Read the book: «Sovereign Sheriff»
She wanted his kiss. Jake made her feel safe.
Her lips parted. Her eyelids closed. Kiss me, Jake. Breathless, she waited.
The pressure of his mouth against hers was firm and sweet. They shared a breath, an incredible intimacy. Excitement bubbled up inside her. She trembled, aware that this might be the best kiss she’d ever had in her entire life, not wanting this moment to end.
Too soon, he withdrew. Her eyes opened and met his. Both of them knew that kissing was inappropriate.
She hadn’t intended to put him in this position, but when he’d spoken so candidly of his father, she’d been touched. Jake wasn’t a man who shared his emotions. The lone wolf. He didn’t involve anyone else in his problems.
But he’d told her. For some reason, he’d trusted her.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said.
“I’ll be ready at eight o’clock.”
She took a backward step as he left the room and closed the door. She and Jake were going to make a very good team.
Sovereign Sheriff
Cassie Miles
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
In memory of Martha Pogrew and her red stiletto heels.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Though born in Chicago and raised in L.A., Cassie Miles has lived in Colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk Creek, with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Post.
After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Seviche, anyone? She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Harlequin Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Jake Wolf —The recently elected sheriff of Wind River County battles corruption in his department, prejudice against his Native American heritage and complications from crimes against the visiting royals.
Saida Khalid —The fashionista princess of Jamala attends law school in California. Drawn into royal intrigues, she trusts no one but the sheriff to find her missing brother.
Sheik Amir Khalid —The black sheep ruler of Jamala is missing and feared dead.
Maggie Wolf —Jake’s younger sister studies psychology at University of Wyoming and wants her brother to find a mate.
Danny Harold —The paparazzo who specializes in photos of royals has a secret agenda when it comes to Princess Saida.
Sheik Efraim Aziz —His old-fashioned ideas and imperious manner are softened by his love for an American woman.
Callie McGuire —As the assistant to the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, she is based in D.C., but her roots are in Wyoming.
Burt Maddox —Though the blustering former sheriff was suspected of corruption, he thinks he should run this county.
Wade Freeman —A local rancher looking into the oil business has a mysterious connection to Saida’s missing brother.
Prince Sebastian and Prince Antoine Cavanaugh —The twin brothers are corulers of the island nation of Barajas.
Prince Stefan Lutece —Ruler of Kyros.
Jane Cameron —The plain-Jane forensics expert for Wind River County has been glowing since she met Stefan.
Prince Darek Ramat —The Prince of Saruk would like to take over the interests of COIN.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter One
A night breeze swept down from the peaks of the Wind River Mountains and cooled the high Wyoming prairie. At his home five miles outside Dumont, Sheriff Jake Wolf opened his arms wide and welcomed the wind against his bare chest. His arms stretched over his head for a couple of modified jumping jacks. His twelve-hour workday was over. Thankfully, there had been no major catastrophes. No sniper attacks. No bomb explosions. No murderous abductions.
After he adjusted his jeans on his hips, he picked up a basketball and began to dribble slowly. The smack of the ball against concrete reminded him of his glory days at the Wyoming Indian High School when the Chiefs had won their first state tournament. Basketball meant more to him than the powwow drumming and the traditions of his Arapaho people. The first thing he did when he’d bought this two-story, cedar-frame house was mount a hoop and backboard above the garage doors. Earlier this summer, he’d hung a couple of floodlights so he could play after dark.
He made a quick pivot in his sneakers, dodging an invisible foe and went in for a layup. Swish through the net. Two points. He backed up, dribbled, aimed a hook shot. Another score. The physical exertion felt great. He ran and shot, ran and shot. Sometimes a hit, sometimes a miss. He wanted to sweat, to get his blood pumping, to feel alive. All day long he’d been clenching his fists, holding on to his self-control while he fended off reporters, coordinated with other law enforcement agencies and investigated a series of crimes the likes of which Wind River County had never seen. It all started a few weeks ago when the princes and sheiks of four island nations in the Mediterranean arrived for a summit meeting at the exclusive Wind River Ranch and Resort. The trouble wasn’t over yet; Sheik Amir Khalid was still missing.
