Taking Aim At The Sheriff
A Texas lawman comes face to face with his past and meets the future: his son…First, someone tries to kill him. Then an achingly familiar beauty from his past drops the bombshell of a lifetime: he has a son. Two years ago, Sheriff Jericho Crockett’s attraction to Laurel Tate became a brief but intense affair–until an unsolved murder made them enemies. Now, with their son's life hanging in the balance, the Texas lawman must put aside the pain of Laurel’s long-held secret in order to keep the little boy safe. But as working together causes powerful feelings to resurface, Jericho isn’t about to walk away from being a father to his son…and maybe even a husband.
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âI need a favor. A big one. I need you to marry me.Tonight.â
The look Jericho gave her let Laurel know that he thought sheâd lost her mind. Maybe she had. But she didn't exactly have a lot of options, and Jericho was still her best bet.
âMarry you?â he repeated.
He was no doubt remembering the bad history between them. âWhatâs going on?â He turned as if he was about to show her to the door but then stopped. And studied her with those copâs eyes. The warm amber-brown-colored eyes weren't so warm right now, but Laurel had firsthand knowledge that they could be.
Every part of Jericho could be warm.
Again, it was firsthand knowledge fed by years of experience of kissing him. Touching him, wanting him.
DELORES FOSSEN, a USA TODAY bestselling author, has sold over fifty novels with millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. Sheâs received the Booksellersâ Best Award and the RT Reviewersâ Choice Best Book Award. She was also a finalist for a prestigious RITA>® Award. You can contact the author through her webpage at www.dfossen.net.
Contents
Sheriff Jericho Crockett didnât have time to react. The SUV flew out from the side road and slammed right into the side of his truck.
The jolt was instant, tossing him around, and the seat belt snapped like a vise across Jerichoâs body. It knocked the breath out of him and dazed him for a couple of seconds.
He couldnât say the same for the driver of the SUV.
No dazed moments for the person behind that heavily tinted windshield. The driver backed up a few yards and came at Jericho again. This time, the front end of the SUV collided with his pickupâs engine and then pulled back before coming onto the main road behind Jericho.
Much to Jerichoâs surprise, the guy didnât bolt. The SUV stayed put, the driver revving up the engine as if it were some kind of wild animal on the verge of pouncing for an attack.
What the hell was going on here?
Was someone trying to kill him? Or at least put him in the hospital? Jericho wasnât about to let either of those things happen. He drew his Smith & Wesson from his waist holster and threw open his door.
The blast of December air came right at him, spiking a chill in him that went bone deep. But the cold didnât stop him. Jericho leaned out just enough so that heâd still have some cover but so this clown would see his gun.
What Jericho still couldnât do was get a glimpse of the person inside. Of course, the darkness didnât help. Nor did the fact that the driver didnât even have on his headlights.
âIâm Sheriff Crockett!â Jericho shouted. âGet out of your vehicle now!â
Since this crazy attack had come out of the blue, Jericho wasnât sure what to expect, but he braced himself in case someone in that SUV tried to take shots at him.
But that didnât happen.
The SUV came at him again, slamming into the back of his truck and causing Jerichoâs arm and shoulder to bash against the steering wheel. He held on to his gun, thank God, and he used it. Jericho sent two bullets into the SUVâs engine, but they ricocheted off. Obviously, itâd been reinforced in some kind of way, because the front fender wasnât even crushed.
âThe next shot goes through the windshield,â Jericho warned him. Easier than putting bullets through metal, anyway. âAnd right into you.â
The warning must have worked because this time the guy didnât crash into him. The driver threw the SUV into Reverse and hit the accelerator, the tires kicking up smoke and stench as they squealed away.
Since this was a farm road, less than a quarter of a mile from Jerichoâs family ranch, there wasnât much traffic, but he didnât want an innocent bystander hit by someone who was either drunk or just plain dangerous. He was more than ready to go after the idiot, but the spewing steam from his engine stopped him. The radiator had probably been busted in the collision, and he wasnât going to get far. Best to try to get to the ranch and regroup.
Cursing, Jericho took out his phone and pressed his brotherâs number. Jax, who was a deputy and still at work, answered on the first ring.
âI think somebody just tried to kill me,â Jericho said instead of a greeting. He eased his foot down on the accelerator, hoping the truck would make it home.
âAgain?â Jax asked. It wasnât exactly a smart-mouthed question. Earlier in the day, Jericho had been shot at during a domestic dispute. Now, this.
âA black SUV rammed into me three times, tore up my truck and then drove off. Run the plates for me.â Jericho rattled off the license numbers, and he heard the clicks his brother was making on the computer keyboard back at the sheriffâs office in the nearby town of Appaloosa Pass.
