A Sheriff in Tennessee

One sharp shake of his head and Gabriel Klein headed for the curb. “Not a good idea.”

“Regardless.” She hurried to keep up. “I need to observe everything you do.”

“You might observe a whole lot more than you ever wanted to. Accident near the mountains could be vehicular, could be hunting, could be feudal.” She snorted as if he were kidding. But then, she was from out of town. “It could be damn near anything, and if they asked for paramedics, you can be certain there's blood involved.”

“I'll manage. I might even be able to help.”

Klein took in her pristine-white blouse and neatly pressed khakis, her slim soft hands, ponytailed hair and youthful demeanor. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Her eyes narrowed; her lips tightened. “I'm not just decoration, Klein. You'd be surprised at what I can do if you look a little deeper than my skin.”

Isabelle held Klein's gaze. He hesitated.

Klein opened the door of the squad car. “All right,” he said. “Surprise me.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you to all the readers who have written to me about my first three Superromance novels. Many of you asked for more stories with animals after reading
Doctor, Doctor.
Many also asked for the story of Gabe Klein after reading
Leave It to Max.
I'm happy to say that with
A Sheriff in Tennessee
I'm able to grant both requests.

Gabriel Klein has a new job as sheriff of Pleasant Ridge, Tennessee. He's hoping to live the quiet life. Unfortunately, Pleasant Ridge isn't very quiet.

Between his deputy, a Barney Fife clone who arrests folks at will for outdated nonsense, Klein's gun-shy hound dog, Clint, and an insane Chihuahua with horrible fashion sense, he has his hands full. Then he discovers he's been volunteered to teach Isabelle Ash, former supermodel-turned-television-actress, how to be a small-town sheriff.

What's a poor guy to do? Why, fall in love, of course.

I had great fun with the characters in Pleasant Ridge, both human and canine. I hope you do, too.

And for those of you who wrote asking for Kim Luchetti's story—I'm working on it!

For information on future releases and contests, check out my Web site at www.lorihandeland.com

Lori Handeland

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“W
HAT DO YOU MEAN
there's nothing I can do about it?”

Sheriff Gabriel Klein leaned over the desk and scowled, but Malachai Smith, the mayor of Pleasant Ridge, Tennessee, was unimpressed.

“I made this deal long before I hired you. Not that I'd have asked your opinion about it even then.” Chai tapped Klein's big knuckles with what looked like a check. “Get off my desk and sit down. You don't scare me, Sheriff.”

And therein lay the problem with Mayor Smith. He wasn't scared of much because he knew it all. Too young to be mayor and too pretty to be alive, Chai drove Klein to distraction, which was a pure pain in the behind when the man was his boss. Klein had been the sheriff of Pleasant Ridge for only a month and already he wanted to quit.

He sighed heavily and sat the same. Chai put the check on his desk and pushed it across with one long finger. Even the man's hands were handsome—manly, yet unmarked by strife. His golden hair was just a bit long, so he appealed to the younger crowd. But his seventy-five-watt smile and his trusty blue eyes had won him the elderly vote, and his runner's physique had won over women of
all ages. Or perhaps it was the running attire itself. Everyone knew the mayor jogged through town every morning at seven in skimpy running shorts.

Malachai Smith was the chosen child of Pleasant Ridge. He'd received a track scholarship to the University of Tennessee, gotten a degree in business and come home to assume the job his father had held on to—until Chai returned. It was enough to make a grown man gag.

Life just wasn't fair. But men like Klein learned such truths at a very young age. Knowing them had made him a good cop. He expected the worst and he was rarely disappointed.

“Take a gander at the check, Klein, and tell me I'm stupid.”

Klein counted the zeros, then looked at Chai. “You're stupid.”

Chai blinked. The one thing he did not have was a sense of humor. So Klein couldn't resist making jokes at the mayor's expense—jokes the man rarely got. Which made things all the more fun for Klein.

Chai snatched up the check and tucked it into the inside pocket of his summer suit. The calendar might read April 21, but in southern Tennessee the thermometer ran the show and at ten a.m. it said seventy-seven degrees.

Klein's dirt-brown uniform was already damp beneath his gun belt. He was a big man, six feet four inches and nearly two hundred and fifty pounds, but having a belt around his middle that sported a side arm, ammunition, handcuffs, walkie-talkie and keys made stronger men than Klein break a sweat much earlier in the morning.

From day one he'd refused to wear the hat that went with the uniform, not only because it made him resemble the sheriff in
Smoky and the Bandit,
but because he couldn't bear to add one ounce of unnecessary weight to his increasingly beleaguered body.

