A Sheriff in Tennessee (11 page)

“Not that I've heard.” Klein stared at the mayor with his arms crossed over his impressive chest. “But you'd better check with Virgil.”

Belle began to laugh, but when the mayor glared, she turned the sound into a cough. Some of the spoiled little boy had leaked through the mask of the suave, golden man.

“Anything else you wanted, Chai?”

“I just wanted to see if Isabelle was all right.” Klein rolled his eyes. “And…well…maybe you could give us a few minutes, Klein. Hmm? I don't need an audience.”

Ah, hell,
Belle thought.
He's going to ask me out.

Before she could send Klein a “don't you dare leave me with him!” message with her eyes, he exited the booth and strolled away.

The mayor faced her with a practiced smile. His fingers returned to her thigh. Belle glanced at Klein over Chai Smith's shoulder, but he was already talking to Serafina and he wasn't even looking at her. She was on her own. What else was new?

“I'd hoped to take you to supper on your first night here.”

He was so close that his breath brushed her neck. Why when Klein's breath touched her did she feel hot, and when Chai Smith's did, did she feel nothing but cold? Perhaps because of the chilly beast that lurked behind the heat in the mayor's eyes.

Belle scooted a few inches away from the man, but her tailbone hit the end of the booth. Smith
scooted after her with a smile. She should take his elegant fingers and twist them into a pretzel the way her brothers used to do to her. But she couldn't afford to piss him off.

So she smiled and put her fingers atop his—the best way she'd discovered to keep a man's hand from going any farther north.

His smile widened. “We could leave. Go somewhere much better than here.”

Belle glanced at her plate, surprised to discover she'd eaten nearly all her dinner. “I'm not hungry. But if you'd like to discuss business, now would be a good time.”

His face fell. “Business? Well, no, that's not what I had in mind.”

She knew what he had in mind, and it wasn't going to happen. Not in this lifetime. But how did she say that and still keep him on her side?

By pretending, of course. She'd pretend she was as dim as he no doubt believed her to be.

“I thought I'd show you some of the finer places in this part of Tennessee.” He squeezed her knee. “Just you and me.”

She waited for the wink. She didn't have to wait long. Did women actually fall for this stuff? Belle resisted the urge to sigh. She knew that they did.

“How sweet.” She patted his hand, a little harder than necessary, true, but he didn't notice. He probably wouldn't notice anything short of a sledgehammer over his head.

“I couldn't possibly.” He frowned. “At least, not right now. Why, I'm just too busy to give a man like you the attention you deserve.”

“I don't need much time.”

Probably not,
she thought dryly.

“Now, you know I have to make this show a success. Otherwise, where will I be?” She lifted his hand from her knee and placed it back on his own. “Where will you be if everything we've planned falls down about our heads, huckety-buck?”

The reminder of his part in the deal seemed to reach the mayor. If she looked like a fool, he could very well look the same, and men like Chai Smith would do anything to avoid looking like a fool.

They never seemed to realize they could hardly avoid appearing what they already were.

 

S
ERAFINA GLANCED PAST
Klein and muttered something in Italian that didn't sound like “honey.” Then she sniffed, pointedly gave him a glare and flounced into the kitchen.

Klein leaned against the counter. He'd bet money that the mayor was fondling Isabelle beneath the table. Klein had to breathe deeply and focus on staying right where he was, because what he wanted to do was stalk over there, drag the mayor out of the booth and break any part of him that had touched any part of her.

But when he'd asked if anything was the matter, she'd shaken her head. Klein wasn't going to embarrass himself by stepping in when he wasn't needed. He'd been there and done that.

Still, he continued to watch them both, wondering what she was up to. She'd said the mayor was a molting vulture. From where he stood right now,
Isabelle seemed to have developed a deep fondness for molting vultures.

Her face was animated, and one hand emphasized her words while the other hid beneath the table, no doubt holding hands with this new friend, too.

Klein was gritting his teeth again, so he forced himself to stop. He knew better than to get emotionally involved with a beautiful woman. Heck, with any woman. He'd done so well for so long. Then Isabelle had come to town, and in the space of one day all his carefully laid plans, all his meticulously thought-out rules had gone into the trash.

He was lonely, but he would live. If a person could die of loneliness, Klein never would have made it past the age of eight.

Despite his good intentions, he found himself fascinated with the movements of her fingers and the shape of her mouth. Klein shifted against the countertop as an image of those clever fingers doing something else entirely sprang to life in his brain. If he didn't put a stop to this sudden obsession, he was going to get hurt, or at the very least be embarrassed. And he'd have no one to blame but himself.

