The Lawman's Convenient Bride. Christine Rimmer

around in her pj’s with her feet up and binge-watched the second season of Outlander—really, where was her own Jamie Fraser? She’d been waiting for him for most of her life. A couple of times she’d dared to hope she’d found what she was looking for.

      Wrong on both counts.

      And Nick? He’d been a sweetheart. But she’d known from the first that he wasn’t the guy for her.

      She put her hand on her giant belly and grinned to herself. She had Marybeth now. Her little girl would be enough for her. She would be a good mom and raise her child to know she could make anything she wanted of her life. And she would always have her sisters and her brothers and a network of in-laws and friends to count on and love.

      Who needed a man?

      Seth called that night, too. She grinned when she saw it was him. Was she kind of getting used to hearing his deep, careful voice?

      Maybe. A little.

      “What have you been doing?” he asked.

      “Nothing. I have the day off, so I’ve been taking up space on the couch, watching TV.”

      “Good,” he said. It was the first time she’d ever heard anything approaching approval in his voice when he talked to her. “And I know you’re eating right. At least, that’s what you tell me every time I call.”

      “Well, there was that carton of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and now it’s gone. But otherwise, I had breakfast, lunch and dinner, and all three were comprised of heart-healthy, fiber-rich, nutritious ingredients. And you’re kind of like an old mother hen, you know that?” There was a choked sort of sound from his end. “Seth Yancy, did you just almost laugh?”

      “Me? Not a chance. Do you need anything?”

      “Such as...?”

      “Food. Supplies. Bottled water?”

      “Are we preparing for the zombie apocalypse?”

      “Just answer the question.”

      “No, Seth. As I keep telling you, I have everything I need, and if there’s something I’ve forgotten, well, they have supermarkets now where I can pick up whatever I’ve run out of.”

      “You’re being sarcastic.”

      “You noticed.”

      “And that reminds me. Should you even be driving?”

      “Yes. I definitely should. And I do. Anything else?”

      “Look. I’m trying really hard not to annoy you.”

      “I know that. And I thank you for it.”

      “I just want to—”

      “—help. I know. And I appreciate it, Seth. But I’ve run out of ways to tell you that I am taking care of myself and there’s nothing, really, to help me with.”

      He was so quiet she thought he’d hung up.

      “Seth?”

      “Right here. Okay, then. I’ll check in tomorrow.”

      “Did I mention that the baby isn’t due for weeks yet?”

      “Yeah. Got that.”

      “So...are you planning to call every day?”

      More silence. Finally, he asked, “Are you telling me not to?”

      Yes! But somehow, she couldn’t say that. Because it was so painfully obvious that he cared about his brother’s unborn baby and he really did want to help. “No. It’s okay.” It came out sulky and grudging. “Let me try that again. I mean, thank you for, you know, being here. And I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”

      “All right.” Was that gravel-and-granite voice of his marginally softer? She couldn’t be sure. “Sleep well, Jody.”

      She felt another smile curve her lips. “Good night, Seth.”

      * * *

      Monday, he showed up at Bloom again just before closing time.

      Jody was only too happy to introduce him to Marlie Grant, her second clerk and floral designer. Marlie, like Lois, had a talent with flowers and could be trusted not only to handle design and selling, but also to purchase stock from the wholesalers and flower farms nearby. Marlie took the last customer of the day, leaving Jody at the design station with Seth.

      “I told you I had help,” she said smugly as soon as Marlie was busy with old Mr. Watsgraff, who came in every Monday to buy a dozen white roses for his wife of forty-nine years.

      “I’m staying to carry in the flowers.” He made it sound like a threat.

      “Fine. Help out. Be that way.”

      “You look tired.”

      She leaned toward him across the counter—as much as her giant stomach would allow, anyway. “Don’t start in. Please.”

      Was that the beginnings of a grin tipping the corners of his bleak slash of a mouth? “Or you’ll what?”

      “I have an in with the sheriff’s office is all I’m saying, so you’d better watch your step.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” He said it quietly, and the sound sent a little shiver running down the backs of her knees.

      She’d heard he had several feminine admirers in town, nice single women who often showed up at the justice center bringing cookies and wearing bright, hopeful smiles.

      Until that moment, she’d never understood what they saw in him. Yeah, he was young to be sheriff. And hot and muscled up and manly and all that. But up till the last couple of check-in calls, she’d also found him overbearing and judgmental, which had pretty much made her immune to his fabled hotness.

      But right now, when he almost smiled at her and then said Yes, ma’am, all teasing and low, well, she could see the appeal. A little bit. Maybe.

      As soon as old Mr. Watsgraff went out the door with his cone of roses, Jody turned off the Open sign, and Marlie and Seth brought in the stock from outside.

      He hung around until after Marlie left and then walked Jody out to her Tahoe in back.

      “How about some dinner?” he asked, still holding the door open after helping her up behind the wheel.

      She was actually tempted. But she was also uncomfortable with the idea. Would he ask her about Nick, want more details of their supposed romance, which had actually not been a romance at all? She wasn’t ready to get into that with him and probably never would be.

      “Thanks, Seth. But I just want to go home and put my feet up.”

      He gave a slight nod. “Well, that’s understandable. I’ll follow you, see that you get home safe.”

      “Seth.” She looked at him steadily and then shook her head.

      He gave it up. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

      “Good night.”

      He swung the door shut at last.

      At home, she cooked a nice dinner of chicken breasts, steamed broccoli and rice, but when she sat down to eat, she just wasn’t hungry. She felt at loose ends, somehow. Edgy, full of energy.

      A little bit nervous.

      She wandered aimlessly through her house, which she loved, a cozy traditional one-story, with a modern kitchen, a sunny great room and three bedrooms. Her father had made sure that each of his nine children were well provided for. Jody’s trust fund had matured when she was twenty-one, and a year later, during the housing bust, she’d gotten an amazing deal on her place in a short sale. It was more house than she’d needed at the time, but she’d bought it anyway. Now it was worth three times what she’d paid for it, and with the baby coming, she was glad for the extra space.

      In