Too Sexy for his Stetson Read Free Page A

examining an ugly scratch that ran horizontally across his washboards, he made no attempt to stop her or go for the firearm.
    “So, Deputy, who do you think those guys were?”
    “I thought you said they were after you.”
    “I said they could be after me. That was just a supposition.”
    “They were probably Neo Nazi Freedom Fighters. Those guys have been flexing their muscles around town. Hassled some hikers in this vicinity earlier this week.”
    The NNFF faction had been high priority on the sheriff department’s watch list for months. A splinter from the extremists of the 1980s, the white supremacists were believed to be holed up in a compound hidden somewhere in the 1800 square miles of Little Chute County’s forest reserve. “They just crossed the line, which will spark the interest of the Feds. So, any reason they’d be after you?”
    He shrugged. “I have the right to remain silent, remember?” He pushed off the ground and started to walk away, his thigh muscles bunching against denim that hugged his legs like snakeskin still attached to the snake.
    “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He wasn’t off the hook for suspected B and E. She had no intention of letting him get away. Although, anyone at odds with the NNFF couldn’t be all bad.
    Ignoring her, he ambled toward a patch of fern.
    Brandy steadied her rifle.
    He retrieved his Stetson and moseyed back. “Do you have a plan for getting back to town, Deputy? Do you even know which way the road is from here?”
    She glanced around at the mass of trees and foliage.
    Tall pine loomed in every direction. Not a landmark in sight.
    Clamping his Stetson on his head, covering his damp hair, he sidled closer. So close she could feel flash fire radiating off his skin as he towered over her, his bare chest hovering inches from her nose. She tilted her head to look into his face. The heady scent of pine saturated the air. Or did the fragrance emanate from the man?
    Mr. Too Sexy took a lingering second to pluck a dried leaf from her hair and another moment to twirl one of her errant curls around his thumb. The beat of her pulse throbbed against her windpipe and constricted her voice.
    “No plan?” He tugged at the lock of hair still entrapped by his fingers. “That’s what I thought. Follow me.”
    How could she possibly be turned on by a suspected burglar? A burst of irritation pumped up her resolve. She gestured with her rifle. “You bet I’ll follow you.”
    Ten minutes later, the roar of water beating over rock told her they were edging in on Quicksilver Falls. They couldn’t have strayed more than a mile off course. That would put them just south of the Shoshone River—somewhere.
    Maybe a quarter of a mile from the rapids.
    Definitely upstream from the falls. She was almost sure.
    Wherever they were, they couldn’t be that far from the road and the trailhead where she’d left her truck. Which obviously wouldn’t be there because the NNFF boys, or whoever the gunslingers were, had snatched it.
    She scurried along after the suspect, no longer having the heart to hold him at gunpoint. Stride for stride, she kept up with him, half–jogging to match the pace his long legs set. They hiked steadily until they worked their way up and out of the gulch and hooked up with the trail. Finally, through a break in the trees, she caught a glimpse of the road. A whiff of newly paved blacktop assaulted her nose. Civilization.
    But they could hardly walk along the highway, exposing themselves, with the NNFF gang gunning for them. It would take hours on foot to hoof it into town. Yet, the man in the Stetson forged on, trekking toward the road.
    Through the foliage, Brandy noted a vehicle parked on the gravel shoulder. “Hey, hold it. We’re not out of the proverbial woods yet.”
    With long–gaited strides, her suspect continued on.
    “You wouldn’t be planning to take off without me, would you?” She slammed in a new clip and leveled the rifle, targeting