Klein forced his thoughts from flashes of Isabelle in a towel, wet and warm from her shower, staring at him with what he'd sworn was invitation in her eyes, until he'd come to his senses…to the way she'd been only a little while ago.

Her tale of the afternoon accident had been different from Virgil's. From her point of view, the afternoon had been an adventure, though she had
not styled herself a heroine. Instead, she'd added humor in just the right amount to make the tale bittersweet. She'd had everyone laughing if not smiling, including him. Isabelle had a wonderful imagination, a gift for words and an incredible sense of timing. Why hadn't she become a writer instead of an actress if she could concoct stories out of the air and keep people entertained with such ease?

One look at her face and he knew why. That face didn't belong in front of a computer; it belonged on the screen.

Because Klein was looking at her so closely, he saw her gaze lower to the nearly empty plate of lasagna. She blinked. He'd observed her methodically cutting the noodles into itty-bitty pieces and rearranging them on her plate, but since she'd been eating, too, he hadn't thought much of it.

Her eyes shifted to the brownies, and she turned away from the dessert so abruptly it was almost as if she was afraid of them. Which was too silly to be believed. So why did he believe it?

Focused on Isabelle and her odd behavior, Klein didn't notice Chai coming toward him until the man spoke.

“She's even more beautiful in person, isn't she.” He sighed like a love-struck teenager.

“I wouldn't know, since I've only seen her in person.”

Chai laughed. “That's your story and you're sticking to it, huh?”

Klein didn't bother to answer him. Of course, Chai had never needed any encouragement to keep
right on talking. “What I'd like to see in person are those jugs.” He smiled at Isabelle, who smiled back, unaware. “What a rack,” he breathed.

Klein's hands curled into fists. Would the mayor be an idiot if he wasn't twenty-three and hormone challenged? Probably.

“Watch your mouth, Mr. Mayor.”

Chai didn't even bother to glance his way. He was too busy staring at Isabelle, who slid from the booth and bent over the table to retrieve her pan of brownies.

“Would you look at her.” The man actually licked his lips. “Honestly, Klein, don't tell me you haven't been staring at that all day and itching to put your hands on it.”

Guilty as charged, but at least he wasn't talking about “that” in public or drooling over “it” in Murphy's Café.
Yet.

“I asked her to go out with me,” Chai murmured.

“What did she say?”

Klein held his breath. What would he do if Isabelle agreed to go out with the Mayor Wonder? Kill him? However appealing, things were no longer handled that way, even in Tennessee. He missed the good old days.

“She's too busy now. But later.” Chai licked his lips again, as if Isabelle were a prime steak sizzling on his own personal barbecue grill. “Later she will. I just know it.”

“She turned you down?”

The mayor flicked him a petulant look. “Because she's
busy.
”

Klein grunted as Isabelle spun about with the pan of brownies in her hands. Her gaze went directly to him. She smiled, and not just with her mouth. The expression went all the way to her pretty brown eyes. Klein's lips lifted in response.

“I've
got
to get her to go out with me.”

The intensity in Chai's voice reached through Klein's foggy consciousness. Had the mayor become a charter member of a stalkers' association? From the expression on his face, Klein had to wonder.

Isabelle turned to speak with Serafina, and Klein fixed Chai with a glare. “Why do you
have
to?”

“Can you imagine Isabelle Ash and me? What a couple. I could go much further than Pleasant Ridge with Isabelle on my arm.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And in my bed.”

“You've lost me.” Too bad not literally.

“With her fame and face, my connections and looks, we could go straight to the top. You know, people miss glamour in the White House. They talk about Jackie all the time. They even elected an actor once.”

“You think Isabelle could be president?”

Confusion settled over Chai's face momentarily before understanding dawned. He snorted. “Right, Klein. That'll be the day.”

Besides being a pretty-boy moron, the mayor was a chauvinist. That oughta get him reelected.

“Does Daddy know you want out of town?”

Chai tensed. Klein smiled. Nope, Daddy didn't know.

“He won't mind if I leave to be a senator.”

That remained to be seen, and Klein would love to see it. He'd just store Chai's secret political ambitions away for use on a rainy day.

“Can't you just see that face on CNN?” Chai breathed. “Staring at me with such pride and devotion. That body next to mine as she waves to all the people. Securing me every male vote.”

The mayor was definitely adrift in fantasyland.

“What about her?” Klein asked.

“Her?” Chai repeated, as if the concept were a foreign one.

“Yes. Her.
Isabelle,
” he enunciated. “What if she doesn't want to be on CNN?”

