“That’s not real cowshit,” he said and figured he probably hadn’t uttered something so impressive since the sixth grade, when he’d tried to dazzle Nancy Burk by telling her she wasn’t as ugly as her sister.

Hope put down the candy and turned to face him. A smile flirted with the corners of her lips and he felt it low in his belly. “I’d already figured that out, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if it was.”

He let his gaze rest a few irresistible moments on her mouth before he looked away, over the top of her head to a mounted salmon in the fishing section. He was afraid she could read the hunger in his eyes and know what he wanted, that he wanted to reach out and fold her against him. Maybe bury his nose in her hair. Although after Monday night, she probably had some idea.

“Are you going to the Fourth of July celebration next weekend?” she asked. “Are you entered in the toilet toss?”

“No. I’m afraid I’ll miss the excitement.” His gaze traveled across a rainbow of folded T-shirts and ended up back on Hope, on her smooth hair and shiny pony-tail. “I won’t be in town.”

She was silent for a moment and then she said, “Shelly mentioned you’d be gone for a few weeks.”

He looked into her blue eyes, saw the disappointment there, and almost gave in to his urge. He almost reached for her, right there in Hansen’s Emporium. “Yes, that’s right.”

“I need to take pictures of some waterfalls Shelly told me about, and I thought maybe you could take me. But if you won’t be in town…” She shrugged. “I guess I can wait until Shelly feels up to a hike.”

“Are these pictures for the article you’re writing on the Northwest?”

She lowered her gaze to his chest. “Yes.”

He didn’t even want to think about what he would do if he ever found himself alone with her. Completely alone. Just the two of them. No, that was a lie. He did want to think about what it would be like to make love to her. He liked to think about holding her breasts in his hands, kissing her, running his tongue across her hard nipples, and shoving his face into her cleavage. He absolutely loved to think about positions, too-horizontal, vertical, upside down, sideways. He thought about burying himself between her soft thighs all the time, but that didn’t mean he would do anything about it. “Sorry I can’t help you out,” he said. He was in control of his body if not of his thoughts. Still, it was best not to let his mind travel that pleasurable path, especially in Hansen’s.

She returned her gaze to his and pushed the corners of her mouth up into a halfhearted smile. “That’s okay.”

“Maybe if I…” He shrugged. If he what? Waited until his son was out of town to skirt around and hope like hell that he got lucky? Sneak around and hope no one in town noticed their sheriff having sex with their favorite topic of gossip since Hiram Donnelly? He might have been able to figure out a way past the gossip, but there was no getting around the huge fact that Hope was a writer. He couldn’t sleep with her and all the while pray to God she didn’t find out about Adam. And if she did find out, would he read about his life in People magazine? Or worse, in the Enquirer?

He couldn’t risk it, and Hope deserved better. He took a step backward and almost stepped on Adam’s foot.

“Dad!”

He’d been so completely focused on Hope that he hadn’t even noticed his son had moved up beside him. “Sorry, buddy. You okay?”

Adam nodded. “Hi, Hope.”

Hope looked at Adam and her smile grew. “Hey, what have you got?”

“Snorkel and skivvies.”

She took the package with the mask and snorkel from him and studied it. “Looks pretty good,” she said, then gave it back. Adam handed her his underwear and she studied them also. “Who is this guy on your behind?”

“That’s Wolverine. He has really big claws and he can claw his enemies.”

“I remember. You drew a picture of him the other night. Is he a good guy?”

“Yep,” he said and took back his underwear.

“Where did you put the hummingbird I gave you?”

“We put him in the kitchen window.” He paused to scratch his elbow. “Maybe you could come over and see it sometime.”

Hope glanced at Dylan, and the thought of her in his house made his heart beat heavy in his chest.

“Maybe,” she said, then reached out and ruffled Adam’s hair. “You got your hair cut.”

“Yep,” he said without backing away. “Got it cut today.”

Beyond a very short list that included the females in his family and Shelly, Adam didn’t like women to touch or make a fuss over him. And except for that short list, this was the longest conversation Dylan had ever heard Adam have with a woman. Usually he resorted to monosyllabic grunts. He wondered how Hope had managed to pass Adam’s test. He knew she would have instantly failed if Adam suspected Dylan had any interest in her at all. And the irony of it was that out of all the women he knew, Hope interested him the most. Hell, the way she filled out her running shorts downright fascinated him, and he had to keep his gaze glued to her face to keep his eyes from wandering to the tight spandex covering her crotch. “We better get going,” he said and placed his hand on Adam’s back.

