Deep Freeze (West Coast 1)

“Someone did.”

“Not Jenna.”

“Then who?”

“That’s what I expect you to find out.”

He swore under his breath and all Jenna could make out was “…the last time, okay? Damned Hollywood types…more trouble than they’re worth…should stay in California where they belong.”

Jenna had heard enough. She stomped her way up the half flight to what had been the apse, where she walked through the open door and found Rinda and the sheriff standing at the middle aisle between the first row of pews.

Here we go, she thought, as she stepped out of the stairwell and faced the tall man. He was at least six-feet-two or three. Wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and slim hips suggested he was either naturally athletic or that he worked out. Dressed in his uniform, but bareheaded, the brim of his hat twisting in the fingers of one large hand, he was a presence, a male presence. No two ways about it.

“I think I heard my name,” she announced.

“Uh-oh.” Rinda winced and leaned against the arm of one pew, but the sheriff, his rugged face a mask of indifference, merely looked over his shoulder.

Near-black eyes assessed her without the slightest bit of interest. “You did if you’re Jenna Hughes.” His gaze skated over her face and he nodded as if to confirm her identity to himself. “So, yeah, you did.”

At least he wasn’t pretending he didn’t recognize her. “Thought so. And…from what I gather, you’ve already decided you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust many people,” he drawled. “Comes with the territory.”

“I figured,” she said as she walked in front of the first row of pews. “But that’s too bad.” Extending her hand, she stopped directly in front of him, the toes of her boots nearly touching his.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well…” She angled her face up to stare at him. “…Just for the record, Sheriff, I didn’t steal my things, okay? Yes, I was driving an old truck with bad taillights, but this week, that’s the extent of my failure to follow the letter of the law.”

“Oh, God,” Rinda whispered. She braced herself on her seat and turned paler with each exchange between her friends.

“Good to know.” One thick brow lifted. The sheriff shook her hand in a firm, warm grip but didn’t allow even the hint of a smile to change the contours of his face. Letting go of her fingers, he didn’t seem the least embarrassed that she’d overheard any of the conversation.

“I told him you wouldn’t take the dress,” Rinda said, some of her color returning.

“That she did.” His gaze was rock-steady, nearly harsh, dark brown eyes that, she guessed, didn’t miss much. They were set deep in his skull, guarded by black eyebrows and placed above high cheekbones that hinted at a Native American ancestor not too many generations back. His hair was near-black and thick, only a few strands of silver daring to show. “As a matter of fact, Rinda’s been singing your praises to me ever since you moved here.”

Jenna shot her friend a look guaranteed to cut through stone. Lifting her palms, Rinda shrugged, acting as if the entire direction of the discussion was out of her hands.

Jenna said, “But you set her straight, right?” She was too tired to rein in her anger and she felt her cheeks flush. Why the hell was this bohunk of a lawman prejudging her? “You saw fit to let her”—Jenna hitched a thumb in Rinda’s direction—“know that I wasn’t all that great, that maybe I couldn’t be trusted.”

His dark eyes glinted, but beneath his moustache one corner of his mouth twitched as if he were amused at her bluster and bravado. She supposed if he smiled there was a chance he might be handsome. A slim chance. To another woman.

Carter nodded. “I just want her to remain objective.”

“Hey!” Rinda cut in. “You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not here!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Carter said.

Jenna almost grinned. So he did have a sense of humor. Not that it mattered. “Look, Sheriff, I know you’re busy,” Jenna said, angling her chin upward in order to study the man. “I think the easiest thing to do would be for me to replace the missing items with other things I’ve got at the house.” Rinda seemed about to argue, but Jenna went on. “And this time we’ll lock them in a closet and only Rinda will have the key.”

“But the dress and bracelets and—”

“Maybe they’ll turn up,” Jenna said. “If not, we’ll just make do. I’ve got another dress that will work and lots of costume jewelry.”

Rinda shoved stiff fingers through her hair. “Oh God, Jenna, I feel awful about this.”

“It’s not life and death, though.”