The Sheriff's Nine-Month Surprise. Brenda Harlen

their first meeting, but he knew now how it felt when he slid his fingers through it as he kissed her. And maybe that wasn’t a memory he should linger on while he was wearing his official sheriff’s uniform, because the mental image was causing his body to stir in a very unprofessional way.

      She opened her delectably shaped and incredibly talented mouth, then closed it again without saying another word.

      “You’re Aiden Hampton’s attorney?” he prompted.

      She nodded. “And you’re the new sheriff.”

      “I am,” he confirmed.

      “But...I thought you lived in Texas. I even—” Now she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

      “What doesn’t matter?”

      She ignored his question to ask her own. “Why are you here?”

      “I applied for the job before I met you,” he said, wanting to dispel any concern she might have about his motivation. “In fact, I interviewed with the hiring committee the day before the conference in Boulder City.”

      Her cheeks flushed as she cast a quick glance at his open office door.

      He nodded to the phone on his desk, indicating the light that revealed his assistant was occupied with a call.

      “When I told you that I was from Haven, why didn’t you mention that you’d applied for a job here?”

      “Because you didn’t want to know,” he reminded her.

      Her brows drew together as she recalled that earlier conversation and finally admitted, “I guess I did.”

      “And when I got the call offering me the job, well, I figured our paths would cross soon enough.”

      “They’re going to cross frequently if you insist on locking up juveniles who should be released on their own recognizances.”

      He leaned back in his chair. Though he was disappointed that she’d so quickly refocused on her client, he could appreciate that she had a job to do. Any personal business could wait until after-hours. “Grand larceny of a motor vehicle is a felony.”

      “Grand larceny of a motor vehicle is a ridiculously trumped-up charge.”

      “Tell that to Rebecca Blake—it was her brand-new S-Class Mercedes, worth close to two hundred thousand dollars.”

      That revelation gave her pause, but just for a second. “Was the vehicle damaged?”

      “Thankfully, no,” he acknowledged.

      She nodded, and he could almost see her switching mental gears from confrontation to persuasion. “He’s a good kid, Reid—a straight-A student grieving for his grandmother.”

      He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let sympathy for the kid interfere with his responsibilities. “There are lots of kids who lose family members and don’t act out by stealing a car.”

      “Elsie Hampton helped raise Aiden from birth, after his mother walked out of the hospital without her baby, leaving him in the custody of his seventeen-year-old father. But of course, you didn’t know that, did you?”

      “How could I?” he countered.

      “You could have asked someone,” she told him. “Everyone in Haven knows his family and his history. In fact, his dad works with Jed’s son at Blake Mining.”

      He gave a short nod. “Point taken.”

      “So I can take my client home now?”

      “No,” he said.

      “Why not?” she demanded.

      “Because I’ve already gone on the record stating that he’s to be held over for a bail hearing.”

      She sighed. “Then you’re going to have to call Judge Calvert and ADA Dustin Perry and tell them you want to have a bail hearing.”

      “While I appreciate your passionate advocacy, Katelyn, you don’t make the rules around here—I do.”

      “I get that you’re new,” she said. “Not just new to this office but new in town, and you might think I’m trying to manipulate you for the sake of my client, but I’m not.”

      “Well, okay, then,” he said, making no effort to disguise his sarcasm. “I’m sure the judge and the prosecutor will both be thrilled to be called out to a bail hearing at four thirty on a Friday afternoon.”

      “I’m sure they won’t be,” she countered. “But they’d be even less happy to find out, on Monday morning, that you made Aiden Hampton spend the weekend in a cell.”

      “If I agree to do this, it will look like your client got preferential treatment,” he warned.

      “No, it will look like the new sheriff finally took his head out of his butt for a few minutes.”

      Though her blatant disrespect irked him, Reid couldn’t help but admire her passion and conviction.

      “Your client was processed by the book,” he told her.

      “Maybe,” she allowed. “If he’d actually committed grand larceny of a motor vehicle, but the reality is that he went for a joyride—and joyriding is a misdemeanor offense.”

      “A gross misdemeanor,” he clarified.

      “Are you going to make those calls or should I, Sheriff?”

      “Are you really trying to put my badge between us now, Katelyn?”

      “Seems like you were the one who did that,” she said. “And it’s Kate. Everyone here calls me Kate.”

      “Or Katie,” he noted.

      She frowned. “Only my family calls me Katie.”

      “I like Katelyn better, anyway.”

      She huffed out a breath. “The judge and ADA?” she prompted.

      He picked up the phone.

      * * *

      Thirty minutes later, all parties were assembled at the courthouse. Less than half that time had passed again before Aiden Hampton was released into the care of his grateful and relieved father.

      The assistant district attorney didn’t stick around any longer than was necessary to sign the papers. The judge didn’t even wait that long. After enumerating the usual conditions for release, he gave the new sheriff a brief but pointed speech about the value of the court’s time and suggested that he familiarize himself with the way things were done in Haven, because apparently it was different than what he was used to.

      Kate didn’t let herself feel sorry for Reid. But she did appreciate that he’d called the hearing, albeit reluctantly, and she said so as they walked side by side out of the courthouse. “Thank you.”

      “The next time I put your client in a cell, he’s going to stay there a lot longer,” Reid warned.

      “There won’t be a next time,” she said. “Aiden really is a good kid who chose the wrong way to work through some stuff.”

      “By hanging out with a friend already on probation?”

      “I don’t know what he was doing with Trent Marshall,” she admitted. “They don’t usually run in the same circles.”

      “I’m guessing you represent the Marshall kid, too?”

      She nodded. “And I’m curious as to how the kid already on probation walked away with a summons to court and the kid who’s never been cited for jaywalking ends up locked in a cell.”

      “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you—over dinner.”

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