Hope moved with them to the front of the store and took her place in line in front of him at the checkout counter. As Eden Hansen rang up the purchases of a couple buying T-shirts, Dylan stared at the back of Hope’s head, recalling with perfect clarity the last time he’d stood behind her, watching her somewhat blurred reflection.

“Hey, Hope,” Adam said and tapped her arm to get her attention, “maybe when I come home, me and Wally can build another tent at your house.”

“Son, you can’t invite yourself like that.”

“It’s okay.” She looked over her shoulder at Dylan, then answered Adam. “If you guys come over again, there have to be some rules. Like no wrestling in the house.” She thought for a moment, then added, “And since you boys like to pull things, maybe you two could come over and help me pull some weeds. I’d pay you.”

“Five bucks!”

“Yep.” They moved forward in line and Hope placed two rolls of film on the counter.

“Is this it for you, then?” Eden asked as she reached for the film. Hope didn’t answer right away, and Dylan figured she was stunned into silence by her first good look at Eden Hansen. For as long as he could remember, Eden had dyed her hair purple, worn purple eyeshadow and purple lipstick. She lived in a purple house and drove a purple Dodge Neon. Hell, she even dyed her little yap-yap dogs, too. Her twin sister, Edie, had a preference for blue. It was no wonder both were married to men who had a tendency to hit the bottle before noon.

“Yes, that’s all,” Hope finally replied.

Eden rang up the film and reached for a paper sack. “My brother-in-law is Hayden Dean. He’s the one who helped you out at the Buckhorn and ended up getting into that fight with Emmett.”

Hope unzipped her fanny pack. “I was very grateful he stepped in when he did. That was very nice of him.”

“Nice, schmice.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Hayden is a womanizer and likes to fight, no doubt about that. If my sister had the sense God gave a lemming, she’d run his butt off the nearest cliff, and that’s a fact. Everyone knows he steps out with Dixie Howe whenever she can’t find better. Dixie’s as loose as a slipknot, and if it weren’t for her talent with hair color, I’d never set foot in her salon.”

“Uh… oh, really?” Hope uttered as she handed Eden a twenty.

Dylan chuckled. If Hope was shocked by Eden now, just wait until she was stuck in the same room with her and Edie at the same time. Both women could talk until your ears bled.

“Now, I was thinking,” Eden continued after she took Hope’s money. “If you ever need anyone to die a really painful death in that book you’re writing, Hayden would be a good choice. Besides chasin‘ tail, he’s lazy, drinks like a fish, and is as ugly as the mange. Maybe you could have him get that flesh-eating disease.”

Dylan watched Hope’s ponytail sway back and forth as she shook her head. “I don’t know who told you I’m writing a book, but I’m not.”

“Iona said Melba told her you’re writing a book about Hiram Donnelly.”

“I’m writing an article, not a book.”

Eden pulled her purple lips into a disappointed frown. “Well, I guess that’s not the same, now, is it? Not as interesting, either. A whole book would be interesting.” She handed Hope her change. “Someone should write about my family. Woo wee, the stories I could tell. Did you know my family owned the first saloon in town? Ran the first brothel, too. You should come in sometime and I’ll tell you the story of my great-uncles who killed each other in a fight over a gal named Frenchy.”

“Dad?” Adam whispered. “What’s a brothel?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Do you know why they called her Frenchy?”

Hope shoved her money into her fanny pack and grabbed her bag. “Because she was French?” She edged toward the door at the end of the counter, past the polished agates and windup teeth.

“No. On account of her specializing in the ménage a trois.”

“Fascinating,” Hope said as she grabbed the door handle. She gave Dylan one tortured glance and bolted as if demons were on her heels.

“How are you, Sheriff?” Eden asked as he moved forward in line.

“Good,” Dylan said through his smile.

Eden shook her head. “That gal is an odd one.”

Dylan wisely made no comment and quickly paid for Adam’s briefs and his snorkel before Eden could trap him, too. On the way home, he and Adam stopped at the Cozy Corner Cafe for cheeseburgers and fries. Paris was their waitress, and although no one in town knew who Adam’s mama was, they all knew he spent the first two weeks in July with her.