Jake ran back for a three-pointer, turned and shot. The ball dropped neatly through the hoop. Nothing but net, baby.
“And the crowd goes wild.” His sister, Maggie, strolled from the two-story cedar house. “Come inside and eat. I made a recipe from the Food Network. Linguini with meatballs.”
“Not hungry.” With the way his sister cooked, he expected the meatballs to be the consistency of petrified elk droppings.
“Come on, Jake. You’re in decent shape for an old man of thirty-one, but you need to watch it. You’re going to get too skinny and no woman will have you.”
“Says the worldly nineteen-year-old.”
“Seriously.” She knocked the ball from his hand and shoved a bottle of water at him. “I’m only here for the summer. Who’s going to take care of you when I’m back in college?”
“I’ll manage.” Before the royals came to town, his time had been structured and sane. Usually, he’d come home for a lunch break when he tended to the three horses in the barn behind the house.
“It’s not like you have a social life,” Maggie said. “In the time I’ve been here, you haven’t gone on one single date.”
True enough. He’d been elected sheriff less than a year ago and was still preoccupied with cleaning up the mess left behind by Big Burt Maddox, the former sheriff. He uncapped his water bottle and took a drink. “Too busy.”
“The whole family is worried about you.”
He had two other younger sisters. One was married. The other had a steady job in Denver. Mama still lived on the rez. When all four of these women got together, they were a force to be reckoned with. “I’m fine.”
She dribbled toward the basket and made a layup. Her cutoffs and baggy T-shirt didn’t match her weird curlicue hairdo—no doubt a style she’d picked up from some fashion program on cable. Signing up for satellite television with over two hundred channels had been a mistake; his sister was starting to quote supermodels.
She flipped the basketball back to him and said, “There’s a name for what’s wrong with you. The lone wolf syndrome. Just like that stupid belt buckle you always wear.”
He touched his lucky pewter belt buckle with the howling wolf design. “What’s wrong with this?”
“If you’d sit down for a minute, I could explain. Lucky for you, I’m majoring in psychology.”
He looked toward the road and saw headlights turning off the road into his driveway. Gravel crunched under the wheels of a dark green sedan that pulled up and parked in front of his porch. A glance at his wristwatch told him that it was nine-forty-seven, which was too late for a friendly visit. Now what?
A slender woman with shining black hair emerged from the driver’s side. Her jacket was metallic gold, and her jeans fit like a second skin. Balanced on sandals with high platform heels, she came toward them. “Are you the sheriff? Jake Wolf?”
He nodded. “Who are you?”
She stepped onto the concrete, straightened her shoulders and announced, “I am Princess Saida Khalid of Jamala.”
Inwardly, he groaned. Not another royal!
His sister approached the princess and attempted a curtsy that looked ridiculous in sneakers and cutoffs. “I’m Maggie, Jake’s sister. Love your jacket. Is it designer?”
“Don’t remember.” She shrugged. “I’ve had it so long, it’s practically vintage.”
Maggie laughed as though this comment was the cleverest thing she’d ever heard. “Please come inside, Princess. Is that right? Should I call you Princess or Your Highness?”
“Call me Saida.”
“Did you come here from Jamala?” Maggie frowned. “Is that far? I don’t know exactly where Jamala is.”
“An island nation in the Mediterranean. But I live in Beverly Hills.”
Judging by Maggie’s rapturous response, California was right next door to Heaven. She babbled about Hollywood and movie stars and some kind of shopping area called Rodeo Drive—a place that didn’t sound as though they sold saddles and bridles. She tugged at her curled hair in an attempt to match Saida’s smooth bangs and straight shoulder-length style.
Nothing good could come from his sister idolizing a princess. He grabbed his dark blue uniform shirt from the ground where he’d tossed it, stuck his arms in the sleeves and fastened two buttons. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
Saida smiled at Maggie. “Will you excuse us, please?”
“Absolutely.” His sister scampered toward the house. “You’re coming in, right? I have linguini.”
