~Tavic's P.O.V.~
'Well, well, well', Tavic thought as he strolled down Main Street. 'Here is an unanticipated gift.' In front of the bookstore was the pretty woman he'd almost managed to arrest last week. Not being in any hurry, Tavic stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against a wrought-iron streetlight to enjoy the view. Seemed like that long, wavy brown hair was just begging for a man to bury his fingers in it. The silky strands rippled against her tightly rounded butt, something else that would fill his hands nicely.
The same breeze ruffling her hair brought him the scent of illness, a tad acrid, yet sweet. 'So, she had been sick.' He'd wondered…
He'd driven by her house now and then over the past few days. Leaves had built up on the hood of her car. If the lights inside hadn't moved from room to room, he'd have worried she'd died in there, so it was a relief to see her, not only alive, but out and about.
Yet, even as she innocently perused the bookstore display, she made his instincts twitch like a mouse scenting a wolf in the underbrush. He'd even run her name last week, but no priors had popped up. Hell, nothing had come up. If she'd been beaten up by a husband or a mugging, she hadn't reported it.
Then, again, maybe she wasn't innocently perusing, maybe she was casing the joint, planning to break in. Make off with all of Thorstin's cherished classics, or even the steamy romances favored by ninety-year-old Miss Evergaline.
Couldn't allow that kind of crime in his quiet town. 'As a dedicated officer of the law, I must take action immediately.' Pushing off the pole, he wandered closer, still enjoying the sight of her backside, at least until he looked up.
She was studying his reflection in the bookstore window. Herne help him. How long had she watched him ogle her ass? Maybe she'd just caught sight of him?
She turned and the decidedly unfriendly expression on her face killed that hope.
Brazen it out? 'Good afternoon and I couldn't help admiring your ass?' Unfortunately, she didn't seem to be a female who'd appreciate that type of honesty. He held his hand out instead. "We meet again, Ms. Breezly. How have you been?"
She didn't look any more thrilled this time than she had the last time they'd met. This outright dislike could give a man a complex.
"Good afternoon, Sheriff." She didn't answer his question, obviously hoping to stop the conversation dead. Now, that might work…if he was anyone but Tavic McGavan, renowned for never being at a loss for words.
He tilted his head slightly. "It's good you didn't say, 'I've been fine', since you don't seem like you've been fine at all." And that wasn't bullshit. She looked like hell. Her pallor had turned her dusky complexion almost yellow. She had dark circles under her eyes. Lost a few pounds too, leaving her high cheekbones standing out like boulders in a meadow. "Have you been ill?"
Despite the annoyance in her eyes, she gave an inaudible sigh and answered, "I apparently picked up some flu bug. This is my first day out of bed."
"Now, that's a shame. New to the town and you probably didn't have anyone you could call to help you out." He'd seen no other cars in front of the rental house.
"I managed," she said, briefly and added an insincere, "Thank you." She turned her gaze back to the store, obviously hoping he'd take the hint and leave.
A pity he wasn't skilled in the nuances of polite society. He leaned against the plate glass. "You planning to break into the bookstore now? Continue your life of crime?"
"Listen, I wasn't breaking in. I rented that house, remember?"
He scratched his neck, worked up a befuddled look. "Oh. I forgot."
That might have been a curse she muttered under her breath before saying, "Well, since you're here, I wanted to buy a book—and what kind of business name is this anyway? BOOKS."
Tavic grinned. "Thorstin, the owner, doesn't believe in fancying things up."
"No shit." She scowled. "None of the lights are on inside. It's three o'clock on a Saturday. I've heard of short business hours, but this is ridiculous." The edge of annoyance in her voice was sharp as a blade.
"The owner's out of town for a couple weeks. Need a book, do you?"
"Well, duh," she muttered. "Yes. I like to read. Any suggestions?"
"Weeell," Tavic drawled, just to see sparks glint in those big brown eyes like solar flares that'd fry anything in their path. The woman needed to mellow out a tad, or her pretty hair would turn gray. "The library is open Monday through Friday."
"That doesn't exactly help me today."
"Baty's Grocery usually has a few books."
"Five—count'em—five paperbacks off the best-seller list, and I've already read four and wouldn't read the last if you paid me." She stopped and considered. "Not even then."
"Now, Seattle would have a dozen bookstores—"
"My Jeep's dead."
"Not been a good day for you, has it?" he said, sympathetically.
"Hell, it's been a crappy week," she exploded. Then she laughed—the first time—and his heart slammed right up against his ribcage. Damn, but there was something about her that yanked at him.
"The auto shop will have my car running by tomorrow." She sighed. "But I don't have a television or anything to read. I can survive without a TV, but no books? I may die."
"Have a dead body cluttering up my streets? Can't be tolerated." He could only wish that needy expression had been for his attention, dammit. He moved to stand beside her, unsurprised when she unconsciously stiffened. The girl had rigid lines defining her personal space. Too rigid. Leaning forward, his shoulder rubbed pleasantly against hers as he pointed toward the end of Main, then up-slope to the Lost Lodge. "My brother lives above his tavern and has several walls of books. If you sweet-talked him,"—he fixed her with a stern look—"not, I add, like the poor effort you've shown me so far, you might wangle a loan of a couple of books."
"Thank you, Sheriff," she said, surprised, but sincere. Then she smiled and added in a sultry, way too suggestive tone, "I'll try my best to sweet-talk your brother."
"Oh, hell," he muttered. Why the hell had he scheduled an interview in five minutes? Her laugh was low and throaty as amusement turned her copper-colored eyes to gold. He was a dead man.