Own the Night. Debbi Rawlins

smiled. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

      “You think this is funny, Sheriff?”

      “No, ma’am, I don’t.” He didn’t seem the slightest bit chastened as he pushed away from the desk and started to stand. But the office door opened, and he stayed right where he was.

      Alana turned to see who’d just wiped the faint smirk off his face. Two of the blondes she’d seen earlier walked in, very perky blondes in their early twenties. They were certainly full of smiles for the sheriff.

      No cheery welcome from him, Alana noticed when she turned back to follow his reaction.

      His mouth was a narrow line, thin and unsmiling. “Yes, ladies, what can I do for you?”

      “We were hoping you’d be getting off work about now,” one of them said. “Doesn’t Roy or Gus have the second shift?”

      He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I’m still on duty.”

      “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “When do you get off, Noah?”

      His gaze flickered to Alana, who wouldn’t give up her front-row seat for anything. She didn’t even turn to check out the woman who was talking. Much more informative to watch him trying not to squirm. Oh, he was good at hiding his reaction, but Alana had no doubt he was not happy with the attention.

      “Is there sheriff’s business I can help you with, ma’am?” he asked evenly, getting up and grabbing his hat off the scarred wooden table that seemed to serve as a credenza.

      “I told you already, you can call me Cindy,” she said with a hint of frustration in her voice.

      Alana pressed her lips together and watched him lazily set the Stetson on his head. She was pretty sure his actions were meant as a dismissal, but the way he looked settling that cowboy hat on his head was not going to get any woman with a pulse to turn around and leave.

      While his attention was directed elsewhere, Alana studied his fancy belt buckle and wondered if he’d won it in a rodeo competition. That would make him very popular in the New York print market. She could see him as the face of one of Ralph Lauren’s colognes. She knew next to nothing about real rodeos or cowboys, only what she’d gleaned from movies she’d watched as a kid. These days, who had time for movies? Certainly not her, though she knew how to appreciate a fine male specimen. But then, that was a trait learned over years of dealing with models and actors. Alana was highly aware that the package had little to do with the contents.

      And his package was exceptional. The way the worn denim caressed his lean hips and hard-looking thighs brought her back to the idea that he’d spent considerable time sitting astride a horse. She’d like to see that, she decided—him riding a large, powerful stallion. She didn’t have the faintest idea why the image suddenly appealed to her. The whole fleeting fantasy of a hot vacation fling was crazy.

      She should be furious with the man for his attitude, his cavalier approach to the theft. The last thing on her mind should be his physique or his discomfort over the attention. And what the hell had happened to her reservation? This whole trip was the worst idea in the history of ideas, and all Alana wanted was to get back on a plane and go home.

      But first, she needed her purse and her luggage, because without her ID, she wasn’t going anywhere. “Can we finish this?” she asked, her patience thinning as he strolled past her toward the other two women.

      He went to the door, opened it. “Ladies, if there’s nothing else, I have business to attend to.”

      The blondes exchanged defeated glances. “If you change your mind we’ll be at the Watering Hole,” Cindy said and led her disappointed friend outside.

      He gave Alana a dry look as he returned to his desk and pulled out his middle drawer.

      “I read the reviews for the Sundance,” she said, knowing it would bother him. “You’re quite popular.”

      He concentrated on whatever he was looking for, but she could see irritation deepen into brackets at the corners of his mouth. “Ready?”

      She sprang up. “Where are we going?”

      “To get you settled in.”

      “Thank you,” she said, heading for the door, and feeling no guilt for having baited him. He had all the power, and that wasn’t something she could easily accept. She’d needed to even things up a bit. Show him she could be indifferent to his charms and that she wasn’t a helpless victim. “I appreciate this, and I’ll certainly reimburse your office for any costs—”

      “Not that way.”

      She hesitated, turned, her gaze darting to the key he held in his hand.

      He motioned with his chin toward the back of the office, where a short hall led to another door. A bathroom? Not that she couldn’t use one about now, but she’d prefer to purchase some toiletries first. Or more likely, his truck was parked out back….

      Alana pulled her blazer more snugly around herself, mostly because she needed something to do with her hands. She was used to carrying a purse or her phone, and she couldn’t shake the odd feeling of having nothing to hold on to.

      The sheriff gestured for her to precede him down the hall. It was a small space and she had to squeeze by him. Her arm brushed his chest, and her hip touched God-knew-what, but the brief contact was enough to quicken her pulse, which was unnerving for a number of reasons. Her appraisal of the sheriff had been strictly professional.

      She grabbed the doorknob, couldn’t budge it, then felt him reach around her.

      “It’s not locked,” he said, his face so close that his warm breath tickled her ear. “It just sticks.” He jiggled the knob, then pushed the door open.

      For a long, absurd moment she hesitated. He’d lightly touched the small of her back, or at least she thought she felt the pressure of his hand, and she had a bit of trouble maintaining her balance. Probably dehydrated, she reasoned, or weak from hunger. Had she eaten today? Nope, just black coffee on the plane. With as much traveling as she’d done one would think she wouldn’t still have a nervous stomach every time she flew.

      “Ms. Richardson?”

      “What?” Startled, she turned too quickly and had to hold on to the wall for support.

      “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine.”

      This time there was no doubt that he’d pressed a palm to her back. “Look at me,” he said, catching her chin and bringing her face around to his. Eyes shaded with concern, he looked deep into hers before moving on to study her face. “You look pale.”

      “It’s nothing.” She jerked her chin away. “I’ve had a long day. It’s not easy getting from New York to Montana at the last minute.”

      “You were in a hurry?” He didn’t look concerned now, just appeared oddly invested in her answer.

      “I suppose you could say that.” She smiled wryly, wondering how her mother had reacted to the cryptic message she had left her. Alana had even gone so far as to tell her housekeeper and doorman she’d be in the Caribbean in case her mother contacted them. Eleanor would be at wit’s end by now, analyzing how she’d lost control of her daughter. “I’d prefer you call me Alana.”

      “All right.” His mouth curved slightly. “Noah is okay with me.”

      His stare was surprisingly captivating, and she forced herself to turn away before she made a fool of herself. God forbid she start acting like one of his groupies. She pushed the door open the rest of the way. Three steps over the threshold, she froze.

      The entire room consisted of two jail cells, each one furnished with nothing more than a cot and a toilet.

       4

      WHEN