“I’ll be right there,” Jake said.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
He knew what Maggie meant, and she was going to be disappointed. He had no intention of encouraging the princess to stay.
“I adore linguini,” Saida said, “with clam sauce.”
“I’ve got to get your recipe.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “What am I saying? You don’t cook for yourself. I mean—”
“Maggie,” Jake interrupted, “that’s enough.”
He was sick and tired of all this kowtowing to the royal entourage. As individuals, he’d come to respect the princes; they were decent men stuck in a bad situation. But he was more than ready for them to get the hell out of Wind River County.
As Maggie disappeared into the house, Saida strode across the basketball court toward him. She made direct eye contact, compelling him to meet her gaze. A striking woman with flawless olive skin and full lips, she was as pretty as the models in his sister’s magazines. Looking into her caramel-colored eyes, he was surprised by the depth of sadness he saw there.
“You must help me.” She grasped his arm, and he felt the trembling in her fingers. “Please. Help me find my brother.”
Her pain was honest, not a facade. He could tell that her heart was aching, and her vulnerability touched him. He’d always been a sucker for the underdog; it was his nature to protect those who couldn’t fend for themselves.
But he doubted that the princess fell under that category. She had too many advantages. Not only was she rich and royal but her beauty was an undeniable asset. All she needed to do was flutter those thick, black eyelashes and most men would jump to do her bidding.
Very deliberately, he removed her hand from his arm. “Amir went missing a while ago. Why are you coming here now?”
“Do you think I waited because I don’t care about my brother?”
Or she was too busy getting a manicure. “Why now?”
“All my life, my brother has tried to shelter me. He’s almost ten years older than I am. His friends—Sheik Efraim and the others—thought they were doing as Amir would wish when they told me not to worry, that everything was fine.” Her amber eyes flashed. “They lied to me.”
A harsh judgment. Even if the princes had deceived her, news reporters and paparazzi had been all over this case. “You must have seen the reports.”
“The media.” She flicked her hand as if swatting an irritating gnat. “I know better than to believe what I see on the ten o’clock news. I thought I could trust my brother’s friends. But I’ve given up on them. They won’t answer my questions. The FBI agents refused to speak to me. I have come to you to hear the truth.”
“Lucky me,” he muttered.
“I read about you on the internet. You promised change when you ran for sheriff. You want to help people and fight corruption. There were some amazing endorsements.”
He eyed her skeptically. “If you’ve been in this country for any time at all, you must know that you can’t believe much of what’s said during a campaign.”
“I’ve lived in America since I was sixteen.”
That must be why she had only a slight accent, just a hint of the exotic.
She continued, “It’s true that politicians will say anything to win. But you’re different. I trust you.”
He had a pretty good idea that she was shining him on to get what she wanted. “You figured out that I’m trustworthy by looking me up on the internet?”
Her full lips parted in a smile, showing off her perfect, white teeth. When she leaned toward him, he caught a whiff of perfume that smelled like mint and peaches. Her nearness was having an effect on him. As Maggie never tired of pointing out, he hadn’t been with a woman for quite a while.
“Now that I’ve met you,” she purred, “I know that I made the right choice. I read all about you, Jake. You’re Native American.”
“Arapaho,” he said.
“Is that like Navajo?” Her hand rested on her hip and she struck a calculated pose with her head cocked to one side. “I simply adore turquoise jewelry.”
“Different tribe.”
“Perhaps you could explain it to me. I’m very interested.”
The woman was flirting her cute little tail off. Jake had three sisters; he knew how these feminine games were played. “Don’t waste my time, Princess.”
“Will you help me?”
“I’ll do my job. My department and the local police and the FBI are looking for your brother, but a lot of time has passed. He might not even be in this area.”
“He’s not dead.” She spoke with sudden sincerity. “If Amir had died, I would have felt his absence as surely as if part of my soul had been ripped away.”
In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from flirty to serious. The transformation impressed him. “I’m sorry, Saida.”
“Please. Tell me what happened. The truth.”
He could give her that much. “It was late at night. The other royals and their entourages had returned to Wind River Ranch and Resort. Your brother set out in one of the limos with a driver. We don’t know his destination. There was nothing remarkable about the area where the car bomb exploded.”
