A Wedding Worth Waiting For. Katie Meyer

mama, and called me to see if I could help.”

      Her dark, almond-shaped eyes relaxed a bit. “Do you have any ID on you?”

      “In my back pocket.”

      She nodded, her ponytail of coffee-colored hair bouncing at the movement. “Get it.”

      He complied, grabbing his wallet and holding it out so she could see his license as well as his work ID. “I’m licensed with the state. I’ve got a copy of my permit back in the truck if you need to see it.”

      She lowered the gun, holstering it before answering. “I’ll need to see it before letting you leave with the deer, and I’ll need your statement.”

      “Yes, ma’am. I mean, Officer.” The fawn squirmed and he tightened his grip. “I just want to get this guy back to the center and then go home, that’s all.”

      She nodded curtly, then turned on her heel and headed back out the way they’d come. “If someone had told me you were going to be out here, we could have avoided...any complications.”

      “Sorry, I thought Jason would have told you. I know you guys usually want to be first on the scene, but—”

      “But you figured the rules don’t apply to you?”

      “No, but I thought finding the fawn was more important. I had no idea how long it would take for someone from Fish and Wildlife to get here, and didn’t want to lose the daylight. Playing by the rules could have meant losing the fawn.”

      She stopped, her shoulders straightening. “I do get that. Saving the fawn was a priority, for both of us. But next time, let the authorities know if you’re going to be tramping around a crime scene.”

      “Trust me, I don’t plan on making a habit of it.” He shifted the deer, his tight back muscles reminding him that he’d spent the day nailing shingles. “Believe it or not, this wasn’t how I planned to spend my evening.”

      She looked him over, no doubt taking in the wet and filthy clothes and tar-crusted hair, and for the first time a real smile played on her lips. “What could possibly have been better than this?”

      He smiled back. “A beer and a hot shower, in that order.” His stomach grumbled. “And food. Maybe a pizza, maybe some television. Not deer wrangling, and definitely not having a gun pulled on me.”

      * * *

      Sam felt her cheeks heat. That hadn’t gone the way she’d planned. “Like I said, the rules are there for a reason. Going off on your own, half-cocked, when there are poachers around—”

      He held up a hand and grinned, his white teeth in stark contrast to his tanned skin. “Hey, no hard feelings. You did what you had to do.”

      “Exactly.”

      “And so did I. And hey, it all turned out all right in the end.”

      She started to argue, but there was no point in antagonizing him. At least he wasn’t going to give her grief about drawing her weapon. Yes, she’d followed protocol, but a civilian complaint would still look bad on her record. Not to mention the paperwork it would mean. She had enough of that as it was.

      Besides, she needed to maintain a good rapport with the locals. She’d been born here on Paradise Isle, but between boarding school and college she’d spent too many years on the mainland to be considered an islander anymore. Time and distance had made her an outsider, and since she relied on tips like the one the volunteer had called in today, gaining the trust of the residents was her top priority. And given that she’d just threatened to shoot one of them, she had her work cut out for her. Time to take it down a notch and try to defuse the situation.

      Of course, it would be a bit easier to relax and make nice if he was more normal-looking. Maybe even a bit homely. But no, he had to be drop-dead gorgeous: tall, with broad, athletic shoulders and a lean swimmer’s build. She pegged him for a surfer. He had the sun-bleached shaggy hair and perfect tan that seemed typical of the beach bum crowd, with ocean-blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He definitely didn’t look like the director of a nonprofit, and truth be told, his movie-star looks were a bit intimidating.

      They came out of the woods behind the gas station just as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Dylan moved past her in the dim twilight, heading for an old, beat-up pickup parked beside the gas station. There were what looked like dog kennels in the back, the kind used for airline travel, lashed in place with cables. Without a word he lifted the baby deer from his shoulders and tucked it into the largest cage, securing the latch with a sigh. “I’ll take him back to the center, get him fed and settled in for the night.”

      She tried to smile around what felt like a dismissal. “I still have some questions for you. For my report.”

      He shrugged and raised the tailgate. “Well, then, I guess you’re coming, too—Officer.” He gave a mock salute before climbing in the cab of his truck and driving off.

      Sam counted to ten twice as she made her way back to her patrol vehicle. What an arrogant...well, arrogant pretty much summed it up. The man oozed confidence from his pores. She was in full uniform, carried a badge and had even drawn her weapon, but he’d been the one in control of the situation, from start to finish. Even covered in mud, he had a bearing that demanded respect. Meanwhile, she still felt like she was playing dress-up half the time. Maybe her instructor at the academy had been right; maybe she wasn’t cut out for this line of work. But damn it, she’d aced her course work and held her own in the physical tests, as well. She’d even broken the academy record for sharpshooting.

      She’d worked hard to prove her instructor wrong, to prove that she had what it took. So why did she still let guys like this get to her? He hadn’t even done anything particularly awful. Yes, he should have waited for law enforcement to get there, but even she could see his motives were good. And he’d stayed calm and relaxed even when she’d been sweating bullets. Maybe because he had the kind of easygoing confidence she’d always envied. The kind that came from really knowing yourself and being comfortable in your own skin. That was something she hoped to find for herself, and one of the reasons she’d come back to the only true home she’d ever had.

      Getting in her car, she checked the GPS. The rehab center wasn’t far, and if she hurried she could pick up some food first. An “I’m sorry I almost shot you” gesture. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to think this was something other than professional. Friendly was good, flirting was not.

      Shaking her head at her own indecision, she started the engine and rolled down the windows. Maybe some fresh air would clear her head. She’d initially been drawn to law enforcement because of her father’s involvement, but the clear lines between law and order, right and wrong resonated with her. Unlike some of her fellow officers who chafed at following protocol, she found freedom in following the rules. Rules created order out of chaos. Rules made her feel in control. Without rules, anything could happen, which was probably why she’d reacted so badly to him tracking all over her crime scene. That, and her inner teenager’s reaction to a hot guy. Neither was an excuse she felt like sharing.

      Letting her stomach do the thinking, she pulled into Lou’s Pizza. She needed to eat dinner at some point anyway—might as well share.

      Inside, the tangy aromas of tomato sauce and pepperoni tickled her nose, bringing back memories of Saturday night pizzas with her dad. Once upon a time, they’d made it a weekly tradition, just the two of them. That was before her mother died, before the close relationship she’d had with the man she’d worshipped as a hero had degraded into long-distance phone calls and painfully awkward visits home.

      Now that she was back in Paradise, she was going to change that. After all, if she couldn’t win over her own father, what chance did she have with the townspeople?

      * * *

      Dylan’s hands were kept busy over the next half hour as he dealt with the logistics of caring for an orphan fawn, but his mind was focused on the sexy wildlife officer who’d almost shot him. Shoveling clean shavings into a pen, he wondered