Chai patted his pocket as though afraid the check might disappear if he didn't keep his hand on it. “Pleasant Ridge needs this money. The only profitable business left in town is the Smith and Son Winery.”

“Convenient,” Klein murmured.

Chai ignored him. He did that a lot. “With this check I can upgrade the schools, loan to new businesses and assist some of the old ones. Not only that, but the extra people in town will increase our revenue. It's win-win all around.”

“Not for me.” Klein had been through it all before. He'd come to Pleasant Ridge from Savannah, Georgia—a beautiful town, with far too many people. “More people, more trouble. For crying out loud, my police force consists of me and Barney Fife.”

The mayor's eyebrows drew together. “Virgil Gumm has been the deputy in Pleasant Ridge since he was my age.”

“I'm sure he was as good at his job then as you are at yours now.”

Chai opened his mouth, then shut it again. He wasn't sure what to make of that comment.
Good.

“I can handle things when it's just us folks,” Klein continued, “but add Lord knows how many strangers, and California strangers to boot, well,
then I don't know. There's gonna be trouble, Chai. Mark my words.”

“What kind of trouble can there be with a television crew and some actors? They stay a while, get the flavor of the town, film their pilot and leave.”

“You promise?”

The mayor's gaze slid away. Klein fought the urge to grab Chai's perfect chin and force the man to look him in the eye.

“What did you do?” Klein asked softly.

“Well, uh.” The mayor stared at his desk calendar as if it were the most fascinating piece of paper on the planet. “There's a clause in the contract.”

“What kind of clause?”

“If the show is a hit, they film here a few months out of every year.”

Klein cursed. “What were you thinking?”

The mayor finally looked at him. The expression in his eyes was as mulish as the set of his mouth. “I was thinking that we'd get another check with every year the show is renewed. With the money, we can improve. With the extra population, we can grow.”

“Did you ever consider that the extra attention, the added publicity, the money might ruin this town?”

“Why would they?”

Klein couldn't sit still any longer so he stood, and Chai leaped to his feet, too. They were nearly the same height, but the mayor was at least sixty pounds lighter. Klein could easily kick his ass, and
right now he was having a hard time remembering why he shouldn't.

He moved to the large window behind Chai's desk. This second-story office had the best view in town. From it Klein could see all of Pleasant Ridge and the mountains beyond.

“Look at that, Chai.” The mayor joined him at the window. “For a minute just look at it and tell me we need fast-food hamburgers, pizza and tacos. Tell me we need a miniature golf course and a water park. Explain why a chain department store and hotel would be good things.”

“They couldn't hurt.”

“Yes, they could!”

With a sigh of disgust, Klein turned away from the window and the sight of the town he'd picked from a list of so many others. Pleasant Ridge could be the home he'd been searching for all his life—if the Mayor Wonder didn't screw up the place first.

“Pleasant Ridge is special. That's why they want it. You said this show is a modern-day
Mayberry RFD.
When these people get through with us, we won't be special anymore—we'll be a joke on national television.”

The mayor remained silent. Had Klein managed to get through that thick head? But when he turned around, Chai was again seated at his desk with his back to the town. Maybe if he had to face the place and the people he worked for, the man wouldn't be so quick to ruin everything.

Klein toyed with the idea of sneaking into Chai's office under dark of night and rearranging the furniture—then nailing it to the floor.

“One more thing about the contract.”

The mayor still wasn't looking at him. Now he appeared fascinated with the gold-engraved pen his daddy had given him when he was elected.

Klein sighed. “Am I going to have to hurt you, Chai?”

“Maybe.”
Click, click, click.
His thumb jabbed the top of the pen until the office sounded like the site of a Morse code jamboree. “But it won't change anything.”

Klein growled and yanked the pen from Chai's hand, then held it out of reach. He considered snapping the thing in two, just for the hell of it—but then he'd have to deal with Daddy. Anyone who thought Smith Jr. was a pain in the behind had not met Smith Sr.

“Talk.” Klein ordered. “And this time tell me all of it. What's this show about?”

“Just what you said.”

“Then, why might I have to hurt you? Not that I mind, but I'd like to know why.”

“Do you remember
Mayberry RFD?
”

“Do you? You seem a little young for it.”

“Reruns are a wonderful thing. Mayberry, North Carolina, will become Pleasant Ridge, Tennessee.”

“I got that.”

“And Sheriff Andy Taylor will become…”

Klein had a horrible idea. “Not me. Oh, no. Uh-uh.”

Chai laughed. “You? On television?” The mayor's gaze met Klein's. “I don't think so.”

At thirty-five, Klein should be used to the way people looked at him, talked to him, as if he had
no feelings, as if he didn't care that he was not a handsome man. Klein knew what he was—tall, strong, smart, capable and kind. A regular Boy Scout. But handsome? Not even close.