Saida sucked in a breath. “And then?”
“The driver was killed in the explosion. There were indications that your brother was injured. His blood was found at the scene.” He paused. “I can’t show you the forensics reports, but the CSI was Jane Cameron, and she’s good.”
“What did she find?”
“Tire tracks showed an unidentified vehicle at the scene. A witness saw him exit the burning limo so we know he was still alive at that point, but there hasn’t been any communication from him.”
Her brow furrowed. “You’re leaving out a lot.”
“I am,” he readily admitted. “I could write four books about the things that have happened since Amir disappeared.”
“I have time,” she said.
He glanced toward the house where his sister hovered in the doorway, waiting for him to bring their royal visitor inside. “It’s best if you go to the resort where the other royals and their bodyguards are staying. You could be in danger.”
“The attack on my brother might have been politically motivated,” she said. “Our four nations…”
“COIN.” He used the acronym. “The Coalition of Island Nations.”
“Yes, COIN owns extensive oil resources. We have enemies, including the Russian mob, who would do anything to gain control of our wealth.”
“And these dangerous people could come after you.”
“Not me,” she said. “As a woman, I have no power in Jamala. The leadership of the country would never pass to me. It’s my destiny to be forever a princess. Never a true leader.”
He heard an edge of bitterness in her voice. There was something fascinating about her, but he couldn’t allow himself to get tangled in her web. “For tonight, you have a choice. Either you can go to the resort, or I can turn you over to the FBI for protective custody.”
She waved her manicured hands in front of her face. Her fingernails had purple tips. “I can’t be in custody. I have to be free to investigate.”
“Then it’s the resort.” He walked toward the house. “Let me get my keys, and I’ll follow you in my car to make sure you get there safely. Tomorrow, you can call me for an up date.”
“If you won’t help, I’ll pursue my own investigation.”
That had to be one of the worst ideas he’d ever heard. He couldn’t imagine Saida flouncing through the streets of Dumont and asking questions. She’d stand out like a giraffe in a herd of prairie dogs.
Before he could object, she went to her car, started the engine and backed away from the porch.
He ran inside and grabbed his keys from the table by the door. Maggie glared at him. “What did you say to her? Why did you chase her off?”
“Because that woman is trouble.”
“Lone wolf,” she snapped. “You and Saida would make a really cute couple.”
He couldn’t believe she was playing matchmaker. “Trust me, Maggie. If I ever settle down, it won’t be with a high-maintenance princess. No matter how pretty she is.”
His sister beamed. “You think she’s pretty?”
“She’s not for me.”
When he stepped outside onto the porch, he saw the taillights of a truck on the two-lane road beyond his driveway. A black sedan followed. Both were driving fast, and they seemed to be in formation—in pursuit of the princess.
Chapter Two
Angrier than she should have been, Saida glared through the windshield of the pitiful little rental car that had awaited her private jet at the Dumont airfield. She’d asked for an SUV, a vehicle with some muscle. But no! The Minister of Affairs in Jamala had made her travel arrangements, and Nasim thought big cars were un-princesslike. This silly little compact was his way of showing her who was the boss.
This time the joke was on Nasim. His insistence that she fly private rather than commercial allowed her to pack both of her handguns. If a firefight was necessary to rescue her brother, she wouldn’t hesitate. All she needed was one person in her corner—a contact inside the investigation who could point her in the right direction. She had hoped that ally would be Jake Wolf, but she’d blown it with the sheriff.
When it came to personal negotiations, especially with men, she usually got what she wanted. She’d played the princess card and failed to impress him. Then she’d attempted to flirt. Catastrophe! Why, oh, why, had she made that silly comment about the Navajo turquoise jewelry? Playing dumb wasn’t going to cut it with Jake. She should have known better.
Her internet research led her to surmise that Jake Wolf was incorruptible and unlikely to be swayed by bribes from those who had attacked her brother. She expected him to be a serious, responsible man.
