Sheriff Nick Sheppard reached into his squad car and flipped on the lights, then waved the red mustang over. The car’s rear lights flashed on and the car whipped to the side of the road, spraying gravels. Nick caught just a glimpse of the driver, a hot blonde wearing huge hater-blocker sunglasses that would look less out of place in L.A.
Well! That was a sight he hadn’t seen in Paradise in his two-year tenure as town sheriff. And a good thing, too. If he knew anything, it was that women could be trouble, especially hot blondes who thumbed their perfect noses at the law. He’d seen the damage a woman could do and he’d sworn to never succumb to such dangerous temptation.
He approached the car, noted the Raleigh plates and counted at least two other occupants besides the driver. To keep his hands free, he tucked his ticket book into his back pocket and walked to the open window. The driver’s head was bent as she dug through her wallet, obviously looking for a license that wasn’t where she’d expected it to be. His gaze dropped to the space between the woman and the door, instinctively looking for a weapon. Old training, that, from a time when he’d worked somewhere far, far busier and far more violent.
As he expected, he didn't find anything of interest. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He found a few things of interest, a long expanse of smooth, tanned thigh and the hint of a tattoo peeking from the edge of her white shorts.
His gaze lingered appreciatively. It didn’t hurt to look. Touching . . . that was another matter all together.
He noted the trim line of her hip and the hint of a tattoo on one hip. Whoever she was, she definitely wouldn't fit in with the gray hairs and shiny domes that sat around Micki and Maud's Diner, complaining about the weather. He’d better give her the ticket and send her on her way.
Nick bent down to the open window. “Ma’am, I’m going to need to see your driver’s license and registra--”
The woman flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head and in one blinding moment, Nick forgot everything he was going to say. Sitting before him was the one reason he’d left the idyllic little town of Paradise in the first place -- Roxie Treymayne. “You changed your hair color.”
It was a stupid thing to say and her reaction was immediate.
Hot color flooded her cheeks, though her chin immediately notched up a level as if ready for a fight. She caught herself though, and instead said in a cool, faintly sarcastic way he immediately recognized, “You think?”
Nick flicked a glance at the creamy blonde hair lifting up into a ponytail, hair that had once been such a deep brown it had bordered on black. He might not know that blond hair, but he did know those wide, pale blue eyes, thick black lashes, and same pouty, kissable mouth, just as he knew that too-stubborn chin. At one time, he’d showered them all with kisses, yet all he said was, "Roxie Treymayne.”
“Nick Sheppard.” Her gaze flicked over him before she met his gaze, humor lurking in her expression. “A cop. I never saw that coming.”
“Yeah, well, neither did I, though my mother’s glad I’m in charge of the jail rather than residing in it.” Though he tried not to, his gaze drifted, noting the low cut halter-top and something else . . . the twinkle of a naval ring above the waistband of her short shorts.
Instead of a too-good-for-anyone brunette ice queen, Roxie Treymayne had returned to town as a sexy, tempting hot blonde. A hot tattooed, navel-pierced blonde, at that.
Hot damn.
Nick’s mind reeled. It seemed that his entire life, he'd watched little Roxie Treymayne prance about Paradise, so pure and perfect that it almost hurt to see her. He'd watched her grow from a leggy sprite wearing a peter pan collar to a coolly and supremely confident homecoming queen with a large blue satin bow on her shoulder. Just breathing, Roxie had kept every male for miles around panting. Except him.
He hadn’t panted. He’d dreamed, desired, longed for . . . and had had the good sense to make a run for it before he’d made more of a fool of himself than he already had.
Now, from the safety of time passed, he met her icy blue gaze and realized just how changed things were. At one time, she’d been the town’s hottest and most unavailable virgin while he’d been all but named Senior Most Likely To Be In Jail During The Reunion. Now, crazy as the world was, he was a by-the-book cop while she had returned to Paradise a sultry scofflaw, the exact sort of woman he avoided like the plague.
