His Holiday Bride. Jillian Hart

hooves ahead, the faint hint of her silhouette, the curve of her shadowed arm as she cradled a rifle. She was magnificent, and his heart noticed.

      Hard to deny the way his pulse sped up and slowed down at the same time. Ford swiped snowflakes off his face with his coat sleeve. When he should have been scanning for any sign of the rustlers, his gaze returned to her. Autumn rode out of the shadow of the hillside, as mighty as a Western myth, as beautiful as the snow falling.

      “I see something!” Her voice vibrated with excitement. “Maybe we’ll catch the varmint—”

      “I see him.” How he noticed anything aside from her was a total and complete mystery, but a faint black blur at the corner of his vision drew his attention. He whirled toward the suspect, pressing his knees tighter against the horse’s side. The animal responded, leaping into a fast canter. He leaned low, ignored the slap of mane against his face, adrenaline spiking again. Snow closed in, falling furiously, cutting off the world and the image of a man leaping off the riverbank in a swift dive. Gone. By the time Ford reached the steep ledge, the boot prints were filling and whiteout conditions closed in. Disappointment gripped his gut, bitter and harsh. Breathing hard, he hauled his phone from his pocket, but it wouldn’t connect. He checked the screen. No bars.

      “The helicopter wouldn’t help, anyway.” Autumn slid off her horse and joined him on the bank. “That’s a swift current.”

      “Maybe I can still catch him.” He fumbled with his zipper and gave it a tug. Cool air hit him in the chest. He shivered with cold although he couldn’t feel it. His senses were heightened. The gurgling rush of the swift, deep river hid sounds of a swimmer, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.

      “Ford.” A soft, mittened hand landed on his own. Her voice drew him and calmed the beat of adrenaline charging through him. Time slowed, the world stopped turning and, in the odd gray light of a night’s snowfall, she gazed up at him with caring. “Let him go. Your life isn’t worth risking over him.”

      “He tried to shoot at you.” He could have shot at you, is what he didn’t say. He could have hit you, even killed you. The words wadded in his throat like a ball of paper and refused to move. He couldn’t speak for a moment, but he could pray. Thank You, Lord, for that piece of grace.

      “I’m fine, thanks to you and Dad.” Her hand remained on his in silent understanding. “That was some pretty fine shooting. You’re not bad for a city boy.”

      “A compliment? That’s a surprise.”

      “Don’t I know it. No one is more stunned than me.”

      “Still think I’m not too ugly?”

      “We’re talking of your sheriff skills, Sherman, not your other qualities.”

      The sweet warmth of her alto wrapped around him like a cloak, keeping the cold at bay. For the first time in years he didn’t feel alone. It was hard to tell in the storm, but he thought he saw a twinkle in her deep hazel eyes. Teasing him when she meant something more serious.

      He knew teasing was easier. He avoided serious whenever he could. He’d gotten enough of it in his line of work to last him a lifetime. “You’re welcome,” he choked, finally able to get out the words. “Now you owe me.”

      “Me? I owe you?” She tossed her head, sending snowflakes flying off her silken curls, bracing her feet like a gunfighter ready to draw. “We don’t know if it was your bullet that winged him or my dad’s. I’m sure it wasn’t yours. You aren’t used to shooting off the back of a horse.”

      “How do you know that? Because I’m a city boy?”

      “You’ve got skills. I want to deny it, but I can’t.” She drew away, reaching for her horse and leaving an imprint on his hand that cooled without her near. She hopped onto her horse, hefted her rifle into the crook of her arm and swiped at the snow clinging to her face. “I haven’t heard any shots, so that must mean Dad and Justin didn’t run into trouble, either.”

      “As long as they’re safe.” He braced one palm on the gelding’s warm back, grabbed a handful of mane and hopped up. Snow had closed in, and all he could see of the river was a faint shadow. “I’m going to ride the riverbank for a spell. That water’s cold. No one can stay in there for long.”

      “You’re a stubborn man, aren’t you?”

      “I prefer to call it determined.” He gritted his teeth against the cold, ignoring the vicious bite of the wind as he faced into it. “A little storm isn’t going to stop me.”

      “Then I’d best come with you.” She whirled her mount away from home, coming closer, and a ghost of a smile curved her soft lips. Had he noticed before how pretty her mouth was? It looked like summer itself, always smiling. Undaunted by the storm, she gave her mare’s neck an encouraging pat. “It’s been a while since Bella and I had an adventure. Besides, it’s not as if I can leave you out here on your own, city boy.”

      “Maybe I’m not as much of a city boy as you think.” It was his turn to make her wonder about him. As he pressed his horse into a fast walk, leaving her to follow, he felt her curious gaze on his back. Was she as interested in him as he was in her? It was going to be fun finding out.

      Clearly, she had misjudged Sheriff Ford Sherman. Autumn could admit when she was wrong. He rode Lightning as if he belonged on the back of the dappled gray quarter horse, sitting tall and straight and in command. Although the storm and the night fought to hide him from her, she caught glimpses of him on the trail ahead of her—the straight line of his back, the cut of his profile and the dark glint of the rifle he carried.

      So, what was the man’s story? Did she really want to know? Judging by the kick of her pulse, maybe not. Perhaps it was better to stay in the dark, to let her curiosity about him go unanswered. Maybe it would die a quiet death and she could bury her interest in the man right along with it. The wind changed, gusting hard against her face, and she ducked against the slap of snow. Thunder cracked overhead.

      “Time to head in, Sheriff.” She cupped her half-numb hands to shout into the gale. “Thunder means lightning. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not get hit by it.”

      “Hey, I’m up for new experiences.”

      She couldn’t see his grin, but she could hear it. She didn’t want to like him, but she did. He had a good sense of humor and an inner grit she never would have guessed at.

      “I just wish we could have found them.” The veil of snow parted just enough to give a glimpse of the man gazing in the direction of the rolling river, wistful, nail-tough, not wanting to give up the chase. “They couldn’t have lasted in that river long. Not with ice forming along the banks. They would have to get out, and if they did they wouldn’t be moving fast.”

      “It runs off our land and to a county road. My guess is they climbed out at the bridge and it’s too late to catch them. Time to give up the chase, Sheriff.” She didn’t know why she reached out, but when her hand found the hard plane of his forearm the bite of the arctic cold vanished, the rush of the wind silenced and the night shadows ebbed. “It’s getting too cold for Bella.”

      “Then we head in.” He didn’t move away. The moment stretched as if time itself had ceased moving forward and no snow fell. “I know it’s a lost cause hunting anything in this storm, but I had to try. Now I’ve got only one question.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Do you know the way home? Because I don’t.”

      “Follow me.” She urged Bella around with a touch of her heel. The cold returned with knife-sharpness, and the snow stung her face as the wind beat her with a boxer’s punch. Time kick-started, and she lost Ford in the sudden swirl of the storm.

      “Whew. Can’t believe it’s getting worse.” He eased up alongside her, sticking close. “Let me guess. It always snows like this here. It’s something else the mayor didn’t tell me when I agreed to take this job.”