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Saturday, April 14, 2018

Here Comes Trouble, My Trouble

This is a remake of Runaway Bride. Some of my older books needed refurbishing, as they were much shorter than the books of today. So
I revamped Runaway Bride and here's a sample chapter.


How was she going to handle this, he was the Sheriff? He could easily put her in jail for stealing her parent's car.
When he noticed her staring, he grinned, the first grin she'd seen and was it ever so charming. It might have, under different circumstances produced a smile in her, but she knew this man was quite put-out with her, and he was the Sheriff.
She tried not to let the grin affect her, but it did. Good grief the man was irresistible when he smiled. Awareness shot through her like a bolt of lightning and she silently scolded herself for reacting to a man who obviously wasn't a bit interested in her. Besides, hadn't she learned that men just couldn't be trusted? She wasn't about to get herself tangled with any man, for a long time, especially a lawman.
"Thanks, but I'll manage," she said not knowing fully why she was rejecting the only offer she'd had all day. Perhaps it had something to do with her reaction to this man. She was vulnerable right now, and she knew it. Besides, she was sure he didn't really mean it.
He shook his head, the grin still in place, as he looked away from her. "I'm afraid," he began getting out of the jeep and coming toward her with a purpose. "You don't have much choice ma'am. You see, me being the Sheriff here, and well—the way you're dressed, I'd have to make an arrest if I caught you loitering around in that getup. We don't want to shock any of the sweet little old ladies from church, now do we?"
Savannah glanced down at herself. The first time she'd really noticed what she'd done to herself, hit her squarely. Then his words dawned, and she had the sinking feeling that the worst of the day wasn't over yet.
"You're really the Sheriff?" she countered, eyeing him up and down with a long bat of her lashes.
"That's right, Ben Hogg, ma'am." He tipped his hat.
That southern way he had about him of grinning and tipping his hat, had her heart fluttering for a minute, but only a minute. What was she thinking? She didn't need a man, especially a Sheriff. Hadn't she learned anything?
"But I told you what happened ..." she protested. Then repeating his name, she smiled, "As in pigs?"
She hadn't meant to smile, but that name startled her.
"Yes ma'am," his lips firmed into another frown. Obviously, he was used to the question. "Look I sympathize, but we're gonna have to do something really quick about your state of dress." He cleared his throat and looked away. "You do have a change of clothes in that little bag of yours, don't you?"
"Well of course I do, I mean," She thought about the t-shirt she'd stuffed into the bag. "I mean, I think I do. Oh, I should have gotten some clothes yesterday, but under the circumstances…"
"You don't have any clothes in the bag." His expression turned serious, the fabulous smile faded into oblivion.
Savannah bit her lower lip. "A Sleep shirt."
"A what?" he asked as though he'd never heard of such.
"A Sleep shirt, you know a t-shirt to sleep in," she explained. "Well," she felt compelled to explain. "One doesn't plan these kinds of things out, when one runs from a wedding."
"That doesn't sound much better than what you have on," he shook his head and looked away again. "But I guess you have a point about running away. Is that all you are running away from?"
"I beg your pardon?" She raised her chin to a respectable snub.
Savannah felt an unease creep up her back. She shuffled the camera equipment and set it down beside her. The man was infuriating, even though he was drop dead gorgeous, even though her whole body and mind reacted to his every word. He saw what had happened to her, basically. He knew where her car was, that she was practically stranded. And the invitation to stay with him was issued with such reluctance she wouldn't go with him now if he pleaded. But maybe he had a wife that might understand her predicament, someone that could sympathize with her.
"Thanks for all your help, Sheriff, but I'll figure something out," she muttered miserably and turned again toward the gas station. Bold words, but exactly what she was going to do. She didn't have a set plan, and she hadn't bothered calling her aunt because she wanted to put distance between her and the congregation at the church. Besides she'd already spent $40 of her $250. It wasn't going to last long at this rate.
"If your car wasn't twenty miles down the road, and your bag had something decent in it, I'd say you were probably right, but under the circumstances, ma'am, you're gonna have to come with me." Ben insisted as he moved even closer.
The way he walked right up to her, with that superior attitude of his had her startled.
His legs were long and lithe, and he moved toward her like a predator, a very sexy predator.
"I can manage, Sheriff, please don't bother with me," she began turning away, and that's when he put the cuffs on her wrist. Cold steel—handcuffs.
They pinched...
"No bother at all ma'am," he said with a smile pushing his hat back away from his face, so she could get a better view of the man as he turned her around to face him. And what a view, but she was temporarily distracted by the new jewelry.
"What—what are you doing?" she protested the use of force, cold and hard against her wrists.
"Taking you with me." He insisted guiding her back toward the jeep. With one hand he picked up her camera and tripods, with the other, he nudged her toward the jeep.
She pulled away from him, jerking her arms about. "Am I under arrest?" She gasped.
The man stood squarely in front of her, his legs slightly apart, his hands gripping her equipment, and then he stashed the equipment back in the same spot of the jeep. His glance shot up and down her. "No ma'am. I'm taking you into protective custody until we can figure out what to do with you."
"Protective custody?" she choked out. "But Sheriff ..."
"It'll go a lot easier if you just come along with me," he insisted in a quietly steel-edged voice.



1 comment:

Tina Donahue said...

What a wonderful story, Rita. Thanks for sharing. :)