“Well, officer?” Roxie’s lazy, low voice traced across his skin like warm fingers. “Am I getting a ticket?”
It was a good thing he’d already learned his lesson. Nick shoved away his far-too-strong reactions and pulled his ticket book from his back pocket. “You were going twelve miles over the posted speed.”
A snicker from the over side of the car made Nick look across Roxie. In the passenger seat sat a rotund, squat woman dressed in a pink velour sweat suit that clashed with her short, curly red hair. An oversized bag of pork rinds were gripped in one hand, her fingers orange from the rind dust. She pulled her heart-shaped neon pink glasses to the end of her freckled nose, and wagged her brows, flashing an orange-tinted smile. “Well, hello there, officer.”
Nick blinked. Had she just winked at him?
Despite himself, he grinned and tipped his hat, then glanced in the back seat. A man was half reclining, staring sleepily up at him. Tousled hair and blue, blue eyes that hid a smile.
“Mark!” Nick exclaimed.
Mark grinned and waved a weak hand. He looked like hell, rumpled and heavy-eyed, but other than that, there wasn't a whole lot of difference. "Nick! I haven't seen you since—I don't know when."
"Your wedding."
A shadow crossed Mark's face.
Oh. So it was like that, was it? "What are you doing back in tow—Oh yes. Your mother." Everyone knew Mrs. Treymayne had taken ill and he should have realized what that meant.
Nick nodded at Mark. "Sorry about your mother."
"Me, too." Mark glanced at Nick's uniform. "I thought you were in Atlanta."
Roxie glanced his way, but Nick kept his attention on Mark. "I came back here a few years ago."
"Not paying enough?"
"Not enough peace."
A question flickered through Mark's eyes, but all he said was, "I suppose that's as good a reason as any."
Nick thought so, too. He was glad Mark didn't ask any other questions. Nick wasn't ready to talk about Atlanta. Not now. Maybe not ever. That was from a time best forgotten, just like he should forget Roxanne Treymayne. Only . . . it wasn’t Treymayne, was it? But Parker.
Which was a good thing, Nick decided. He wanted to stay in Paradise, make a life here. If there was one thing his life in Atlanta had taught him, it was that a woman in trouble was trouble and they were better avoided and the new Roxie Treymayne was trouble with a capital ‘T.’
Nick opened the ticket book. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to issue a warning on the speed limit.”
Mark stirred from his position in the backseat. "Roxie, just how fast were you going?”
“Oh, she was flyin’," the redhead in the front seat said. “Just flyin’! I warned her, too, but she wouldn’t have none of it. No, sir, she just told me she knew the speed limit and--”
“Thanks, Tundy,” Roxie said through clenched teeth.
Nick raised his brows. “Tundy?”
Roxie flipped a hand toward her companion. “Nick, this is Tundy. Tundy, this is Nick. He used to be one of Mark’s friends back in the high school days.”
He’d been Roxie’s ‘friend,’ too, if two days of mindless, all-absorbing passion warranted the term ‘friends.’ Of course, Roxie hadn’t been willing to publicly claim him then or now.
To his surprise, the old hurt returned and, jaw tight, he touched the brim of his hat. “Nice to meet you, Miss Tundy.”
The redhead grinned, her teeth faintly less orange. “Hi, there! I’m Miz Parker’s maid.”
Nick sent a quick from at Roxie. Who in the hell would come to Paradise with a maid in tow?
“Tundy’s come to take care of Mother,” Roxie said impatiently, her blue gaze pining him in place as if she could read his thoughts. “She has a lot of experience tending octogenarians.”
“Octo—?” Tundy threw up a hand, pork rind still in place. “Now I don’t know about no octogens. I’ve just taken care of old people.” She leaned forward to tell Nick in a confidential voice, “I can make cornbread and soup beans and they like that. Keeps ‘em regular, you know.”
“Tundy,” Roxie interrupted, “Nick’s not here to hear about your recipe for staying ‘regular.’”