What surprised her was his stunning physical presence. The internet photos hadn’t done him justice. His eyes held the depth and fire of black diamonds. His square jaw was perfectly balanced by a high forehead and strong cheekbones. And that body? When she saw him shirtless with his jeans slung low on his hips, he had taken her breath away. His lean torso, hard muscles and smooth bronzed skin had almost made her forget why she’d come to this desolate place.
She inhaled a breath and exhaled slowly through her nostrils. Anger was futile. Instead, she needed to be calm and controlled. She needed a plan.
Though she’d programmed the location of the very exclusive, very posh Wind River Ranch and Resort into the GPS navigator in her rental car, she still wasn’t sure if she should go there. The COIN royals wouldn’t be happy to see her. Sheik Efraim Aziz, her brother’s best friend, had been adamant about keeping her away. Too bad, Efraim.
It was time they all realized that she wasn’t a child anymore. True, she’d made her share of mistakes. Her reputation as a socialite who paraded down red carpets and danced until dawn at trendy L.A. clubs was somewhat deserved. But she had also graduated from UCLA, and she’d earned top grades in her first year of law school. If given a chance, she’d prove that she could contribute to the welfare of COIN.
And she could help in the search for her brother.
The car’s GPS navigational system said, “In two-point-four miles, turn left.”
In her rearview mirror, she noticed headlights approaching. Though it was difficult to make out any details on this unlit road, the vehicle behind her appeared to be a truck and it was coming too fast. Inappropriate driving; this asphalt road wasn’t the Swiss autobahn. Instinctively, she pressed down on the accelerator, hoping to make it to her turn before the truck caught up and caused her to crash.
Was this a drunk driver? Or a teenager out for a joyride? Saida was aware of the darker possibility. As a princess, she lived with the constant threat of being kidnapped for a royal ransom and had been trained in marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat and evasive driving techniques.
The headlights were on her tail. She was going fifty-eight miles per hour—an unsafe speed for making a ninety-degree turn on a narrow road.
“Turn left in one hundred feet,” the GPS said.
Saida saw the stop sign and the intersection. She tapped the brake, hoping the truck behind her would slow down. No such luck. Its front bumper kissed the back of her car hard enough to give her a jolt. The driver wasn’t following her by coincidence. He was pursuing her.
“Turn left now,” said the GPS.
She cranked the steering wheel and swerved. Her lightweight rental car fishtailed wildly. Centrifugal force threatened to flip her car into a death roll. She maintained balance, controlled the turn and leveled out on a straightaway.
“In one-point-three miles, turn right.”
The truck was still behind her. Even worse, another set of headlights appeared in the lane beside it and quickly pulled forward. If the second car got ahead of her, she’d be trapped between them.
She tromped on the accelerator. Seventy miles per hour. Seventy-five. Eighty. Going over a ridge, her vehicle was airborne. The car landed with a crash that stressed the shock absorbers.
“Turn right,” the GPS said.
But she couldn’t. It would be suicide to take the turn at this speed. The second vehicle—a dark sedan—remained in the lane for oncoming traffic. He pulled even with her rear fender.
The GPS system scolded, “You missed the turn.”
“Shut up!”
Her training told her to hit the gas and zip into the other lane to block the second car, but she didn’t have the horsepower to pull ahead. Panic flashed inside her head. Think, Saida.
In the backseat were two of the six suitcases she’d packed for this trip. Even if she could dig into the suitcase and reach her handguns, it wouldn’t do much good. Her weapons weren’t loaded.
The sedan passed her. Once it was in front of her, the driver slowed his speed. She was hemmed in with no room to maneuver, nowhere else to go. Beyond the shoulder of this road was a strip of land and a barbed-wire fence.
The truck pulled into the lane beside her. She lifted her foot from the accelerator and slowed. The truck matched her speed.
Before she felt the impact, she heard the grinding of metal against metal. He was forcing her off the road. Her tires crashed raggedly on the gravel shoulder.
Her foot jammed down hard on the brake.
The truck shot past her.
Her brake rotors screeched. She went into a skid.
The air bag exploded, blinding her and forcing her hands off the steering wheel. Her tires bounced off the road and over a ditch, throwing her car off balance. Before she tipped over, the car came to a full stop.