“Then, who's the sheriff? Drew Carey? No wait, Martin Sheen. He'd be good.”

“It's a new millennium, Klein. The television sheriff of Pleasant Ridge is a woman.”

“What woman?”

“Isabelle Ash.”

Klein searched his memory, then shook his head. “Never heard of her.”

“You may not know her name, but I'm sure you've seen a lot of her.”

Klein scowled. What did that mean? He should have known Chai couldn't wait to tell him.

“She's a model. Victoria's Secret.
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit edition—she was on the cover last year.”

“I never look at those things.”

Chai quirked a brow as if he didn't believe it. “We
all
look at those things.”

Klein didn't bother to explain the difference between twenty-three and thirty-five, between handsome as hell and plain as porridge. Age had given him insight; homeliness had given him a sarcastic view of life and a lot of the people in it.

“This show sounds more like
Baywatch
comes to Mayberry, if you ask me.”

Chai's face went dreamy. “Wouldn't that be nice?”

Klein stifled another sigh. This
kid
was his boss. This
kid
was the mayor. But Klein remembered
twenty-three very well, and while he at that age had already learned his lesson about women, lost his dreams, joined the marines and grown up, most of his buddies hadn't. The twenties were a time for foolishness, bad choices, playing when you should be working, dreaming impossible dreams, because for kids that age there was still a chance dreams might come true.

But a twenty-three-year-old mayor? Klein contemplated the expression on Chai's face and shook his head. There oughta be a law.

“So they're giving the lead in a spanking-new television series to an underwear model?”

The mayor blinked and fell back to earth. “Who better?”

“Someone who can act?”

“Who says she can't act?”

True enough, and none of Klein's concern, anyway. His concern was keeping the town and himself from going insane.

Klein headed for the door. “When can I expect the fun to begin?”

“Tomorrow.”

He rested his forehead on the scarred mahogany door and resisted the urge to bang it a few times. “Tomorrow? The horde will descend tomorrow?”

“Not the horde. Just Isabelle. Her being here early is supposed to be a secret. Though in Pleasant Ridge, I doubt she'll stay a secret long. They don't want any media following her while she's having her lessons.”

Klein wasn't a good cop because he could shoot straight. He was a good cop because he knew peo
ple; he could hear every nuance in their voices, even when he wasn't looking at them. Especially when he wasn't looking at them. Right now he could tell, even before he turned around, that Chai was grinning.

“What lessons?”

“Did you forget the final contract clause we were discussing?”

Klein wanted to spit. He
had
forgotten. And before he'd fully discovered what it was, too. Shame on him. “The one I might have to hurt you for?”

Chai's smile faded. “That would be the one.”

“Spill it, pretty boy.”

To the mayor's credit he didn't hesitate or try to shuffle around the issue, probably because he knew Klein was on the edge of reason and had no patience right now for bullshit.

“According to the contract, you'll be teaching Isabelle Ash how to act the part of a small-town sheriff.”

 

B
ELLE STARED
into the window of the bakery and contemplated everything chocolate. She couldn't decide—cookie, brownie, cake or pie? What she should do is buy one of each. It wasn't as if she couldn't afford to.

The thought of all that dessert, just for her, made Belle light-headed with hunger, or perhaps it was a sham sugar rush. What would people think if they saw a woman sitting alone eating all that she could grab? Since Belle was thin, people would probably figure she was just going to throw it up as soon as she finished.

And they'd be right.

She shook her head. They'd have been right several years ago, but not anymore. She was better now. In control of her life, her career, her health. She wouldn't be throwing up all the desserts, because she wouldn't be having all the desserts. She'd buy one and then she'd continue to explore the town.

No one could ever learn her secret; no one could ever uncover the weakness beneath her show of strength. That would be worse than the weakness itself.

Belle stepped back from the window and caught sight of her reflection. No wonder people on the street rarely recognized her. Amazing what a good hairstylist and makeup artist could do for a woman. With her long, artificially enhanced blond hair stuffed beneath a baseball cap, no concealer to cover the dark smudges beneath her eyes or blush to give her naturally pale complexion a hint of peach, the fine bones of her face appeared stark and strained.

Her overalls were the smallest size she'd been able to find back in Memphis, and still they bagged at the seat and gaped at the waist. She loved them.

Rarely did she get to wear clothes that were too loose. She'd come to loathe the tight belts, tight pants, tight shirts, the skimpy, confining
everything
of her profession. They made her feel like sausage stuffed into a casing. When she wore clothes like those, she could remember too well a childhood spent as the fat kid.