His Unforgettable Fiancée
Her million-dollar mystery man…Police sheriff Grace Delaney’s last case is a handsome stranger suffering from amnesia. She agrees to help him uncover his memory, but when his identity is revealed as multimillionaire playboy Jackson Hawke, Grace must swap the safety of her small town for the bright lights of Las Vegas and pretend she’s his latest conquest!Grace soon finds herself falling, not for the millionaire, but the man she’s come to know. But when Jackson’s memory returns, will he forget her…or make her dreams a reality?
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Grace hadn’t signed up for this. She’d agreed to a professional relationship.
Kissing did not belong in a professional relationship.
She’d committed to helping him. And she had. He now knew his name. Jackson Hawke, billionaire. The truth was he didn’t need her anymore. His people could give him the support he needed. In fact, they’d be better qualified than her by far.
But she took pride in keeping her promises.
She liked helping him. Being honest, she admitted he’d helped her, too. In the beginning, the challenge of his situation gave her something to focus on at a time when she was at a loss.
The problem was he kept breaking the rules.
The kiss changed things. Her response changed everything.
TERESA CARPENTER believes that with love and family anything is possible. She writes in a Southern California coastal city surrounded by her large family. Teresa loves writing about babies and grandmas. Her books have rated Top Picks by RT Book Reviews and have been nominated Best Romance of the Year on some review sites. If she’s not at a family event, she’s reading or writing her next grand romance.
This book is dedicated to Patty, Maria and the gang at the Grab & Go on 6th Street in downtown San Diego. Much of my books are written during lunch. Thank you for your service and your patience. And for not throwing me out when I’m the last one there.
Contents
“G. DELANEY, YOU look beautiful tonight.” Chet Crowder slurred the compliment.
Sheriff Grace Delaney glanced down at her khaki uniform, thought of her black cap of hair slicked back for convenience and her lack of makeup beyond a swipe of mascara and a touch of lip gloss, and figured if she needed any further evidence of Chet’s intoxication she had proof of it in that comment.
“Is it midnight yet?” the eighty-year-old demanded. “I get a kiss at midnight.” The words barely left his mouth when he bent over and puked all over the slick concrete floor.
“It’s against procedures to kiss the prisoners.” Grace cited policy as she nimbly avoided the deluge, stepping around the mess to escort him to the middle cell.
“But it’s New Year’s Eve,” Chet protested with a burp. “You can make an ex-exception for New Year’s Eve.”
He didn’t have to tell her it was New Year’s Eve. Not even eleven o’clock and they already had three D and Ds—drunk and disorderly. Business as usual for the holiday. But not much longer for her. In a little over an hour she’d be handing over her gun and shield, her interim assignment as sheriff at an end.
“Rules are made for a reason,” she stated. Her father’s mantra, and thus the words she’d lived her life by. He’d been on her mind a lot tonight. “No exceptions.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, G. Delaney.” Chet lumbered across the cell to the cot chained to the wall. “But no fun. That’s why I didn’t vote for you. Too serious, girl. Need to have a drink and lighten up some.”
Grace’s shoulders went up and back in instinctive defense against the criticism. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard she needed to lighten up. She didn’t understand it any more now than she had before. Being sheriff was serious business. Laws were meant to be upheld.
“Go to sleep, Chet. I’ll release you in the morning.” Well, someone would. She’d be on her way to San Francisco. With her term over and her dad gone she had nothing to stay here for—certainly not the pity job offered by her successor.
Moving to the mop bucket she’d had maintenance leave at the ready, she rolled it over and cleaned up Chet’s mess. New Year’s was one of two big festive events that got the residents drinking in Woodpark, California, entry to the Redwoods. The other was the annual fair and rodeo at the Fourth of July. She’d been told last year had been tame because of a heavy snowfall, but they’d still had eight citizens sharing cell space.
This year a crisp, clear night promised lots of revelry. Her successor set down the rules for the night. Depending on whether property damage was involved, D and Ds were allowed to sleep it off and be released in the morning. No need to book their guests.
Relaxing her standards made the muscles between her shoulder blades ache. She glanced at the clock. Only one more hour to endure.
She’d just tucked the rolling bucket back into the corner when patrol strolled in with a large man in blue jeans and a bloodstained white T-shirt.
The man’s head hung forward, so his chestnut-brown hair covered his features. He seemed tall, as even with his head and shoulders slumped he topped Mark’s five-ten.
“What do we have here?” she asked.
“D and D. I found him walking on the road into town. He reeks of beer and has no identification on him. I brought him in to sleep it off. No hits on his prints. I ran them because he refused to give up his name. I figure we’ll get his story in the morning.”
