âIâve been looking forward to tonight all afternoon long.â
âFirst you want me to pack and return to Chicago and then you tell me youâve been wanting to go out with me. Thatâs contradictory,â Destiny said, but Wyatt saw the desire in her gaze.
âMy feelings are contradictory,â he said. âYouâre a complication in my quiet life.â Her wide green eyes made him yearn to tell her to do whatever she wanted in Verity.
âA few complications in life sometimes makes it more interesting. Youâll be able to handle this one, Iâm sure.â
âI canât wait to handle this complication,â he said in a husky voice, his heart drumming as he looked at her full lips.
He knew she wasnât going to leave quietly. She would be a constant challenge to him ⦠the most enticing challenge heâd ever had in his life.
* * *
A Texan in Her Bed is part of the Lone Star Legends series from USA TODAY bestselling author Sara Orwig
One
What Sheriff Wyatt Milan liked most about his job was that he knew what to expect in his quiet town of Verity, Texas. But on this October afternoon when he turned his car around the corner onto Main Street he knew change was in the air.
A red limousine took up his parking space, plus some, right in front of city hall.
âWhat the hell?â he said quietly.
âGosh almighty, there goes a quiet afternoon,â Deputy Lambert whispered. âWill you look at that,â he said louder.
Wyatt was looking. Directly in front of the small city hall building stood a prominent sign with large letters: No ParkingâReserved for the Sheriff of Verity, Texas.
He had expected the usual big empty space where he could park Verityâs official black-and-red sheriffâs car. Instead, the red stretch limousine took every inch of the allotted area.
He and his family had money, as did many families in the town, but no one owned anything as flashy as an all-red limo. âThat limo doesnât belong to anyone living in these parts,â Wyatt said, more to himself than to his deputy, thinking something was about to shatter some of the peacefulness of his hometown.
âIn my whole life, Iâve never seen a limo that big and that red,â Val said with awe in his voice. âIâll go look for the driver.â
âHe may be inside.â
âNo one was scheduled to see you today, were they?â
âNo,â Wyatt said, halting beside the limo. âYou write a ticket and stick it on the windshield. Come in when youâre through. If the owner or the driver isnât here, weâll go look around town for him. The people who live here want a quiet, peaceful town. I want one, too. Thanks to my sister marrying a Calhoun, the old Milan-Calhoun feud has finally died down. I donât want something happening to bring trouble elsewhere in town.â
âAmen to that. Why would anyone park a big limo in the sheriffâs space?â
âEither heâs lazy, starting trouble, unobservant or heâs someone who thinks he can do whatever he wants. Who knows?â
Deputy Lambert stepped out and Wyatt drove around the corner and parked in the alley behind the building, in the small space allotted for two cars and a nearby Dumpster. His life had had enough upheavalsâan emotional breakup years earlier with his fiancée and then coming home to his brother fighting with a Calhoun neighbor, keeping the century-old family feud explosive. When people wanted him to run for sheriff of Verity County, based in the town of Verity, heâd had to quiet fights between his brother Tony and Tonyâs neighbor Lindsay Calhoun. Everything was finally coming under control. He didnât want someone to come to town and destroy the peace he had worked hard to establish. He shook his head as he entered city hall. He hoped this was settled quickly and quietly and the red limo drove out of Verity the same way itâd come in.
Entering the Verity County sheriffâs office through the back door, Wyatt walked down the long hall. His boot heels scraped the scuffed boards as he passed the large file room, a small break room and a meeting room with a small table and chairs. The hallway continued, dissecting the stone building. To the right were the mayorâs office, the town records office and the utilities office. To the left were the sheriffâs office and a two-cell jail. The center reception area was lined with vinyl-covered benches and in the middle was a desk where a clerk sat. Wyatt looked at Corporal Dwight Quinby whose wide eyes sent a silent message that something was up here at the office. Dwightâs tangled light brown hair became more snarled as he ran his fingers through it.