The Sheriff And The Impostor Bride. Elizabeth Bevarly

“Some coffee or something?”

      He wondered for a moment if he should let on how much he knew about her, then decided that maybe she’d be more inclined to surrender information if she thought he already had most of it. So he replied. “I didn’t think pregnant women were supposed to drink coffee.”

      The moment he said it, those two bright spots of pink appeared on her cheeks again, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Then she splayed her hand over her flat belly, as if she were trying instinctively to protect whatever life was growing there.

      “You, uh, you know about that?” she asked.

      He nodded. “It was in the latest APB we received about you. When are you due?”

      Something—surely it wasn’t relief—crossed her face, and she swallowed hard. “I, uh...” she began. But nothing more was forthcoming.

      “Yes?” he spurred her.

      But the only response she offered was another long, drawn out “Uh...”

      “Miss Jensen?”

      “Uh-huh?”

      Hey, she was up to two syllables, Riley noted. Good for her. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?”

      She nodded quickly. “Uh, yes. Yes, I am.”

      Whoa, she was even using real words now, he thought. “When are you due?”

      “In, uh, about, um...” She seemed to be thinking about something, then said, “June. I’m due in June. I’m three months along.” To illustrate, she held up one hand, index, middle and ring fingers extended, as if she were a preschooler identifying her age. “This many,” she said, enhancing the image. “Three. I’m three months. Yepper. That’s how pregnant I am. Three months.”

      Riley nodded. Hoo-kay. Whatever. Nobody ever said beauty and brains went hand in hand, right? “Well, no offense, ma’am, but I’m not sure you’re supposed to be drinking coffee. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but—”

      “Oh, I’m not, either,” she piped up. “An expert, I mean. This is my first time. Being pregnant, I mean. I’m sure the coffee is... I mean... Gee, I can’t seem to stop saying, ‘I mean,’ can I?” She laughed, a nervous little trill that he found very suspicious. “I mean—oops, there I go again—ahem. That is to say—” She smiled, having conquered her problem by introducing a new phrase. “I know the coffee is decaf. Would you like some?”

      He still hadn’t quite recovered from the chill outside—or the prattling inside—so he nodded gratefully. Anything to give her something to do that would calm her down. But aloud, he only said, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

      Even before he completed the sentence, Miss Jensen had shot up from her seat and fled to the kitchen. Of course, seeing as how the kitchen was less than two feet away, it wasn’t much of a flight. Strangely, Riley found that he was grateful for that, too. For some reason, he didn’t want Sabrina Jensen out of eyeshot.

      Of course, that was because she was part of a case right now, he assured himself—and not because she was just a good-looking woman he’d like to get to know better. He had no intention of getting to know her better. Not like that, anyway. Not...intimately. She was pregnant, for God’s sake, something that tended to make a man think twice about involvement. For one thing, babies could put a real cramp in all that getting-to-know-you stuff. For another thing, it meant that she had a vested interest in another man.

      Riley might have done some foolish things in his life where women were concerned, but he sure as shootin’ wasn’t about to infringe on another man’s, uh...connubial jurisdiction. Of course, Miss Jensen was a self-professed Miss, reinforcing his suspicion that she wasn’t married to whoever had sired that little nipper inside her, but still. The genesis of life tended to be a pretty major bond for people, didn’t it? Even if the baby’s father wasn’t around, it was a good bet she still had fond feelings for the guy, and that the guy likewise still had a thing for her. Hey, baby or no baby, what man in his right mind would let a woman like Sabrina Jensen out of his sight?

      “Aha,” she said, bringing his attention around. When he looked up, he saw her standing in front of an open cabinet, a can of coffee in one hand.

      “See?” she said, looking triumphant for some reason. “It is decaf. I told you so.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, not sure why she should count the observation as such a coup. “You surely did.”

      She smiled as she closed the cabinet and moved toward the coffeemaker. And in spite of his earlier admonitions to himself, Riley found that he was more than a little interested in her movements. Everything she did was marked by a graceful efficiency and an easiness of motion that put his mind at peace. At least, her motions were efficient and easy—until she looked up and caught him watching her. Then all hell broke loose. The little plastic scoop full of coffee that she held in her hand went clattering onto the counter, scattering grounds everywhere, and when she scrambled to retrieve it, she bonked her head on the kitchen cabinet beside her.

      “Ouch,” she muttered as she lifted a hand to the injury. Unfortunately, it was the hand holding the coffee scoop, and she poked herself in the eye with it when she did.

      “Ow,” she muttered again.

      “Here,” Riley said, jumping up from the settee. “Let me help you.” He did, after all, feel somewhat responsible for what had happened—he was the one who’d wanted coffee.

      But the moment he took one step in Miss Jensen’s direction, she leapt backward, an action that propelled her right into the refrigerator. Once again, her head snapped backward and bore the brunt of a blow, and he instinctively moved toward her, hands extended, in an effort to help her. But somehow his foot hit hers, and he, too, went sailing forward. By now, there were coffee grounds everywhere, Miss Jensen was suffering from a full-blown fit of embarrassment, and Riley wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

      Ultimately, his hands took the decision, well, out of his hands, because they opted to land flat on the refrigerator door behind her, one on each side of Sabrina Jensen’s head. And then the two of them stood quite literally face-to-face. And torso to torso. And libido to libido. And that was when the most bizarre thing popped into Riley’s head.

      He wanted to kiss Sabrina Jensen.

      And that, he decided very quickly, would be a truly spectacular mistake. In spite of his decision, though, he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away from her just yet. Not because something in her eyes held him in thrall, and not because the heat of her surrounded him like a soothing balm, and not because she smelled just so damned good—like a field full of fragrant flowers.

      But because she had dropped both coffee and scoop into the sink, and now she had her hands bunched fiercely in the khaki fabric of his shirt. Even more interesting, however, was the fact that instead of pushing him away—something he told himself any normal woman would do when faced by a complete stranger in such a way—she seemed to be pulling him nearer. Even more interesting was the way in which she was tilting her head back just a fraction of an inch, parting her lips as if she’d read his mind and, by golly, she wanted to kiss him, too.

      “Uh, Miss Jensen?”

      She had those luscious green eyes fixed on his face, and she seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time studying each of his features. Though, when he got right down to it, Riley supposed she seemed to be most captivated by his...mouth? Uh-oh. They both really were thinking about the same thing, about how it would feel to—

      “Uh, Miss Jensen?” he began again.

      But she remained so preoccupied by her study of his face that all she offered in response to his query was a softly uttered “Hmm?”

      He swallowed hard. “You, uh... Are you okay?”

      Her gaze wandered over his features until her eyes finally met his. But again, all she managed in reply was a quietly murmured “Mmm.”