Chai laughed. “Her life is television and print. CNN would be an incredible coup. Besides, what woman wouldn't want to be a senator's wife, instead of an underwear model? Do you think she'd be better off as a Mayberry-
Baywatch
hottie than a political asset?”

If that was what she wanted, yes. But Klein didn't bother to share with Chai a concept beyond his understanding. He was going to have to keep an eye on the mayor and make sure he didn't cross the line any more than he already had. Though, if Isabelle refused to complain, there wouldn't be much Klein could do. Legally, at any rate. Klein cracked his knuckles.

“Do you even like her?” Klein couldn't help but wonder aloud, even though he felt as if he were in the seventh grade. Next thing, he'd be asking Chai to ask her if she liked him!

“Like? Hell, I love her. What's not to love?” He
leered in Isabelle's direction again. Luckily she was still talking to Serafina and missed it.

“So you're interested in her face, her body and her fame?”

“What else is there?” He flicked a glance at Klein. “Oh, you mean her
personality
and her
mind.
” His lips twitched. “That, too.”

Chai began to leave, but unfortunately he came right back. “She said she'd be too busy to give me the attention I deserved until the pilot was finished, and I can understand that. The next month is going to be important to us all. I'd be worried about other men poaching, but then she'll be with you. Her hand holding pal.”

Klein merely raised his eyebrows and waited for the mayor to get to the point.

“Keep the others away from her for me, Sheriff. I'm counting on you.” He glanced at Isabelle one last time. “Damn, we're going to have beautiful kids.”

Chai strolled out of Murphy's, and Klein watched him go as the past swirled all around him. The last time he'd watched over a beautiful woman for another man, he hadn't even known he'd been doing it. He'd been in love with Kay Lynne, and he'd believed she was in love with him. She'd wanted beautiful children, too. He would have given her anything. But some things lay beyond his control.

He'd grown up in the years since Kay Lynne had told him the truth about everything. He was not the kind of man who inspired deep, true, unconditional
and forever love in women. He'd learned to accept that—to live with it, if not to like it.

Because while beauty might be skin deep, ugliness went a whole lot further. All the way to a man's soul, making him wish for everything, hope for nothing, and know in his heart that no matter who he might want, she would never want him in the same way.

B
Y THE TIME
Belle had finished thanking Serafina for the wonderful meal and convinced the woman she did not need a doggie bag for the garlic bread and she really, really did not need a midnight snack of linguine, the mayor had finished chatting with Klein and disappeared.

Just what she'd been waiting for.

She extricated herself from Serafina's attention by promising to return and eat again on an unspecified day in the future, then hustled across the room toward Klein.

He lifted his head, and she could tell something had changed. Belle slowed her pace so quickly she nearly stumbled. Was he upset that the mayor had already heard about their holding hands? But Klein had warned her such a thing was bound to happen. She hadn't cared, and he hadn't seemed to. So what was the matter with him now?

“Did Virgil call?” she asked. “Is there an emergency? Do we have to go?”

“Not we. Me.
I
have to go. But I'll walk you home first.”

“I'm supposed to be your shadow, remember?”

“Not for this. It's routine. Let's go.” He opened
the door, waving absently when Serafina shouted
“Ciao!”

The streets of Pleasant Ridge had become deserted. As Belle and Klein walked, the silver-blue light of the moon warred with the flickering, colorful images of televisions and the muted golds of lamplight. The spring chill in the air brushed Belle's shoulders, and momentarily she wished for a sweater, until a better idea for warmth came to mind.

She shifted the evil pan of brownies to her left hip and reached for Klein's hand with her free one. He eluded her by snatching the brownies from her grip and clutching them with both hands.

“I'll take those,” he said unnecessarily, then set a brisk pace in the direction of the five-and-dime.

“Please do. Take them home. Take them to the station. Take them far away from me.”

His answer was a long, slow frown.
Oops, too desperate.
Belle needed to be more careful of what she said and did around Gabe Klein, or soon she'd be interrogated about more than she cared to be.

“You don't have to walk me home,” she blurted. “You're obviously in a hurry to get back to work, and it's not like the streets around here aren't safe for high-fashion models.”

“You'd be surprised,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Never mind. Just don't talk to strangers. Don't go out alone at night. Keep your doors locked. You know the drill.”

“Doors locked? I thought that was an insult.”

“Insult me. I can take it.”

He might be able to take it, but what he couldn't seem to do was look at her.
Hmm.
“What did the mayor say to you?”

