Almost Heaven. Jillian Hart

cool to drink? Give me twenty minutes and I’ll have this taken care of.”

      “That’s not right. It’s my trailer.”

      “Yeah, well, it’s a slow day. I don’t see a lot of wild speeders or crime sprees on Thursday afternoons. It’s okay to let me do this, Kendra.”

      He could see the argument coming. He’d learned to read people during his fifteen years wearing a badge. He saw a woman used to doing things herself. “If it bothers your conscience, then you can bring a batch of cookies or something by the station. My deputy has a sweet tooth you wouldn’t believe.”

      She swept down from the seat with an easy grace that she didn’t seem aware of.

      He was. It sure threw him for a loop.

      Today she looked summery and girl-next-door fresh in a white tank top, a pair of jean shorts and slip-on tennis shoes. Her blond hair, streaked by time in the sun, was tied back in a long ponytail. She slipped her sunglasses from the top of her head onto her nose and circled around the rig to look at the damage.

      “I think my spare went flat.” She said it wearily, more to herself than to him. Probably expecting some kind of reprimand.

      Why would he do that? Didn’t a woman who worked hard to make her own living deserve a break? He sure thought so. “Zach’s at his garage. I’ll take the tire over for him to patch.”

      “He’s my brother-in-law, and I can do it.”

      “Toll House, no walnuts. I have a soft spot for butterscotch chips.

      He left her standing there, watching him with a slack jaw as he yanked the jack from his cruiser’s trunk. “I’m helping you, no matter what. Just accept it.”

      “I should help you.”

      “Why? It would make me look bad. I’ve got my public image to think about. Voters care about that kind of thing.”

      He didn’t care about his image, he worked hard to do the right thing and he was proud of his record. He had time, and in helping her maybe he’d find a way to approach her. Ask her professional opinion. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Your only option is to let me do my job.”

      She studied him and the jack he was carrying and the nearly flat tire. “Fine. Thank you. The horses—”

      “Will be fine. I’ve done this before.”

      “Okay.”

      She didn’t sound happy, but Cameron bet that she’d let him do it. He wasn’t about to budge, he’d been waiting for this chance forever, that’s what it felt like. If he had a choice, then he’d want her to stay and watch so they could talk while he worked.

      He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t hang around. She kept her distance from men, not just him, and with good reason.

      He felt her sadness every time he was around her. Now maybe he was imagining it, because he’d been there to arrest Jerrod Melcher, and he saw how bad she’d been hurt. That was likely to make any woman wary about men for a long time.

      It was understandable.

      As he watched her cross the road, jaywalking, heading straight to her family’s coffee shop, a streak of pain jabbed through his heart. A widower was used to feeling a certain amount of pain down deep, but this was something different. Something that felt a lot like longing.

      One thing was for sure. When Kendra looked at him, she didn’t feel any positive emotion. Not a chance. When she looked at him she remembered that night. He could feel that, too.

      Perhaps he should just leave her alone. Ask Sally at the Long Horn Stables for help instead.

      Frustrated, he got to work.

      It was her trailer, she ought to be dealing with it. But that stubborn sheriff had refused to leave, so what was she going to do? Stand there and make small talk? She didn’t need his help and she was getting it anyway. It ate at her as the bell over the coffee shop’s door jangled.

      The welcome breeze from the air-conditioning skimmed over her, but it didn’t cool her anger. Men were bossy, every one of them. Who did the sheriff think he was that he could just do what he wanted to her trailer?

      Face it, you appreciate that he’s helping.

      Sure, but it still bugged her. She was hot, exhausted, and dealing with a flat tire in over hundred-degree weather would have put her over the edge. Well, at least close to it.

      Because of Cameron, she was able to rest for a few minutes instead of dealing with one more disaster in a doom-filled day. She didn’t want to be grateful to him. But she was.

      See why it was a good idea to stay far away from men? Even the nice ones?

      “Kendra? You look too hot, are you all right?” Gramma sat at the far end of the otherwise empty room, behind one of the cloth-covered tables. Ignoring her spread of papers and her open laptop, she examined Kendra over the lines in her bifocals. “Something is wrong. Why are you back so soon?”

      “I’m fine and it’s past closing time.” Kendra flicked off the neon sign and turned the Open sign in the window to Closed. “How long have you been in here slaving over the bookkeeping?”

      “Goodness, let me see.” She checked her gold wristwatch. “For much longer than I thought!”

      “You lose track of time when you’re doing the books. I do the same thing.”

      “I suppose so!” Gramma took off her glasses and wiped them on the corner hem of her stylish summer blouse. “I’ve lost two dollars and seventy cents I can’t find anywhere. I’d just finish the deposit and say, forget it. But it’ll be all I think about when I get home. Come, dear, sit down. You look as though you’ve got too much sun.”

      “No need to fuss, I’m fine. I’m going to raid the kitchen and pray there are some leftovers in the fridge. I’m too beat to cook when I get home.”

      “I knew it. You work too hard, sweetie. You can’t work every minute of every day.”

      “I take a few minutes off now and then.”

      “Don’t sass me, young lady. You’ve been skipping meals.”

      “Not intentionally.”

      Kendra ducked into the kitchen to avoid the lecture. She knew what was coming when Gramma got started. She loved her grandmother within an inch of her life, but how Gramma fussed! Kendra yanked open the industrial refrigerator and studied the contents. Jackpot!

      Gramma’s sandals tapped on the floor, announcing her approach to the kitchen.

      “I can do it myself.” Kendra pulled a bowl of chicken salad from the top shelf. “Do you want me to make you a sandwich, too?”

      “Me? You’re the one needing to eat. Give me that. Where’s the mayonnaise?”

      “I said I’d do it and I meant it.” Kendra wrapped her grandmother into a hug and breathed in the honeysuckle sweetness of her perfume. “You’ve had a long day, and you don’t need to make it longer by doing one single thing for me. You work too much.”

      “I’ve got good help. The girls I’ve hired this summer have been a real blessing. There’s the macaroni salad you like in the bottom shelf. No, let me get it.”

      Kendra snatched the big stainless-steel bowl from the shelf. “Out. Go back to your table. Shoo!”

      “Nice try, but I wrote the book on bossy.” Gramma dug through the pantry and came up with a wrapped loaf of homemade bread. “We’ll both fix us something to eat while you tell me about your new horses.”

      “You’re a tricky woman, Gramma.”

      “Thanks, dear, I try. Hand me the serrated knife.”

      Kendra did as she was