Sierra Falls (Sierra Falls 1)

“Hey, Sheriff. ” Sorrow said his title playfully, and rather than something formal it’d felt intimate. She didn’t care—she was in a giddy mood, going on adrenaline, and was genuinely pleased that someone who wasn’t family was there to witness her triumph. “I didn’t know you were still around. It must be midnight. ”

Her mom checked her watch. There were digital clocks all over the place, but her mom had been relying on the same Timex for twenty years—tan face, frayed brown band. “It’s 10:30, and Sheriff Preston has been helping us shoulder the load. You’d think the town had run out of food. ”

Sorrow watched as he poured a big glass of wine. “Were you here all night?” Though thinking about it, she could picture Billy at various points in the evening, getting glimpses of him opening bottles of wine, clearing dishes. Yup, he’d been there all night.

He handed her the glass. “And miss your grand debut?”

The man really was thoughtful, and she gave him a grateful smile. She sipped and exhaled a blissful sigh. “Thank you. I’m ready to drop on my feet. ”

Her mom scraped the last of the pasta from the big pot. “There’s a bit left, honey. You better eat up before the Jessup boys come in for fourths. ” She handed her the plate. “Now I best get back out there. I think your dad is trying to muster up a poker game, and I’m sure it breaks all kinds of gambling laws. ” She gave Billy a panicked look, realizing she was speaking in front of the sheriff.

Billy winked. “Did you say something, Mrs. Bailey? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you. ”

As her mom bustled from the room, Sorrow hopped onto the counter and dove into her pasta. “I didn’t realize how starved I was. ”

Billy peeked under lids, scrounging for leftovers. He salvaged a cup of soup and half a baked apple. “I’m afraid there’s not much left. ”

He dished it out for her, then started on the dirty plates, making quick work loading them into the industrial dishwasher.

“No, it’s perfect. ” All that’d been left in the pot was a small serving of pasta and the dregs of the sauce. It’d cooked down to thick, tangy glops of capers and olives. She held up her fork. “This bit is my favorite. ”

A memory sideswiped her, and she swallowed back the sudden ache in her throat.

It didn’t escape Billy. “You all right?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, just thinking about my brother. BJ loves my puttanesca. ” She laughed. “Though he always drives me batty. Even though I buy these awesome Italian reds, he insists on washing down whatever I cook with a Budweiser. ”

Billy shook his head. “An abomination. ”

“Totally. ”

“Everyone knows Miller goes best with Italian. ”

She hopped down and nudged him with her shoulder as

she slid her plate into the dishwasher rack. “Heathens. All of you. ”

Her voice had come out sounding distracted, and Billy caught it at once.

He wiped his hands on a rag, and pinched her chin in his fingers, tipping it up to face him. “Uh-oh. I see cogs turning. ”

That touch sent an electric charge from his fingertips straight to her belly. The intense night left her feeling drained and emotional, and a powerful urge swept her—the desire to lean into Billy and let him take care of her like she’d been taking care of everyone else.

But there was Damien to consider. Until she broke up with her boyfriend, she couldn’t allow herself to sink into this other man, as much as she wanted to. She stepped back. “I’m just tired. ”

He put soap in the tray and turned on the dishwasher. He faced her, looking deadly serious. “This is more than just you being tired. ”

“Jeez, Sheriff. Remind me not to get pulled over by you. ”

“Hey, don’t make me break out the tough-guy act. ” His voice had taken on a pretend stern tone, and yet something dark glinted in his eyes. Something that made her think of things like getting pulled over, frisked, and patted down by the likes of Billy Preston.

She felt her cheeks blush. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t help but compare him to Damien. She’d been very attracted to her boyfriend—physically, they clicked. They’d had some great times. But he didn’t make her feel this way. This sensation of her skin tightening around her body, her breath catching with the need to step closer. To ask more. To tell him everything. To feel his skin against hers. To know Billy, and be known by him.

She had to break up with Damien, like, yesterday.

“You’re not going to distract me,” he said, “so you might as well spill it. ”

“What?” Her eyes widened. Had he somehow read her thoughts?