Klein tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, although when Belle turned around, she saw there
was
no crack in the sidewalk. When she glanced back at him, he kept on walking. She had to hurry to catch up. He didn't answer her question, so she kept talking.

“He asked me out.”

“I heard.”

Aha.
From past experience she deduced the mayor had warned Klein away from her. But why would Klein listen?

Honestly. Men were such…men.

“I said no.”

He didn't even look at her. “You said
later.
”

“That's what he heard.” Belle shrugged. “To be honest, that's what I wanted him to hear. I can't afford to alienate the mayor. I don't need him causing trouble.” She stared at Klein's stony profile. “But I can see that he already has.”

They reached the back steps of her apartment, and she put her hand on Klein's wrist before he could run away. His pulse thudded beneath her fingertips, steady and sure like the man, and she couldn't help herself; she let her hand stay there because she liked touching him, and right now he was letting her.

“He told you to stay away from me, didn't he?”

“Not exactly.”

“
What
exactly?”

“He told me to keep all the other men away.”

Her mouth fell open. This was worse than she'd thought. “Of all the nerve! Who does he think he is?”

“Your future husband?”

“Has he always been delusional?”

At last Klein looked at her, and either it was a trick of the moon or she caught a flash of the humor she liked so much in the depths of his stunning blue eyes. “I'm not sure.”

“Maybe you'd better keep
him
away from me.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

“My hero.”

Despite the teasing lilt in her voice, he stiffened and backed away, pulling his wrist from beneath her fingers, removing her latest weakness—a sudden craving for his warmth and strength—from her reach.

The humor was gone from his eyes, if it had ever been there at all. Instead, he gazed at her without expression, once again the stoic cop she so wanted to emulate.

“I'm no hero,” he said softly.

“I don't agree.”

“I'm just doing my job.”

“You do a lot more than just the job. I haven't been here long, and I can already see that you go above and beyond, every minute of the day.”

“
That's
the job.”

“A lot of men wouldn't think so. They'd take the easy way out. They wouldn't bother to warn me that their boss is a stalker in training. That might cause too much trouble for them.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. You'd be surprised at how many people believe that because of how I look or how I earn my living, I deserve whatever hassles might come my way.”

He scowled. “They're idiots.”

“You'll get no argument from me. But I'd still be on my own.”

“You won't be on your own here.”

“I know.” She stared up at the bright, shiny moon and took a deep breath of fresh, cool night air. Funny, but Pleasant Ridge smelled just like home. “As handsome as the mayor is, as suave as he thinks he is, there's one thing that determines I'll never be in his presence for longer than I absolutely have to be.”

His shoes scraped the pavement as he moved near her once more. “What's that?”

“He makes me feel like less.” She lowered her gaze from the sky to his face. “But you…” She inched closer, too. “You make me feel like more.”

Grateful for that, she went up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his cheek. She'd planned on just a quick, friendly, thank-you kiss. But the proximity to that chest, his heat, the scent of his skin in her nostrils, the taste of him on her lips made her freeze as a need for so much more washed over her. Her mouth lingered, brushing his jaw on the way back down.

Then she was staring at his suntanned neck, the smooth hollow of his throat, the pulse that beat hard and fast just beneath his ear. If she dragged her teeth over that pulse, would he come upstairs and
make her forget the mayor, the accident, even the lasagna for an hour or two?

“Isabelle.”

His voice, gentle and soft, trilled along her skin like a breeze. Hope fluttered in her heart, even as desire flared in her belly. Cool against hot, they mixed somewhere in between, and she swayed toward him. He shifted and raised one palm to cup her bare shoulder. The chill of the night dissipated as the heat of him called to the need in her.

Would he gather her close, hold her tight? Anticipation made her shiver. She caught her breath and tilted her head so she could see his face.

Concern etched his brow; kindness flickered in his eyes. “You have to get some rest.”

The truth came to her as clear as the stars in the sky above. His hand was not caressing but comforting, not pulling her nearer but keeping her steady. In his gaze she saw no reflection of her desire, no interest in her at all.

Belle's cheeks heated, and she backed away. His fingers did not cling; they released her with ease. He was being her friend as she'd asked him to be—nothing more.

She'd kissed him, her mouth trailing along his skin, heart thudding, pulse skipping, desire spiking, and he'd stood there, one hand holding her at bay, the other holding the pan of brownies, no doubt waiting for her to finish drooling on him. Belle and Clint had more in common than she cared to admit.

Talk about feeling like less instead of more. Her lack of control where Gabriel Klein was concerned could become a problem if she let it. But if there
was one thing Isabelle Ash knew, it was how to regain control—of both her mind and her body.

