a very sexy predator.
"I can manage, Sheriff, please don't bother with me," she began, and that's when he put the cuffs on her wrist. Cold steel—handcuffs.
They pinched...
"No bother at all ma'am," he said with a smile pushing his hat back away from his face, so she could get a better view of the man. And what a view, but she was temporarily distracted by the new jewelry.
"What—what are you doing?" she protested the use of force, cold and hard against her wrists.
"Taking you with me." He insisted guiding her back toward the jeep. With one hand he picked up her camera and tripods, with the other, he nudged her toward the jeep.
She pulled away from him, jerking her arms about. "Am I under arrest?"
The man stood squarely in front of her, his legs slightly apart, his hands gripping her equipment, and then he stashed the equipment back in the same spot. His glance shot up and down her. "No ma'am. I'm taking you into protective custody till we can figure out what to do with you."
"Protective custody?" she choked out. "But Sheriff ..."
"It'll go a lot easier if you just come along with me," he insisted in a quietly steel-edged voice.
Chapter Three
Ben dusted his clothes with a sweep of his hat, and led his so called prisoner into his house. This was about as dumb a thing as he'd ever done, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what else to do with the woman. He knew she'd be trouble from the moment he laid eyes on her, his trouble.
Did she honestly think he'd let her run all over town looking like that?
And why did it have to be a Sunday, the one day his housekeeper wasn't here. How was he supposed to manage with a woman in his home. Too bad Dana, his younger sister hadn't spent the summer with him like she usually did. At least she had left some clothes, and they just might fit this little gal.
The woman hadn't said a word all the way out to his place. She hadn't remarked that he practically lived in the boondocks. Instead, she had just sat there with that frown on her face, and those pitiful sad eyes staring at him, every time he hit a chuckhole.
"Sheriff, wouldn't it have been easier to just take me to my car?" She insisted when he went into the kitchen and brought back a couple of glasses of lemonade. Thank goodness Mrs. Johnson had made it earlier before leaving, with a note she'd see him first thing in the morning.
"It might, but I've had a long day, and I've got to get some rest before tomorrow. We'll see to your car tomorrow. Folks around here don't do much on Sundays."
