A Lawman in Her Stocking Read Online Free PDF

he knew he’d made a big mistake. Her tender flesh slid along his callused palm like a piece of fine silk, and it took monumental effort on his part not to groan aloud.
    He said nothing as he released her hand and followed her out into the night. He couldn’t. His mind and body were at war, and it took every bit of his concentration to keep from acting on his first impulse.
    Trouble or not, Dylan wanted to take Brenna in his arms and kiss her senseless.
    “Where’s your car parked?” he asked.
    “My grandmother borrowed it for the evening.” She glanced at her watch. “But it’s probably at home by now.” She started down the street. “See you in class next week.”
    He caught her by the shoulder and turned her to face him. “You walked?”
    Nodding, she shrugged out of his grip. “It’s not that far.”
    “It’s dark.”
    “It gets that way at night,” she said, dryly. “And that’s a problem, because…?”
    “It’s not safe.”
    She met his frown with one of her own. “You’ve just spent the last half hour telling me what a friendly place Tranquillity is. Now you’re telling me it’s not safe to walk the streets?” She folded her arms and glared up at him. “Make up your mind, Sheriff. What kind of place is this?”
    “For the most part, Tranquillity is about as safe as any place can be,” he admitted, trying not to stare at the way her full breasts rested on her folded arms. He focused his gaze on the safer area of her forehead. “But once in a while a cowboy from one of the ranches around here gets tanked up and starts to thinking he’s Don Juan.”
    Taking her by the elbow, Dylan hustled her toward his restored ’49 Chevy pickup parked across the deserted street. “I’ve already gotten one complaint from you today. I’d just as soon skip the second.”
    “No, thanks,” she said stubbornly. “I’d rather walk.”
    He stared down at her. Damn, but she was a feistylittle thing. It was all he could do to keep from kissing her right then and there. Instead, he opened the driver’s door, placed his hands at her waist and lifted her into the truck.
    She let out an alarmed squeak. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    “Seeing that you get home safely,” he said, climbing in beside her.
    “This is totally uncalled for.” Glaring at him, she slid over to the passenger side. “I can take care of myself.”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “You can’t do this.”
    “Watch me.” He gave her a stern look in an effort to stop any further protest, but she completely ignored it. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he jammed the key into the ignition.
    “Are you this controlling with everyone?” she asked.
    Dylan tried counting to ten, then twenty. At thirty he gave up. “Lady, you could drive Job over the edge. You complain about an old man’s innocent gesture of friendship and then go walking down a dark street at night, inviting all kinds of trouble.”
    “I do not.”
    “Yes, you do.”
    Gunning the engine, he spun gravel and squealed the tires as he steered the truck away from the curb. He cringed as he imagined the chips the rocks had made in the paint job. He and his dad had spent several years restoring the old Chevy, and Jack Chandler was probably looking down from heaven right now,ready to sling a couple of lightning bolts Dylan’s way for treating the truck with such irreverence.
    He glanced over at the woman beside him. And it was all her fault, too. She was making him crazy and causing him to do things he hadn’t done in years. The last time he’d laid rubber had been when he was nineteen and full of more piss and vinegar than good sense.
     
    Fuming, Brenna stared out the passenger window. Dylan was probably right about her walking home alone in the dark, but she’d be darned if she let him know it.
    Why did men think they knew what was best for a woman? What made them think that a woman was incapable of making her own decisions?
    Tom had always been that way, had always tried