The woman was out of the car and hurrying, as nimble-footed as her goats, toward the back door. While Hallie struggled with her luggage in the trunk, Granny was back with two metal tins piled high with what looked suspiciously like her wonderful homemade honey biscuits. Hallie’s tummy rumbled and for a moment she was envious of the goats. What she wouldn’t give for a couple of those biscuits, warm from that old oven of Granny’s.
“I hope you saved one or two of those for the person who sprang you from jail,” Hallie teased as she carried her suitcase toward the cabin.
“Oh, Hallie, you must be thinking’ I’m a silly old woman.” She dropped the tins and affectionately admonished the goats to eat with manners, then raced toward her granddaughter. “I reckon you must be hungry as a bear after that trek of yours all the way from Texas. Come on in the kitchen, girl.”
It was nearly eleven, but Granny put on a spread anyway, every leftover in her small, antiquated refrigerator, plus the remainder of her honey biscuits, complete with her to-die-for raspberry jam.
Hallie knew if she was going to be eating Granny’s cooking she’d have to increase her exercise proportionately. And first off would be a walk through the piney woods that surrounded Granny’s property to search for that so-called still Cam Osborne claimed Granny was putting to use.
She just hoped she didn’t find one.
By the time Hallie had the dishes washed, Granny sat dozing in her rocker. How innocent she looked lost in sleep, her white hair spiked here and there in disarray, as if she’d been dragging a worried hand through it. Her skin was a soft, well-earned fine pattern of wrinkles, the pale pink blush on her cheeks natural and demure.
In repose she hardly looked like a moonshining grandmother. She didn’t look like a woman who would sink her teeth into a man’s arm, either—but Hallie had seen the evidence below Cam’s shirtsleeve.
“C’mon, Granny Pearl, let’s get you into bed, pronto,” Hallie said, stirring her gently.
Granny mumbled something incoherent, something that sounded like...wh’ lightnin’—which Hallie didn’t exactly find reassuring.
In the morning she would definitely have to have that look around Granny’s place—every square inch of it.
Cam didn’t have a clue how he happened to find himself on the road to Pearl Cates’s small cabin, but damned if that wasn’t where his four-by-four was headed.
If he were wise he’d breeze right on past the old woman’s property, maybe find that favorite stream of his, dig out the fishing rod he always carried with him, sit on the bank and sink a line—then spend the remainder of his afternoon forgetting Granny Pearl’s redheaded granddaughter. And what she’d done to his usually peaceful night’s slumber.
So she had glorious high cheekbones that glowed with the warm blush of summer, a pert little mouth—with that sassy tone not unlike her granny’s—and green eyes a man could drown in if he were so inclined.
But Cam wasn’t inclined.
He didn’t intend to make room for a woman in his life ever again. When a smart man got burned, he didn’t get near the flame a second time—and Cam considered himself a smart man.
He was only checking up on Pearl, he told himself, as he took the right fork toward her cabin in the woods. It was just a professional visit to be sure the old gal was keeping to the straight and narrow. And away from that still of hers.
Hallie was a bright woman, but he suspected she could be blinded by love—and she loved Granny Pearl. All of Greens Hollow did. Cam knew just how popular he’d be when the folks around here learned he’d brought the little old lady in and charged her with selling local lightning—especially when it cut off the supply for some of the town’s denizens.
He doubted Granny Pearl would admit the truth to her granddaughter. On the contrary, she’d have Hallie believing Cam was the meanest man in the county, a man who picked on little old ladies, kicked dogs and dewinged butterflies.
Was that his reason for stopping by the Cates place? Was he afraid Granny would paint a villainous picture of him to Hallie?
Why should he care if Hallie thought him a louse, a blackguard? He didn’t care. It was his job to uphold the law—and that’s all he was doing.
He turned the black Cherokee into the gravel drive and caught himself searching around for Hallie. But he found only George and Myrtle, those two silly creatures who butted any man who came onto Granny’s property or meant the old girl harm.
They didn’t much like Cam. In fact, last time he was here they’d tried their best to render him a soprano for the rest of his days. Cam had had to be plenty fast on his feet to save his manhood and other much-needed body parts.
He was just wondering if there was any chance of winning the two critters over when he glanced up and saw Hallie coming out the front door of the cabin. His breath caught in his throat. The afternoon sun cutting through the trees caught the red in her hair, releasing its fire. Was her passion as fire-hot? Damned if he didn’t wish he could sample it—just once.
“What brings you out here, Sheriff?” Her green eyes sparked with cool ice. “Searching for more little old ladies to arrest, are you?”
Her words hurt, but Cam wasn’t about to admit it, even to himself. “Are you going to shoot me on the spot or may I come in?” He indicated the gate that stood between them, the watch goats protecting it. Protecting her from the likes of him.
She seemed to consider her options, and taking her sweet time to do it, too. “That all depends,” she said finally, crossing her arms and eyeing. him cautiously.
“On what?”
“On whether or not this is an...official visit.”
Why did he have the feeling that whichever way he answered he was in trouble? If he said “official” she’d have her dander up royally, and if he said “friendly”, well, let’s just say, she didn’t exactly look...friendly toward him at the moment.
“I just happened to be passing by,” he parried. At least that was partly true. “I wanted to be sure Granny hadn’t suffered any ill effects from her...time in jail.”
That part Cam meant as well. He kind of liked the old woman, even if she was dangerous with those choppers of hers. As for her granddaughter...
Those blue jeans hugged her slender legs and shapely hips a little too delightfully for him to ignore at the moment. Her pert chin was raised a fractious notch, her mouth pursed like she’d just tasted an Arkansas persimmon—which only served to fire up his libido all the more. Her arms, crossed over her soft blouse, hid the shape of her breasts from view, but Cam had perfect recall from last night. Hallie Cates was missing nothing in the shape department.
Before Hallie could answer for her grandmother’s health Granny appeared behind her on the porch. “What you awantin’, Cam Osborne?” she barked in her unfriendliest voice.
“Good afternoon to you too, Granny Pearl,” Cam said wryly, which seemed to take Granny aback for a moment.
“Don’t go gettin’ all smart-alecky with me, Sheriff,” she said sharply. “I may be old, but I can still whup the likes of you.”
Hallie hid a slow grin and cadged a peek at Cam. He’d enjoyed Granny’s boast—and even looked like he might like to take the old girl on. That gave Hallie pause—Granny wouldn’t win with the man.
No woman would, she suspected.
That sent a tingle of something skittering through her, something akin to...heat. Cam Osbome was a very good-looking man. She hadn’t missed that fact last night, nor did she overlook it now. He stood as tall and rugged as a tree, his body every bit as hard, she suspected. The breeze