The Lover. BEVERLY BARTON

me Jim,” he told the secretary as he headed for the open door of the sheriff’s office.

      “Call me Lisa,” she said quietly as he passed by her.

      When he entered the room, the woman behind the massive old wooden desk stood tall and straight, her gaze directed toward him.

      “Please close the door and come on in,” she said.

      He followed her instructions, then stood about four feet away from her, catercorner to her desk, and waited for her to proceed. They stared at each other for at least a minute.

      So this was Sheriff Bernadette Granger. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Maybe someone older and tougher looking. Of course, he hadn’t expected a gorgeous babe, which Sheriff Granger definitely wasn’t. The lady was tall—he’d guess around five-nine or -ten—big boned and sturdy. His mama would have called her rawboned. She wore brown lace-up leather flats; brown, department-issue slacks; and a white button-down shirt. An acrylic ID badge was clipped to her shirt pocket. She wore her medium brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, the tip even with her shoulders, which meant she had really long hair. A pair of small gold hoops dangled from her ears, and her only makeup consisted of a peachy lipstick and blush. Not exactly pretty, but the features were good, the face appealing. And the lady was above all else as neat as a pin.

      The black Jeep Cherokee is hers.

      “Have a seat.” She motioned to one of the two chairs flanking the front of her desk.

      Jim took the one on the right. After he sat, she sat.

      “First, let me tell you how pleased I am to have you as part of our team. You come highly recommended, and we feel fortunate that you’ve chosen to join the Adams County Sheriff’s Department.” She paused, as if waiting for a response, and when he remained silent, she continued, “Our criminal investigative division is staffed with five investigators. A couple of the men on the team applied for the chief deputy position, but I can assure you that neither man will be a problem for you. Both Ron Hensley and John Downs are true professionals.”

      Jim knew that most sheriffs were equal parts politician and lawman, some more politician than anything else. Sheriff Granger certainly knew how to be diplomatic, a chief tool in any politician’s arsenal of weapons. But he would reserve judgment until he got to know the lady better. As for Deputies Hensley and Downs, Jim’s guess was that one or both of them would hate his guts on sight. Nobody liked to be passed over for a promotion.

      “I’m sure I’ll have no problem with any of the deputies,” Jim said. It was a bold-faced lie and they both knew it.

      Sheriff Granger smiled. He liked her smile. It was genuine. His gut instincts told him that the lady was the same—a no-nonsense, no-frills, what-you-see-is-what-you-get woman. “After you take care of the necessary paperwork and we issue you all the usual paraphernalia, I’ll go with you over to the jail and show you your office and introduce you to the others in your department.”

      “Sounds like a plan.”

      “After that, I’ll show you around Adams Landing, and then take you to lunch. Our District Attorney, Jerry Dale Simms, will be joining us. He’s looking forward to meeting you. You’ll like Jerry Dale. Everyone does.”

      “It’s very nice of you, Sheriff Granger, to take the time to escort me around personally. I appreciate it.” Okay, why were the sheriff and DA taking him to lunch? Not that he minded, but it puzzled him.

      As if reading his mind, she said, “You’re wondering why the sheriff and DA would take a new chief deputy to lunch, aren’t you?” She laughed. “To be honest, Jerry Dale is eager to meet former UT running back Jimmy Norton.”

      Jim grunted, then chuckled. “Hmm …”

      She stood and held out her hand across the desk. “Welcome to Adams Landing.”

      He reached out and took her hand in his and exchanged a cordial shake. Her handshake was strong and self-confident, and the entire time she looked him right in the eyes. Man-to-man, so to speak. Yet there was nothing masculine about Bernadette Granger.

      “Holly will show you around the office, introduce you to others and once you’re squared away, we’ll head over to your office.”

      Understanding that he had been dismissed, Jim nodded, got up and headed for the door. Just before grasping the doorknob, he paused, glanced over his shoulder and said, “I’m a pretty straight shooter. I’m not a game player and I’ve made my share of mistakes. I’m not always the most diplomatic guy or the most politically correct. So if I ever say or do anything you consider out of line, just let me know.”

      Her expression changed. The smile vanished. “You can be sure that I will. I tend to be straightforward and somewhat outspoken, so you’ll never wonder where you stand with me.”

      He nodded again, then opened the door and left her office. He had no more than closed the door behind himself than Deputy Holly Burcham sashayed over to him, all smiles and fluttering eyelashes.

      “Come on, handsome. I’ve been designated as your tour guide.”

      Any man would find Holly attractive. And he was, after all, a man. But the last thing he wanted was to get involved with a fellow officer, especially right off the bat. He needed time to feel his way around, to get the lay of the land, before even thinking about a personal relationship of any kind. All he wanted was to make a success of this job and strengthen the ties to his son. Only two goals. And he suspected neither would be easy to accomplish.

      Bernie sat quietly behind her desk, mulling over her brief conversation with her new chief deputy. Twenty years ago, when Jimmy Norton and Griff Powell had been the golden boys of UT football, she’d been just a kid, but being a tomboy and doing anything to gain her father’s attention, she’d watched all the college and pro games with her dad. She remembered Jimmy Norton more than any other player, probably because she’d had a silly schoolgirl crush on him. Yeah, she and how many hundreds of other pubescent and teenage girls in the South? She’d kept a picture of him on her bulletin board alongside one of Tom Selleck as Magnum PI, a TV show she and her dad had never missed. So, truth be told, she was almost as starstruck as Jerry Dale was over Jimmy Norton.

      But she had to remind herself that she was no longer a kid with a crush on a guy she’d never met in person, and Jim Norton hadn’t been a superstar athlete in nearly two decades. Okay, so the guy was still panty-creaming good looking; actually, maturity sat well on his broad shoulders. He was still tall and lean, and she suspected that his body was muscular and toned beneath his clothes. She had to admit that for a couple of minutes while she’d been looking him over, she had pictured him stark naked.

      From what she’d learned about him, she hadn’t been surprised that he had that rode-hard-and-put-away-wet appearance, but somehow that roughness only made him all the more appealing.

      Good grief, girl, get over it, will you? You’re thirty-two, not twelve. You’ve been married, divorced, had your heart broken, and learned the hard way that few men are what they seem. Besides that, you’re Jim Norton’s superior.

      And if those facts weren’t enough to throw cold water on her fantasies, the fact that she hadn’t felt any reciprocal I’m-attracted-to-you vibes from him should be. Odd that she could so easily admit to herself that she found Jim Norton attractive—very attractive—when she couldn’t remember the last time a guy turned her on. It had been such a long time since she’d had sex that she was practically a born-again virgin.

      Lost in her thoughts, she barely heard when Lisa buzzed her. “Sheriff Mays on line one.”

      Dragging herself out of her teenage-crush memories, Bernie punched line one as she picked up the phone. “Hello, Ed.”

      “Bernie, I don’t suppose you have anything new to report on Stephanie, do you?”

      “I’m sorry, but no, I don’t.”

      “God, things