Baby at his Door. Katherine Garbera

any indication, and to some extent she did. But there was an air of fragility and innocence about her. Not the debauched boredom that he’d encountered countless times in the rich.

      Those emotions were oddly out of step with what he expected of her type. His ex-wife Shanna had the same sleek look about her but absolutely no fragility or innocence. In fact, Shanna was a barracuda, swimming through the masses of men who thronged around her in search of a weak one to kill.

      “Where’s your car?” he repeated.

      “At the edge of your property, at least I think it’s your property. Do you own the Rockin’ PJP Ranch? There was a cow and a…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze swept down his body, and she realized he wore only a towel.

      When her eyes widened, he saw a hint of female speculation in her gaze before fear entered. She struggled to free herself, pulling frantically on her arm. He set his gun on the hall table. He held her shoulders in both of his hands, afraid she’d fall down the porch steps and further injure herself in her frantic bid for escape.

      “Hold still, dammit. I’m not going to hurt you.” It was odd that he had to reassure her. Being the local law meant that most people turned to him for protection. Though he knew the lack of a uniform probably had a lot to do with her reaction. He wasn’t a safe-looking guy. He was a tough hombre, he thought, remembering his wisecracking deputy’s description.

      Still, damn few people ran from him. If they did, they had a reason. This little lady sure didn’t have anything to fear from him.

      She aimed him a haughty look, bringing the poise and elegance he’d only speculated about earlier to the fore.

      Evan released her and spread his hands wide. “I’m the sheriff.”

      “Where’s your badge? And no, I don’t want to see your stick.”

      Evan bit back the laughter rising in his throat. He liked this feisty woman even though she’d disturbed his peaceful night.

      He wanted to touch her again. To see if she reacted as quickly to passion as she did to anger. He wished he’d slid his palms down her arms before he’d released her. He’d bet his next month’s pay she’d be soft and smooth. She had that pampered look.

      “Don’t run off. I’ll go get my pants and my badge, and we’ll go see about your car.”

      “Okay,” she said, her body relaxing. The shocked expression left her and a tentative half-grin lit her face.

      “Do you want to wait inside or would you feel safer on the porch?” he asked.

      “I’ll wait out here.”

      He couldn’t blame her. Though he knew he meant her no harm, she had to trust and depend on herself for protection until he proved himself harmless.

      “We’ve got two dogs who have the run of the place so if they show up while I’m gone don’t be alarmed. They’re all bark,” he said as he headed for the stairs.

      “Like their owner,” she muttered.

      Though he knew her words hadn’t been intended to reach him, he pivoted and walked back toward her. “I’m not all bark.”

      She held her spine stiff and straight in a way that reminded him of a proud twenty-year Marine. When she spoke, the sparkle in her eye reassured him her injury wasn’t too serious. “I didn’t say you were.”

      He reached out with his free hand brushing a finger down the side of her cheek. Dammit, she was as soft as he’d suspected. “Sure you did, sweetheart. You just hoped I wouldn’t hear.”

      He backed away, knowing if he stayed too close he’d be tempted…. Tempted to touch her again with his mouth. Tempted to pull her soft curvy body into the hard muscles of his. Tempted to forget his good sense and take what her snapping eyes didn’t know they offered.

      “If I didn’t want you to hear, I wouldn’t have said it out loud.”

      He liked her grit. “I’m your only hope of not standing outside all night, so you might want to remember that.”

      “I will. I’m sorry. I’m just tired and scared.”

      Evan softened toward her. She seemed delicate and he wanted to comfort her. How many times did he have to learn the same lesson? Although he was torn, he knew better.

      Women weren’t the weaker sex, as men had stupidly assumed for eons. They were a powerhouse. And no one knew that better than Evan Powell.

      “It’s okay. I do resemble the dogs in some ways.”

      “Which ways?” she asked, her eyes alight with curiosity instead of shock.

      I’m loyal and trustworthy, he thought. But didn’t say it out loud because it would leave him vulnerable. “I’ll let you figure it out.”

      He turned to go, knowing he shouldn’t make a parting comment, but he couldn’t help himself. “By the way, sweetheart. I don’t show my stick to just anyone.”

      Evan left her out in the night air but didn’t close the door. She might change her mind about coming inside once he left. He took his gun with him, locking it back in the cabinet before going upstairs to dress. He never left his guns unlocked.

      He thought about the woman waiting for him on his front porch. She screamed big city. The kind of lady he knew better than to tangle with, yet part of him wanted to do just that. He wanted to take care of her wound, then comfort her in his arms.

      Dammit, old son, haven’t you already learned that lesson? He didn’t answer himself.

      Lydia couldn’t believe she stood on the porch of some backwoods sheriff’s house. Florida was surprisingly cold on this May night and frightening. Foreign noises grew in volume in the darkness, and she couldn’t hear a single car honking or taxi driver cursing. This remote place was nothing like her aunt’s place farther south in Deerfield Beach.

      But it wasn’t all an unpleasant experience. The scent of orange blossoms filled the air, and the full moon painted pretty shadow pictures on the ground. Taking a deep breath, she stared up at the sky.

      She shivered and ran her hands over her bare arms. Her short-sleeved designer pantsuit might look nice indoors, but outside it offered no protection. Expensive but worthless. Like her?

      That line of thinking was too depressing to pursue. Her car was wrecked. She couldn’t give her name or any other information to the cops. They’d call her father, and she couldn’t go home. At least not yet.

      After the accident, she’d listened to the warning bell telling her the car door was ajar, realizing that something inside her was ajar. She couldn’t go back home. She couldn’t continue on to Aunt Gracie’s house either because her car was totaled. The future was already written in stone, and it looked long and lonely from where she sat.

      She’d have to wing it. But she wasn’t good at spur-of-the-moment things. The last time she’d tried to be spontaneous she’d discovered her fiancé in bed with his mistress. No, she thought, don’t go there.

      She hadn’t loved Paul Draper but she’d liked him and thought they’d have a chance at a decent sort of marriage. But Paul hadn’t believed in commitment to one woman, especially a wife.

      Catching Paul in bed with another woman hadn’t broken her heart, but it had made her think about marrying for any reason other than love. She’d quietly left Paul’s apartment and informed her father that she wasn’t rushing into marriage. For the first time he’d gotten truly angry with her and insisted she would marry Paul. Feeling trapped Lydia had escaped in the middle of the night with no clear plan of where she was going—only knowing she couldn’t stay in New York City.

      She’d looked into the darkening night and made a desperate decision to change the course of her fate. She was going to have to be in the driver’s seat if she didn’t want to take that long, lonely walk down the marriage aisle in September.