It was a miracle that she hadn’t flipped over, that she didn’t seem to be injured. Frantically, she batted at the air bag. Her fingers struggled to unfasten the seat belt. She had to run, had to get out of this car before her pursuers grabbed her.
The wail of a police siren cut through the air.
The bag deflated enough that she could see through the window. The taillights of the truck were zooming away from her. The other car had disappeared. They’d given up.
Adrenaline surged through her veins. She could have been killed, could have been kidnapped. Why was this happening? The inside of her head whirled in a dizzying tornado, and she gripped the wheel to stabilize herself.
The siren came closer, and she saw the flashing red and blue lights of a police vehicle.
Jake appeared outside her car window. He yanked on her door handle until it opened. “Saida, are you all right?”
Unable to speak, she could only nod.
When he touched her shoulder, she flinched. Every muscle in her body screamed with tension.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said. “Let go of the wheel.”
She pried her fingers loose. Darkness pressed against her peripheral vision. She shook herself, fighting for control. I won’t pass out. The idea of fainting into Jake’s strong arms held a certain appeal, but she didn’t want to show weakness. She wanted him to think of her as an equal.
Clearly, she said, “You got here just in time.”
“Let’s get you out of here.” He took her hand to help her from the car. “We need to hurry. In case they come back.”
That possibility was enough to get her moving. She lurched from her car and stood on shaky legs.
The lights from his vehicle showed the damage to her rental car. The trunk and rear bumper were caved in. A scrape gashed into the back door. It was sobering to see how close she’d come to disaster, but she couldn’t allow herself to sink into helpless terror.
“Wait.” She balked. “My luggage.”
“I’ll have someone come back for it.”
“At least, I need my purse.” She leaned into her wrecked car and reached across the driver’s seat to grab her purse. Her gaze slid toward the matched burgundy leather suitcases behind the front seat; she wanted her guns. “Can I get my luggage?”
“Forget it.”
“We can leave the other bags in the trunk.” With the rear end crushed in, it would take the Jaws of Life to retrieve those suitcases. “But I need that one.”
“Why?”
It probably wouldn’t be wise to tell him that she’d brought a couple of Berettas. Facing him, she drew up her shoulders and said, “I’ve got to have my makeup.”
Without another word, he scooped her off her feet and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her like a sack of potatoes.
Upside down, she was shocked by his manhandling. Saida was a princess, after all. His arm pinned her legs so she couldn’t kick. Her arms flailed wildly. With her purse, she whacked his butt. “Put me down.”
“This is for your own good.”
She’d heard those words before—many, many times before, and the statement never failed to infuriate her. For my own good? Really?
At his SUV, Jake dropped her to the ground, opened the passenger-side door and shoved her inside. While he circled around to the driver’s side, she debated whether she should fling open the door, run to her car and grab her guns. Why had she thought Jake would be different? He was just like every other man in her life who wanted her to be a good girl and do as she was told.
The fear that threatened to swamp her consciousness was replaced by anger. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been attacked. Given the circumstances, she’d handled herself well.
Jake slid behind the steering wheel. “Seat belt,” he said.
Though outraged, she snapped the belt. “Apologize.”
For an instant, his gaze locked with hers. “I won’t say I’m sorry for saving your life.”
He swung the SUV in a U-turn. Instead of using the police dispatch radio on the console, he took out his hands-free cell phone and made a call.
“Where are we going?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”
Ignoring her questions, he continued with his call. It seemed that he was giving someone directions to find her car.
“My luggage,” she said. “Have them bring my luggage.”
Jake lobbed a hostile glance in her direction and said to the person on the phone. “There are a couple of suitcases in the back. Bring them.”
“There are other bags in the trunk,” she said.
“How many?”
“Two in the back, four in the trunk, that’s six altogether.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Exactly how long were you planning to stay in Wyoming?”
“There’s a certain standard of dress required of someone in my position. I can’t throw on a pair of sweatpants and go waltzing out the door. I don’t expect you to understand. Most men don’t.”
The free excerpt has ended.
