Most Eligible Sheriff. Cathy Mcdavid

a horse for the first time in eleven years and leading—correction, following—a trail ride. She was also attending a square dance on Friday night with the local sheriff. Whom she’d kissed.

      Surreal didn’t begin to describe it. Unreal was more like it.

      “This is my first time on a horse.”

      A child’s voice penetrated the thick layer of Ruby’s thoughts. She blinked herself back to the present.

      While she’d been wool gathering, a young girl on a compact horse had fallen behind the others and was riding beside Ruby. Cliff, she discovered after a quick glance around, was now behind her.

      “It is?” Ruby felt compelled to respond.

      “I like riding.” The girl grinned, showing front teeth too big for her face.

      Ruby had no clue as to her age. She knew next to nothing about kids. Not that she didn’t like them. She and her circle of friends weren’t yet mothers, and she had little exposure to anyone under the age of twenty-one in her line of work. Ruby wasn’t bothered by her lack of skills. She’d long ago decided she was born minus the mothering gene.

      Another difference between her and her sister. Scarlett adored kids and intended to produce a passel of her own one of these years.

      “That’s nice,” Ruby muttered, glancing around. Where were the girl’s parents? Shouldn’t they be supervising her?

      “I want to be a cowgirl when I grow up,” the girl continued. “Like you.”

      “It’s hard work. Long days. You won’t have much time for anything else. Forget having a boyfriend. Forget any kind of social life.”

      Ruby was remembering her youth. She’d been determined to compete nationally in Western pleasure classes and succeeded three years running. She’d sacrificed a lot to get there, including things most teenagers took for granted.

      Unfortunately, in all her attempts, she’d failed to place higher than twelfth. Disappointment soured her. It was the reason she’d quit riding altogether after high school and moved to Vegas. No more chasing pipe dreams, she’d told herself.

      Until today, she hadn’t realized how much she missed riding. Her father was fond of saying that horses were good for the soul. Relaxing into the sway of the saddle and gazing at the distant mountains, she could almost forget her troubles.

      Almost. Cliff’s eyes boring into her back were a constant reminder of her present circumstances.

      “I’m a hard worker,” the girl piped up.

      “I’m sure you are.”

      “My mommy bought me this.” She released the reins long enough to pat the top of her neon-pink cowboy hat.

      “It’s bright.”

      “And these.” She stuck out her foot to show off a matching pink boot.

      “Mmm.” Ruby mustered a smile that, judging from the girl’s pout, was sorely inadequate.

      What did she want? For Ruby to enthuse endlessly about her recent purchases?

      “Every cowgirl needs a good hat and a sturdy pair of boots,” Cliff said. “Especially pink ones.”

      At his comment, Ruby turned in the saddle to stare. Had he really just said that?

      The girl also turned, beaming from ear to ear. “I still need a vest. With fringe.”

      “Don’t forget spurs.”

      Her eyes widened. “Can girls wear those?”

      “Sure they can. And you’ll need a rope, too.”

      “Wow!” She pulled back on her reins, slowing her horse until she was riding alongside Cliff.

      Ruby clucked to Mama Bear, feeling officially dumped. So much for being a female wrangler and the girl’s idol.

      “Can you teach me to rope?” the girl asked Cliff.

      “I don’t work for the ranch, but I’ll show you a few pointers when we get back from the ride.”

      “Cool. Mommy!” she shouted over Ruby’s head. “The man is going to teach me to rope.”

      A woman three horses up glanced over her shoulder, mild concern on her face.

      “You’re welcome to join us, ma’am.” Cliff tipped his hat. “And the rest of your family.”

      The woman’s features relaxed. “All right, I guess.”

      Figured Cliff would be good with children. From what Ruby could tell, he was close to perfect. Her sister really would have been better off picking him over Demitri.

      Someday, eventually, Ruby would date again. Maybe when Crowley was safely behind bars. Until then, even the close-to-perfect Sheriff Dempsey would remain strictly eye candy.

      “Did you barrel race, too?”

      It took her a second to realize Cliff had addressed her and not the young girl. They were once more riding side by side, and the girl was with her mother. When had that happened?

      Ruby really needed to concentrate.

      “No, only Scarlett. I competed in Western pleasure. The closest I got to rodeoing was team penning, which I did only because I thought it was good training for my horses. Sharpened their skills. Mine, too.”

      “But doesn’t your dad train barrel racers?”

      “He does. And my mom breeds and raises them.” Ruby didn’t correct herself. She still talked about her parents as if they were married to each other and not to different people. The habit was a hard one to break.

      “So how did you get into showing horses?” Cliff asked.

      “I know, it’s strange, me coming from a rodeo family.

      Even more strange was her talking so causally with Cliff about her past. As if he wasn’t here solely for the purpose of protecting her from a dangerous stalker.

      “I like team penning,” he said. “Maybe we can try it one day.”

      “As partners or competitors?”

      “Either one.”

      Was that a glint of amusement in his eyes? She must be mistaken.

      “What about you? Where did you learn to ride?” Only after she voiced the question did she realize she was truly interested.

      “I grew up in Sweetheart. We’re a ranching community.”

      “I thought the town catered to the wedding trade.”

      “We did. Until the fire last summer destroyed the local economy.”

      “Scarlett said things were getting better.”

      “They are. Slowly. We went from hosting fifty weddings a month to zero. We’re up to about five now. The town council is hoping to change that with the Mega Weekend of Weddings.”

      It was a shame the tourists had stopped coming, Ruby thought. The charming community was situated amid some of the Sierra Nevada’s most spectacular scenery.

      Formerly spectacular scenery, she reminded herself. While the area surrounding the Gold Nugget Ranch had been untouched, a large part of the region was laid to waste by the fire’s ferocious appetite.

      “Ranching is our second largest industry,” Cliff said. “Prospecting, cross-country skiing and hiking all run a close third.”

      “You’re from a ranching family?”

      “No, but I worked at the Triple C Ranch from the time I was fourteen until I left for police academy. In between helping my aunt out at the Paydirt.”

      Something Ruby’s sister said last night about the popular saloon rang a