A Match Made in Montana. Joanna Sims

and ready to be handed over, Josephine rested her head in her hand and waited for her inevitable ticket.

      “Afternoon, miss.” Logan had already surveyed the car and the driver as he crossed the street. Nothing looked suspicious, so he intended to treat this like a routine traffic stop.

      “Good afternoon, Officer,” she said respectfully and extended her license to him.

      Logan positioned himself by the side-view mirror, his body facing oncoming traffic, his feet out of the line of the tires. He accepted her license, clipped it to the clipboard.

      “Do you know how fast you were going?”

      “No.” Josephine slipped her sunglasses to the top of her head so he could see her eyes. “I’m sorry...I don’t.”

      She had been stressed out about being late to the airport, and her mind had still been distracted by the fight with Brice, so she just hadn’t been paying attention.

      From the beginning, Logan had noticed that the driver was an attractive woman, much in the same way he had noticed the model of car she was driving. It was his job to notice everything about his stops. And taking inventory of drivers and passengers was routine. So, yes, he noticed that her hair was long and golden-brown, that the hair framed her oval face, and that her frowning lips were naturally pink. But when she lifted her sunglasses and looked up at him, he was temporarily captivated by her stunning aqua-blue eyes.

      Annoyed that he had allowed himself to be distracted from his purpose, Logan shifted his weight and refocused his mind on the task at hand. He had a job to do and he needed to get it done.

      “The posted speed limit here is thirty-five. I clocked you at fifty-six miles per hour,” Logan said. “Twenty miles over the posted speed limit is considered reckless driving.”

      Josephine’s eyes widened, her lips parted slightly. “Reckless driving? No. That can’t be right. I swear to you, Officer, I wasn’t speeding intentionally,” Josephine explained quickly. “I haven’t had a ticket in ten years. When you look me up, you’ll see. I have a perfect driving record...”

      She could tell by the lack of expression on the officer’s face that he wasn’t remotely swayed by her explanation. He waited quietly for her to finish, then he asked for her proof of insurance and registration.

      “I don’t have them...” Josephine admitted. “I always keep them right there in my glove box...” She gestured to her glove box. “I just received my new registration. I think I must have just forgotten to put the envelope back in the car. But, I promise you, I have a current registration and valid insurance.”

      The officer gave one slight nod of his head, wrote something down on his clipboard, then walked to the front of her car to write down her tag number.

      “I’ll be back,” he said to her before he headed back to his motorcycle parked in the median.

      Josephine hit the steering wheel with the palms of her hands and dropped her head back. Now she was really late, and if this cop wanted to be a real jerk, he could easily cite her with reckless driving! Why couldn’t she flirt her way out of stuff like some of her friends did? She’d never been good at flirting or using her femininity to get her way. She always felt stupid when she tried to flirt and it usually backfired anyway. So she didn’t bother to try anymore.

      While she waited for the cop to return, she called her twin sister, Jordan.

      “I’m running a little late, Jordy.” She didn’t offer a reason why and she was glad when Jordan didn’t ask.

      “Don’t worry about it. The plane can’t leave without you.” Unlike her, Jordan had never been uptight about sticking to a schedule.

      Josephine noticed the cop heading her way and tried to rush off the phone. “I’ve got to go, okay? But, I should be there in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

      “It’s all good,” Jordan said before they hung up the phone. For once, her sister’s cavalier attitude about being on time came in handy.

      “I’m going to have to give you three citations today, Ms. Brand. One for lack of proof of insurance, one for failing to produce your vehicle registration, and one for speeding.” Logan handed her the clipboard and a pen. “I’ll need to get your signature on the bottom of all three citations.”

      Josephine felt the blood drain from her face; her heart beat faster. She’d never gotten that many tickets at one time! She had a spotless driving record, and yet this cop couldn’t show her even one little ounce of mercy? All of her internal frustration flowed into her tense fingers; she gripped the pen so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The lines of her signatures were heavy, dark and smudgy.

      When she was finished, she slapped the pen onto the top of the first citation, handed the clipboard back to the officer and then slid her sunglasses back down over her eyes. Since she couldn’t, at the moment, look at the officer with the respect she felt his uniform deserved, she didn’t want him to be able to see her eyes at all.

      Logan quickly finished the transaction, separated her copy of the citations from his, handed them to her with her driver’s license.

      “You’ll note that I didn’t cite you with reckless driving,” the officer said. “And, once you show proof of insurance and current vehicle registration, the other two citations will be dropped.”

      Well, that was something at least; he’d dropped the reckless driving charge. Josephine folded the tickets neatly in half and tucked them into her purse. It sounded, to her ears, that the officer sounded almost...sorry...that he’d had to give her that many tickets. But it certainly hadn’t stopped him from throwing the book at her!

      When she turned her face back to the officer, she noticed that he had taken his sunglasses off. She was immediately drawn, naturally drawn, to his eyes. They were such a dark, rich brown that they were very nearly as black as his pupils. His gaze was direct, and there was a moment, a flash second, when she thought that she had caught a glimpse of this man’s soul.

      “On a personal note, are you related to Jordan Brand?” the officer surprised her by asking.

      “She’s my sister.” Josephine replied stiffly. “You know her?”

      “I actually pulled her over downtown about a year ago,” Logan explained.

      “I’m not surprised.” Josephine retorted. “Unlike me, Jordy speeds all the time.”

      “Well...” Logan hadn’t missed the sarcasm. “All I can say is that I’m sorry that we met under these circumstances and it’s actually ironic because...”

      “Look...” Josephine cut him off. Was this guy really going to try to pick her up when he’d just written her three tickets? “Am I free to go? I’m really late...”

      “Yes. You’re free to go.” The officer put his sunglasses back on and stepped away from her car. “Drive safely, Ms. Brand.”

      * * *

      Josephine ran through the private airport, lugging two overstuffed carry-on bags on each shoulder, and dragging one oversize rolling suitcase behind her. She had never been to Montgomery Airport in San Diego before, but she had printed out a map of the facility the night before and highlighted the quickest route to her destination. She had been raised on a Montana ranch, but she had learned how to run in high heels years ago. Up on the ball of the foot and full steam ahead!

      “I’m so sorry I’m late!” Josephine called out to her sister, Jordan. Jordan was standing in front of her fiancé’s private jet, occupied with her phone.

      Jordan looked up, spotted her, and smiled brightly. Her sister jogged over to greet her with a warm hug.

      “Relax, sis!” Jordan said. “You know that nothing’s set in stone for me.”

      Jordan slipped one of the bags off her shoulder, and the bag dropped to the ground with a dull thud.