“No,” Tundy said, crunching on a pork rind and yet still managing to say clearly, “he’s here ‘cause you were drivin’ like a bat outta hell.” She looked over her shoulder at Mark. “I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen none. Said she knew the speed limits from one end to town to the next.”
Roxie sent an accusing look at Nick. “Someone changed the speed limit.”
He grinned. “The City Council did it last month because we’ve been getting a lot of vacation traffic whizzing through here on weekends. I’ve been giving out warnings ever since.”
“Lovely. Just give me that warning and we’ll be on our way. We’ve things to do.” With that, Roxie settled her hater-blocker glasses back onto the bridge of her patrician nose and effectively relegated him to the level of security guard at Costco.
Nick took his time finding his pen. “I’ll be glad to give you the warning, Miss Trey—No. It’s Mrs. Parker, isn’t it.”
“No,” she said tersely. “I prefer ‘Treymayne.’”
Nick lifted his brows but before he could speak, from the backseat, Mark sighed. "Rox, just pay attention to the signs next time, will you?”
Tundy snorted. “I tried to tell her, but you know how stubborn she can be. How impossible to reason with. How completely pig-headed and—"
"Thank you, Tundy," Roxie said abruptly before saying to Nick in a voice most people reserved for repelling telemarketers, “Can you hurry, please? Mother’s expecting us."
Heaven forbid anyone keep Lilah Treymayne waiting. If there was one thing Nick disliked about Paradise, it was the fact that Roxie’s mother, as the oldest descendent of the town’s founding father, General LeeRoy Treymayne, thought she owned the whole place.
But not Nick. He refused to treat Lilah Treymayne any differently than he did anyone else. It was one of the many reasons she couldn’t stand him. “I’ll need your license and registration and then you can be on your way."
Nick filled out the warning while he tried not to stare at her smooth tanned thighs and remember a time when he’d kissed those very thighs, tracing a line up to— He blinked at the ticket and scowled. Somehow, he’d written his name in the date slot and he’d be damned if he’d let her see it. Damn it, Nick! Pay attention to what you’re doing!
He flipped the page over and started a new one, hoping she didn’t notice. It took all of his concentration, but Nick filled out it out correctly. “Here you are.”
She reached for it and their fingers met. For a long, terse moment, they stared at one another, their fingers clenched over the same paper. Nick’s heart gave an odd gallop and then, with a wince as if she’d burnt her fingers, Roxie snatched the paper from his hand, almost tearing it in two.
Nick stepped away from the car and tipped his hat. "Go ahead then,” he said in a voice that now matched hers for terseness. “And watch the signs."
She threw the car into gear.
“See you around, Nick!” Mark said, falling back as Roxie hit the gas. The car spit gravel as it wheeled onto the road.
“Bye, officer!” Tundy yelled out the window, waving a pudgy orange-fingered hand, her red hair blowsing around her freckled face.
Nick watched the Mustang until it disappeared and the gravel dust settled into a low haze on the pavement.
"I'll be damned," he said aloud. Something momentous had just happened; he was certain of it. If nothing else, Paradise was a little less predictable than it had been a few minutes ago. A little less ordinary and a hell of a lot more dangerous.
And all because of a hot blonde in a red Mustang. Nick jabbed his pen back into his pocket and turned on his heel toward the squad car. If Roxie Treymayne had returned to town as she’d left it, innocent and pristine as the rising sun, he might be in worried. Fortunately for him, she’d come as the one thing he was now immune to – a woman in trouble. He didn’t know what kind of trouble, but he recognized the signs, every tempting, tattooed part.
He tossed the ticket book onto the car seat, lifted his hat and raked a hand through his hair, realizing his shoulders were as tense as if he’d been facing an armed murderer. “Hot damn,” he said again, this time to the warm breeze that ruffled the trees overhead. Once again Roxie Treymayne was off limits, only this time, it was for an entirely, and far more interesting, reason.
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