Dan drew in a deep breath before he grimaced at Riley. “Yeah, a cool stream.”

“That’s it. Why don’t you just sit on back down now and relax?”

“Don’t worry, Sheriff.” He shook his head. “I like you too much to cause any trouble here. You can sit back down, too.”

Riley nodded and smiled warmly as he did just that. “Good man, Dan.”

“But I ain’t coming back. Not without Marge serving me. She never spilled water on me that made my d-” He broke off and cleared his throat. “I miss her already.”

Holly was just relieved that she was still among the living, and that Dan didn’t do anything else but finish drying off before walking out.

Without tipping her.

The entire room had fallen silent, which wasn’t saying much since she had only three other tables with people at them.

Oh, and the grinning sheriff-she couldn’t forget him.

Without a word, she went into the kitchen. What an idiot, she told herself. Spilling water like a nervous little ninny. She wasn’t nervous!

And she wasn’t a ninny! She was Holly Stone, woman with nerves of steel.

Determined, she searched the huge refrigerator and came up with a fresh apple pie-thank God. Renewed with hope, she went back out to offer it to her dwindling customer base.

“Looking good,” Riley said as she passed him.

She wondered if he meant the pie or her, but then she figured he must have meant the pie because she was still wearing hot pink over red silk, for God’s sake, not to mention she was beginning to sweat.

She looked about as far from good as you could get.

“Uh…Holly?” Riley called out to her. “Holly!”

He spoke earnestly, but knowing he just wanted to rub her failures in, she kept going. With her hands full she couldn’t see her feet, and in the aisle between the counter and the tables, she tripped over a lump that screeched “meow!”

The pie flew through the air and landed on the lap of the woman with the perpetually slipping glasses.

Mindy, the librarian, she told Holly, swiping the pie off her glasses.

She didn’t tip when she left, either.

On her hands and knees, Holly scrubbed at the floor, trying not to acknowledge the self-pity threatening to swallow her whole.

Only three feet away from her were the long legs of the sheriff. He still sat, calm as you please, at the counter.

With all her might, she wished she’d spilled the pie on him.

Harry, who was freshly awoken from his nap, thanks to her, leaped to the counter. Right in front of her, only inches away from Riley’s drink, he sat down and began to wash himself.

Oh, perfect. Her customers were dwindling fast, and she had a big, fat, ugly cat sitting on the counter, cleaning his paws.

Disgusted, she stood and tried to shoo him off.

Clearly insulted, Harry leaped again, aiming for the closest table. According to Murphy’s Law, this was naturally one of the few tables actually occupied by a paying guest.

The man there stroked Harry. “Don’t worry about that mean woman who hates cats,” he crooned, glaring at Holly.

From behind Holly came something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Whirling, she glared at Riley, but he was just sitting there, looking guileless.

She sent him a long look for good measure, but he simply leaned back, stretched his lean, toned body out, put his hands behind his head and winked at her.

The man who Harry had practically attacked was heading for the front door.

“I’m sorry,” she called, but he just lifted a hand and kept going.

He stiffed her, too.

Let’s see…she’d probably just cost the café an entire day’s wages, all in an hour. Had to be a personal record for failure, and exhausted at just the thought, she sank into the nearest chair.

And sat on Harry.


RILEY WOKE UP a hungry man. Really hungry.

He hadn’t gotten lucky last night. Holly had closed Café Nirvana-his usual dinner haunt-early. He could have whipped up something in his own kitchen, except for the fact that he really hated to cook. He could run an entire ranch practically by himself. He could patrol a county that had more square miles than he could count. He could bring peace to a room faster than he could blink, with just a smile and some sweet words, and enjoy all of it.

But ask him to so much as boil water for tea and he would find something, anything, else to do. Even go hungry.

Apparently Holly felt the same way, which gave them something in common, an uncomfortable feeling for him. He felt much easier when he didn’t like her. She was just playing here, just passing through.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

Hopefully she’d run for the hills-or the nearest city-by now. Yeah. Given her success rate of exactly zero yesterday, she’d probably done just that. The entire town would be grateful.

