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Aggie reached out and pinched Dean’s black stubbled cheek. “He’d make one handsome sheriff. Don’t cha think, Sarah?”
The old woman stared at her now, increasing the erratic rhythm of Sarah’s heart. Meanwhile, her attention slipped to Sheriff Marlin, and her breath shallowed for a reason beyond the need to escape his scrutiny over Dean. “I like the sheriff we have. Peter’s been flawless at his job for decades. Besides, no one knows Harlow like Sheriff Marlin, and the role of sheriff isn’t a beauty competition. We all know he would have stopped the Chadleys himself, eventually.”
The sheriff’s cheeks turned slack, and he tilted his head to one side in seeming shock, like he hadn’t expected her compliment.
Dean cleared his throat, disrupting the exchange. “Sarah’s right, and I wouldn’t say I came to Harlow with sheriffing in mind.”
For the first time during that conversation, his tone relaxed and he spoke with all seriousness. Though even as he backed up her argument, he at least had the smarts not to look at her while he did so.
A sly smile pulled at her lips, and she turned to Ally, partly to distract from the warm-fuzzy sensation taking up space in her torso. Hormones. It’s just hormones.
“You see, even Dean agrees. Besides, you’ve been so focused on Mr. Holloway right in front of you, you’ve completely forgotten about Sheriff Williams over in Moresley.” She gave Dean an overly sweet smile. “Now, those are some smoldering brown eyes. Not to mention his diamond cut abs and those plump lips that look like they could kiss the life back into a three-thousand-year-old mummy.” She shrugged, turning back to Ally. “Sheriff Williams makes Dean here look like a week-old dropped pie.”
Dean’s shoulders shook in her peripheral vision while Ally let out a quick gasp and pressed a palm to her mouth, her other hand swinging out to land on Dean’s chuckle-affected shoulders. Like that would save him from the sting of Sarah’s barb.
At least she could say she’d upped the ante on dousing anyone’s suspicion. And there was the added bonus of having a mighty internal laugh at Dean’s expense…
“Bit harsh, girl. Uff-dah!” Aggie shook her head, her weathered forehead crinkled further in a What the heck is wrong with you? sort of glower. Understandable, since Sarah was putting in her absolute worst show of manners.
Meanwhile, the sheriff diverted his focus to his drink, face pale, while a heavy quiet cut the bar’s bustling background noise.
She lifted a brow at Dean and gave him a weak smile, begging him to hit back with an equally bruising reply, or at least save her from the hole of total awkwardness she’d just dug.
“I don’t know, Sarah.” A wicked grin lifted his cheeks, his eyes glinting in a way that said he was more than happy to oblige. “What with your general uptight and soulless personality, I get the feeling even Sheriff Williams’ lips would fail to resuscitate you.”
The sheriff, Ally, and Aggie all spluttered against flawed attempts to conceal laughter. Blood rushed to Sarah’s cheeks, and she glared at Dean, not all that sure how much of that glare was still for show. The insults hurt more as the receiver than the one doling them out, that was for sure.
She took a deep breath and slumped her shoulders, handing Dean her defeat. This was all part of their game. At least, she hoped so. Otherwise, she’d have to consider the amount of truth in his comment about her being uptight and soulless.
“So, how’s the arm, Dean?” The sheriff’s question cut through her thoughts, and he eyed her in a sidelong way that said he timed the intrusion to keep her from saying anything more.
“It’s fine.” Dean kept his stare trained on Sarah.
“You hurt your arm?” Ally frowned at him, her voice a little too sullen.
“Ricocheting glass.” The sheriff nodded to Dean. “Though this one insisted on going home to stitch himself up.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Ally pressed her hand to Dean’s meaty forearm. “You did your own stitches?”
His wicked smile returned, and he pitched his pale blue stare back to Sarah. “It’s amazing what a skillful pair of hands can do.”
She felt her eyes go wide, and choked back a splutter of her own, not one of stifled laughter but of buried astonishment.
The man’s provocations reached a whole other level, one that would get them both in trouble one day. Even Ally’s moon-white face took on a sudden deep blush. Hell, Dean laid on his charm so thick, Ally probably figured he’d directed his flirting at her.
A light ache, maybe of jealousy, wound through Sarah’s tummy, extending upward into her chest, that ache deepening to a distant pain. The jealousy and the pain were two things she refused to entertain. “I think I hear Gordon calling me.”
She turned toward the kitchen, bailing before Dean said anymore. But even as she made her exit, Dean’s overly confident and booming voice followed her. “I’ll see you later then, Sarah.”
By the time Dean got to Sarah’s house, the ink-black sky hosted little more than a thin, crescent moon. Her shift had ended an hour ago, and her front door swung open. She waited for him beneath the eaves and under the porch light—the glow of her amber-green eyes competing with her bright smile. Maybe, just like him, she rejoiced at their competent skills in fooling her friends.
From now on, night would spell the time for her to be his. A time where mystery and seduction came out to play. She sure as hell was all of that to him. Mystery. Seduction. Maybe more… though she wouldn’t want to hear about being “more”.
She wanted schemes and aversion. But he had just the scheme for her.
Play slow. Play dirty.
If he were lucky, win her heart. With all her bravado and hidden kindness, he didn’t deserve her, but he’d come too far to step back now.
Her smile broadened at him, and his heart took on a deep thud. He picked up pace over her porch and swept her up in his arms, taking her inside and away from anyone’s view.
No matter how many times he had her, he wanted more. Always more. No matter how many times he insisted he had control here, a quieter voice told him that was a lie. Because Sarah, in her beauty and strength, held all the power.
