The Christmas Target. Charlotte Douglas

that the handsome sheriff was probably married. With children. Relief surged through her. She was uninterested in men, and she was even less interested in married men. If a wife and kiddies were present, Jessica wouldn’t have to worry about Ross’s charm and could concentrate on her work without distraction.

      “The trust is a formality,” Ross continued. “There’s never been a McGarrett who didn’t inherit.”

      A worried frown scudded across Fiona’s strong features, but she quickly regained her composure. His grandmother’s fleeting expression made Jessica wonder if Ross was in danger of breaking that record. Jessica would be the one who determined if he was operating the ranch to its maximum efficiency and whether he should assume ownership.

      She took a deep breath and forced her aching muscles to relax. If Ross’s management of the Shooting Star didn’t meet standards, she’d be the bearer of the bad news. The prospect wasn’t pleasant, even though she’d handled such situations before, but disappointing the appealing man who’d twice saved her life wasn’t something she liked to contemplate.

      Fiona gazed at Ross with concern clouding her green eyes. He didn’t meet his grandmother’s gaze, and the knuckles of his hand were white where he gripped his glass.

      In spite of the McGarretts’ hospitality and obvious efforts to put Jessica at ease, she could sense a tension in the room, an underlying current of things unsaid, fears unstated, and she wondered at their source.

      “Will the storm be a problem?” Jessica thought the vicious weather might be the cause of her hosts’ unspoken anxiety.

      “The cattle have weathered bigger storms than what’s forecast,” Ross said, apparently unconcerned over his herd. “The worst should blow over during the night.”

      The blast of wind against the side of the house rattled the windows, making Jessica believe the worst had already arrived. Not that the wind frightened her. She’d ridden out hurricanes in Miami. What concerned her was being stranded with strangers, no matter how hospitable they appeared.

      “And we have a generator if we lose power,” Fiona assured her. “You mustn’t be alarmed.”

      Jessica drank her wine. If the weather didn’t have them on edge, what did? Her instincts were flashing on yellow alert, cues that in the past had cautioned her to look beyond the financial statistics when evaluating a situation. Something was troubling the McGarretts. Only time would tell whether their anxiety was related to Jessica’s assignment or something altogether different.

      “Have you worked for Max long?” Fiona asked.

      “Since I finished graduate school,” Jessica said, “eight years ago.”

      “Then you must be only a few years younger than Ross,” the older woman observed.

      “Now, Fiona,” Ross cautioned gently, his deep voice seductively edged with a cowboy twang. “You know better than to mention a woman’s age.”

      “Nonsense,” Fiona said. “I’ll be seventy-nine in March and proud of it. Why should anyone be ashamed of living long and well?”

      Jessica hastened to change the subject. “I’d like to begin work as soon as possible.”

      “Of course,” Fiona answered. “But not until after dinner. No one can work on an empty stomach.”

      “I can work while I eat,” Jessica suggested. “Just a sandwich and some coffee on a tray—”

      “Nonsense,” Fiona repeated with an indignant frown. “You’re our guest. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You can begin when we’ve finished.”

      Ross glanced at Jessica over the rim of his glass with a sympathetic smile and an it-won’t-help-to-argue look.

      At the same time, an elderly man with Far Eastern features and wearing a white chef’s jacket appeared in the doorway.

      “Dinner is served, Mrs. McGarrett,” he announced in a heavily accented voice, then disappeared down the hallway toward what Jessica assumed was the kitchen.

      Jessica set her wineglass aside and stood when Fiona did. If the woman insisted on treating her like a guest rather than an employee, Jessica didn’t know how she would get any work done. She wanted to finish her assignment and go home. Back to the warmth and familiarity of Miami.

      And away from the alluring charm of Sheriff Ross McGarrett before she broke her own rules about emotional involvement.

      FROM HIS PLACE at the foot of the mahogany dining table, Ross studied his grandmother, seated at the head of the table, and tried to assess her motives. Fiona’s gracious hospitality was usually tinged with a subtle aloofness, but she’d dropped her customary reserve around Jessica. Maybe her warmth toward their guest was the result of sympathy for Jessica’s harrowing experiences. Or simply an extension of her friendship with Max Rinehart, her childhood friend. Whatever the reason, his grandmother was treating Jessica as if she were practically a member of the family.

      Ross hadn’t become successful as a sheriff without learning to read people well, however, and he couldn’t help feeling something else besides sympathy or old friendship was going on behind his grandmother’s bright green eyes. Fiona was up to something, and not knowing what she was scheming made him uneasy. When Fiona set her mind to something, the rest of the world—and Ross in particular—had better watch out.

      “My compliments to your chef. The sirloin tips are extraordinary.” Jessica, seated between Ross and Fiona, was the epitome of politeness, but Ross could sense undercurrents in her, too. Remarkably self-possessed, even after a day that would have driven a strong man to some serious drinking, she couldn’t quite hide her impatience to be about her work.

      Maybe she had a family at home in Miami and she was anxious to return to them for the holidays. She wasn’t wearing an engagement or wedding ring, but that fact meant nothing in today’s business world. It seemed improbable such a gorgeous creature didn’t have a husband or a lover eager for her return.

      Jessica Landon was definitely a contradiction in terms. A strong personality resided in that tiny, fragile form. She’d handled being shot at, then sideswiped and stranded in near-zero temperatures without hysterics. With her sun-streaked auburn hair, startling blue eyes and honey-golden tan, she was a living work of art. With a mind, evidently, judging from her competency in her profession, as efficient and analytical as any computer. Her strictly business manner was certainly at odds with the emotions she generated in Ross. With a blink of surprise, he found himself remembering how she’d felt in his arms and wondering whether he’d enjoy kissing her.

      He squelched that thought instantly. Just being in the McGarrett employ was dangerous enough for Jessica. Ross didn’t want to endanger her further by having anyone believe he had feelings for her. Which he didn’t, he assured himself. He hardly knew the woman.

      But he’d sure like to know her better.

      “The storm should pass by morning,” Fiona was saying, “and crews will have the roads cleared by the next day. Saturday’s Ross’s day off, so he can show you the ranch.”

      Alarm flashed across Jessica’s heart-shaped face, and Ross took pity on her. “Not on horseback,” he assured her. “We’ll take the SUV. It has four-wheel drive.”

      “I can ride if you’d rather,” she said.

      “Didn’t know folks went in for horses in Miami,” Ross commented, unable to hide his surprise.

      “I learned at boarding school,” Jessica said. “If I seemed reluctant, it isn’t about riding. It’s about taking time away from my work.”

      “Nonsense,” Fiona insisted. “Seeing the ranch and how it operates is part of your job. And Ross will be happy to show off the Shooting Star.”

      “You must be anxious to get home for the holidays,” Ross said.

      Jessica patted her mouth delicately with the fine linen