The Sheriff's Surrender by Marilyn Pappano Page A

floorboard in front of the kitchen door creaked, he didn’t look. When the leather ofhis favorite chair made its familiar rubbing sound, he continued to gaze out.
    â€œHow is your father?”
    The question was so normal, so expected when talking with someone he hadn’t seen in years, that it was unexpected. Frowning, he turned to face her and found her watching him without expression. For all the life it showed, her face might have been a porcelain mask—beautifully detailed, delicate, perfect in its design and execution, but lacking life. Warmth. Hope.
    â€œHe…he’s fine.”
    â€œDoes he live around here?”
    â€œIn Buffalo Plains.” Remembering that the truce negotiations had been his idea, he stiffly continued. “He has a garage over there with Jace’s father, and he’s thinking about giving marriage another try. I’m not sure, though, which is the bigger attraction—the pretty widow, or the fact that she owns a vintage Mercedes that he loves to tinker with.”
    â€œTell him to marry for the car. It won’t break his heart.”
    The muscles in Reese’s jaw tightened. “Actually, my advice was to forget the widow and make an offer for the car instead. If she turns him down, he can find another one like it and be just as happy.”
    â€œEverything’s interchangeable with you, isn’t it?”
    He didn’t like the way she spoke—didn’t like the bitter little smile that accompanied the words. He for damn sure didn’t like the twinge of guilt they sent down his spine. “A car’s a car,” he said flatly.
    â€œAnd a woman’s a woman, and a crook’s a crook, and any one can take any other’s place.”
    If that were true, he would have replaced her nine years ago. As soon as he’d moved from Thomasville to Buffalo Plains, he would have found a job, a place to live and a woman to love, all in short order. Instead, it had been one hell of a long time before he’d even given thought to finding a woman to have sex with. He hadn’t yet found the desire to look for one to love. “According to your reasoning, men are interchangeable, too. How many men have you used in my place over the years?”
    â€œNone.” Apparently his cynicism showed on his face, because she smiled that bitter little smile again. It was a gesture he could easily learn to hate. “I’m not saying I’ve been celibate all these years. I haven’t. I’m just saying that you were a tough act to follow. I couldn’t find many men out there who despised me as much as you did but wanted to sleep with me badly enough to sacrifice their self-respect.”
    Reese opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He’d told her just that morning that his relationship with her had cost him his self-respect. He couldn’t blame her now for throwing it back at him.
    When he didn’t say anything, she made a regretful sound. “We got a little off track there, didn’t we? You say your father’s contemplating marriage again, and I’ll say ‘Oh, that’s nice—how many does this make?’ and you’ll say…”
    â€œThis will be number four.” This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have. He wanted to back up, to ask her how many men she hadn’t been celibate with. Had they been relationships or affairs? Had she contemplated marriage with any of them, or had they merely been substitutes—making do with what was available?
    â€œWhat happened to numbers one through three? And which one was your mother?”
    â€œHe and my mother were never married.” His mother had wanted more from life than marriage to a man who couldn’t keep a job and a trailer to call home in a dusty little town like Heartbreak. She’d been in and out of their lives for years, coming home during Del’s ranching phase, leaving during his attempt at