“You're right.” Her voice sounded indifferent to what had just happened, though she was anything but. “I am tired.”

“You should be. Here—” He held out the brownies.

There was no way she was taking those upstairs, where they could call her name all night long.

“You keep them.” Belle fled, pounding up the steps without a backward glance.

“But—”

“Good night.” She opened the door.

“Tomorrow at noon,” he called. “The station.”

Her answer was an absentminded wave before she shut and locked the door behind her. No time to chat. Belle had a date with her neurosis.

 

K
LEIN STARED AT THE DOOR
for a long time after Belle slammed and locked it. There was a tickle in his brain that usually signified the answer to a pressing question, if only he could focus.

Unfortunately, he had no idea what the question was, and he couldn't focus worth a damn right now on anything other than her lips against his jaw and her breath along his neck.

He gripped the pan of brownies and fought the urge to run upstairs, pound on the door, grab her and kiss her until her body throbbed the way his did.

Klein cursed and turned away. If it wasn't for his rich fantasy life, he'd have no life at all.

He skirted the five-and-dime, emerging on Long
street Avenue. He should go directly back to the station, give Virgil the brownies, then take Clint home. But he made the mistake of glancing up, and then he was no longer moving but staring.

Her lights were on. He could see her shadow moving back and forth behind the curtains. She wasn't sleeping. What
was
she doing?

He had no idea, but since he was an inquisitive man, he leaned against the lamppost and watched awhile.

You make me feel like more,
she'd said.

Those words had him as curious as the odd movements that continued unabated in the upstairs apartment.

He had learned early on that allowing other people to affect how he felt about himself was asking to feel pretty bad for a whole lot of his life. He'd been about to tell her that when she'd kissed him, and he'd lost any trace of a brain.

Her mouth was soft, her breath sweet. He'd been unable to keep himself from touching her skin. Thank God for Lucinda's brownies, which had kept one of his hands off Isabelle. If he hadn't been holding them he might have grabbed her with both massive paws and scared her to death.

As it was, she must have sensed how he burned for more, because she'd held very still and stared at his neck, no doubt terrified to meet his eyes and give him ready access to her lips. By the time she had, he'd regained his control.

Klein was adept at hiding what he felt. Being laughed at enough times would do that for a man. The kiss had been about gratitude; he'd known that
all along. But tell it to his body. Ever since Kay Lynne had betrayed him, beautiful women had turned Klein cold. Why, then, did Isabelle make him hot?

Because when he looked at her, he didn't see Isabelle Ash anymore; he saw Izzy—the vulnerable, uncertain girl who lurked in her eyes—and he wanted to help her, protect her, heal her.

Klein frowned. Heal her? Where had he gotten the idea she needed to be healed?

He focused again on her window, contemplated the shadow that continued to move this way and that.
Vulnerable
and
uncertain
did not describe Isabelle Ash. She never could have gotten where she was in her business by being either. But Klein knew what vulnerability and uncertainty looked like. He saw them often enough in the mirror.

Which was no doubt why he felt the need to heal her. Because deep down he wanted to be healed, too.

Klein snorted. There was nothing wrong with him, just as there was nothing wrong with her, and the sooner he stopped trying to be her hero, the better off he would be. Delusions of knighthood always got him into trouble.

He'd just begun to stroll toward the station, when his walkie-talkie sent out a burst of static that almost made him drop the brownies. Cradling them against his hip, he answered the call.

“Chief, you better get in here. We got trouble.”

“What now?”

The sound of crying—wailing, actually—came
through the walkie-talkie along with Virgil's voice. “Just come. Quick.”

“On my way.”

As he returned the walkie-talkie to his belt, Isabelle's window slid open. He glanced up to see if she was watching him, but she was still moving back and forth behind the curtains.

The beat of drums, fast and furious, followed him down the street. He still couldn't figure out what she was doing up there, and he no longer had the time to wonder. Duty called.

 

A
N HOUR AND A HALF
of aerobics did amazing things for Belle's state of mind and body. The leaden weight of the lasagna in her belly, while not gone, had diminished, and the pulsing, pounding beat of desire in her blood had ceded to the pounding of her pulse.

Her ability to exert control over her body in another way had overridden the lack of control she felt over her body whenever she was near Gabe Klein. In years past she might have resorted to the customary bulimic tricks. But she was better now.

Simply put, she'd exercised until she was light-headed enough not to care about much and sweaty enough to feel as if she'd done something worthwhile. The old runner's high worked just as well when it was a dancer's high, instead.