Too Fast to Fall (Jackson Hole 1.10)

CHAPTER ONE

THE COP GREW larger in Jenny’s side mirror as he approached, his sunglasses glinting ominous light as she considered whether or not to make a run for it.

She might be able to escape. The highway was a nice, straight run here, and a gorgeous 350 V-8 engine purred beneath the hood of her 1978 Camaro, just waiting for her to punch the accelerator. The deputy would have to get all the way back to his SUV before he could even consider chasing her down. By then, she’d be a speck of bright yellow a mile down the asphalt. And hell, with the snow still five feet deep on either side of the road, she could just pull off onto any old trail and he might pass right by her.

Jenny flexed her fingers against the thin circle of the steering wheel. She was tempted. She knew how to run. It had always been her first instinct, and she’d pulled it off many times. But as she watched the cop’s hard-hewn jaw begin to tic in anger, she sighed and slumped in her seat. Deputy Hendricks knew very well where she lived. He’d written her address down on three separate speeding tickets, not to mention two terse warnings.

“Good Morning, Deputy Hendricks!” she said brightly, as if she weren’t easing her foot from a tempted hover above the gas pedal.

He didn’t return her greeting. He didn’t say anything at all. He just…loomed, his sharp cheekbones and hard-edged jaw a warning of danger. His lean body a threat of strength. The mountains looked small behind him.

Jenny made a valiant attempt not to squirm. “I thought I had a few more days on my tags.”

His hands were loose by his sides in a pose she recognized from the other five times he’d pulled her over. One hand near his gun. One near his baton. He’d never reached for either, thank God, but this time, both his hands spasmed into brief fists before relaxing into readiness again.

“End of the month, right?” she squeaked. She’d found him pretty cute on previous stops. Now she only felt nervous.

His hands closed one more time, and then he eased them open with deliberate slowness. “Ms. Stone,” he said, grinding out her name.

She aimed a big smile up at him, though her lips felt stiff. “That’s me.”

“Unfortunately, I’m well aware of that.”

“I—”

“Just as I assume you’re well aware of why I’ve stopped you today.”

“Is it—?”

“And no,” he barked. “It has nothing to do with your damn tags.”

She flinched at the way his voice filled her car.

In response, he cleared his throat and rolled his neck. “Excuse me,” he said in a much quieter tone, though the ends of the words were clipped enough to sound razor-sharp. “While I run your information to see if you’ve acquired any warrants for your arrest since the last time I stopped you.”

His heel scraped against the asphalt. Jenny leaned out. “Don’t you need my license and—?”

He threw a hand up to stop her words and muttered something she didn’t quite catch. Apparently he had no trouble recalling her name and birth date.

“Shit,” she groaned as she ducked back into her seat. He’d been lenient in the past, but last time he’d clocked her going eighty in a fifty-five, he’d been clear that his tolerance had worn thin.

One more ticket, Ms. Stone, and you’ll be called before a judge. You’ll lose your license for thirty days, at best. At worst, you’ll be charged with reckless endangerment.

“Of what?” she muttered to her steering wheel. “Chipmunks?” It had been November. Too cold for Yellowstone tourists and not snowy enough for skiers. She rolled her eyes as she heard the door of his truck open, but immediately after he slammed it, his footsteps sounded again. She watched him approach in her mirror, just as he had a few minutes before, but this time, she sank down a little in defense.

“Do you know how dangerous this is?” he growled before he even reached her window. “It’s the middle of winter, damn it! You could hit a patch of ice! You could—”

“It hasn’t snowed in two weeks,” she argued. “The roads have been bone-dry for days!”

“Are you kidding me? There’s snowmelt streaming across the road everywhere! And what if you’d suddenly come up on an elk? Or some stupid tourist stopped in the road to take a picture of a stupid elk? Are you…just…are you…?”

“Stupid?” she volunteered, hunching farther down in her seat. If she lost her license, she’d go mad. She couldn’t live without her car. Or rather, she couldn’t live without driving. It felt like flying to her. It felt like freedom. And it had been, three times now.

“Yes!” Deputy Hendricks yelled. “Stupid!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. He’d never, ever lost his temper before.

He was silent for a long moment. A gas tanker drove past them, sucking the air through her open window, then hurling it back in.

Jenny shook her head. “I’m really sorry.” She meant it. He’d been kind to her and she’d promised not to speed again. And now here she was.

He took a deep breath. His clenched teeth looked very white against his tan skin. “Jenny,” he said, the only time he’d used her first name since she’d invited him to three tickets ago. She glanced up but couldn’t puzzle out his expression behind his sunglasses. She’d never seen him with his glasses off. She worked at the saloon at night, so all her joyrides occurred during daylight hours. All she knew of him was his dark skin and sculpted jaw and wide mouth. Under his hat, his hair looked deep brown. The wide shoulders beneath his uniform jacket eased the insult of the tickets, and the cheekbones didn’t hurt, either, but for all she knew he had bug eyes that wandered in different directions and brows like a twitchy mad scientist.

But probably not.

He stared steadily down at her. Jenny’s heart fell. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Just write the ticket. It’s my own fault, and I know you’ve tried to help.”

He watched her for a long moment, then cleared his throat and shifted. “Ms. Stone, you’re not some eighteen-year-old punk with too much testosterone and too little intelligence. Why can’t you just go the speed limit and save us both some pain? Why is that so hard? Even five miles per hour over and I’d be able to shrug it off. Just…why?”

She couldn’t tell him, because she had no idea. Driving made her happy. The feel of the power at her fingertips. The rush of the wind past her open window when the weather cooperated. And the faster she drove, the freer she felt. Fifty-five miles per hour wasn’t happiness. It was just more constriction. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But it makes me feel better that giving me tickets is painful for you. After all this time, we’re practically friends now, aren’t we?”

His flat mouth didn’t budge in the slightest. “I meant that writing another t

icket will be painful for me because I’ll lose a whole morning in court testifying against you.”

Her heart sank and bleated an ugly curse on its way down. She was mad at herself, and terrified about the consequences, and just a tiny bit hurt that Deputy Hendricks didn’t feel some small affection for her. She’d always been polite to him. Cheerful, even as he wrote her a ticket. She wasn’t a bad person.

“I warned you last time.”

“I know.” She felt tears prick her eyes, and blinked them furiously away. If he was going to be mean, she didn’t want him to see her cry. “It’s okay,” she said again.