driverâs side door opened and she stared, wide-eyed, at the man climbing into the vehicle beside her. Not only was he tall, but also big. Not fat big, but muscled big. His biceps bulged against the sleeves of his uniform, and she forced herself not to glance below his chest.
Tilting her chin, lowering her lashes, and affecting a smile that usually left men with their mouths gaping, Gwen sought to replace the scowl on Sheriff Harperâs face with one that was more friendly. After all, heâd taken an oath to protect and serve, not berate and abuse.
Shiloh gave the woman sitting beside him a sidelong glance. âYou can stop flirting with me because Iâm not going to give you a citation.â He dropped her handbag in her lap.
An audible gasp escaped Gwenâs parted lips. Scorchingheat swept over her from head to toe. âIâm not flirting with you. Why would I? Iâve done nothing wrong.â
âNo, you havenâtânot yet anyway.â Shiloh gave her a direct stare. âMay I have your license and registration?â
Gwen glanced at his long, well-groomed hands when he opened a leather binder, then removed a pen from a breast pocket. Searching through her handbag, she took out a small leather case and removed the documents heâd requested.
Shiloh took a quick glance at her license. âWhatâs your name?â
âGwendolyn Taylor.â
âAddress.â
âWhich one?â
Shiloh went completely still, his fingers tightening on the pen. âYou have more than one?â
She smiled. âYes. You have the one on my license and registration, butâ¦â
âBut what, Miss Taylor?â he asked when she didnât finish her statement.
âI have a new address.â
He stared directly at her, liking what he saw. Gwendolyn Taylor wasnât as pretty as she was attractiveâsensually attractive. Her round face made her look much younger than her actual age. Her large dark eyes sparkled like polished onyx in a flawless sable-brown face; her nose was short and cute, her mouth full and lush; and her hair was a profusion of dark flyaway curls that fell over her forehead and along the nape of her slender neck. He didnât want to think of her rounded body. It was a bouquet of lushness. He remembered the tagline about real women having curves. Gwendolyn Taylor had enough curves for two women.
âWhere do you live now?â
âHere in St. Martin Parish. Iâm moving into Bon Temps. Gwendolyn Pickering was my great-aunt.â
Shiloh stared at Gwen. There had been a lot of talk after the owner of the house passed away earlier in the year. Developers swooped down on Bon Temps like scavengers on rotting carrion. The men had come, checkbooks in hand, to purchase the house and the six acres on which it sat, but Gwendolyn Pickeringâs attorney refused to meet with them. Heâd turned them away because his client had willed her property to a relativeâa Massachusetts relative.
âThat should please a lot of folks around here,â Shiloh said, after heâd recovered from his shock.
âWhyâs that?â
âBecause a few fat cats came around asking about buying the property. Youâre not thinking of selling, are you?â
âOf course not.â
Shiloh nodded and smiled at her. The expression transformed his handsome face and gave him a boyish look. âGood.â Flipping the top to a computer, he entered the information from Gwendolyn Taylorâs license.
She leaned to her left to view the screen. âI have no outstanding warrants or citations.â
Shiloh inhaled the floral scent of the soft curls brushing his cheek. âJust procedure, Miss Taylor.â He stared at the photograph on the screen. Gwendolynâs hair was much shorter, the style too severe for her face. She would turn thirty-five in November, and heâd just celebrated his thirty-ninth birthday the month