So would he.

He came into his house after doing some chores and stopped short in the doorway of his kitchen. Standing by the work island was Maria, his housekeeper. In front of her was a breakfast fit for a king, and also a bagged…lunch? His mouth watered at the thought, even as he knew it couldn’t be true. Maria didn’t like him enough to cook for him, twice.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, knowing she came only twice a week, if she was in the mood, to clean up after him. He wasn’t particularly proud of the fact that she was necessary.

But she’d been there just the day before. He knew because he’d had clean sheets, fresh towels and the dishes he’d stacked for the past few days-he kept meaning to get to them but somehow never managed it-had been washed and put back in the cupboard where they belonged.

Maria ignored his question and shoved him into a chair, a considerable feat considering she was barely four feet tall to his six plus. Her wide girth apparently gave her the strength of four men.

Without a word of greeting, or even a smile, she set the plate of delicious-smelling food in front of him. “Eat,” she commanded in heavily accented English. “I do not have all day to clean your dishes.”

No one had to tell him twice. Riley started shoving the most amazing food in his mouth. Omelette smothered in cheese, a mountain of bacon on the side, crispy just the way he liked it, and another mountain of sourdough toast, slathered in butter.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he said, then moaned around another mouthful. “This is the best food I’ve ever tasted.”

“You’re half-starving, what does a half-starving man know?”

“I know good food,” he promised her. “And this is it.”

“A man who works as hard as you cannot go without eating. That Holly What’s-Her-Name is going to be the death of you.”

No doubt. “You’ve never worried about me before.”

“You had the café before,” Maria pointed out. She slammed a pan into the sink and turned on the water. “What were the Mendozas thinking, letting someone like that take over?” She switched to Spanish then, letting off a rapid-fire monologue Riley couldn’t begin to follow.

“Why are you here?” he asked when she’d run out of steam. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added quickly when she glared at him. “I’m grateful for the food, more than you know, but-”

“I heard about the Nirvana shutting down.”

“It’s not shutting down, it’s just-”

“Not serving food a dog could eat.”

“Well, I think there’s a mix-up. I’m sure it’ll get resolved.”

“She doesn’t know how to cook.”

“Cooking isn’t everyone’s strong suit.” He flashed her a grin. “Not like you.”

She sniffed, as if not being able to make a meal was the greatest sin a woman could commit. “I know how much you count on that café, and I could not let you go hungry.” This last was spoken gruffly as she removed her apron. “Everyone in town is talking about her. There is a bunch of unhappy, hungry people around.”

“Yeah.”

“She is big city. She does not belong here.”

Riley didn’t need the reminder that Holly came from a world entirely different from his, that she was restless, and probably looking for something in Little Paradise that didn’t exist outside her imagination.

“She is too beautiful.”

That wasn’t a problem for Riley. He loved beautiful women; he loved all women. But he didn’t need an attitude-ridden, trouble-causing princess, that was certain.

“Soak your dish, Sheriff, do not leave it all week for me. Enjoy your lunch.”

And with that, she was gone.

Interesting. Maria liked him, she really liked him. But after he indeed soaked his dish, he saw the note she’d left him by his front door. “Wipe your feet. The sheriff of Little Paradise should not live like a pig.”

Okay, maybe like was too strong a word.


BY THE TIME Riley pulled up to his office, he was running late. But at least his belly was full. He could last all day on the feast he’d had. Bring on the lost cows, the occasional town drunk, a speeding tourist…he was ready.

Holly’s Jeep was still parked out front of the café, assuring him she hadn’t run for the hills.

Or the nearest big city.

He’d give her until the end of the week. Hell, he’d give her until the end of today.

He walked into his building and surprisingly enough, there she stood by the front desk, with containers of food.

She let out a tight smile at the sight of him. “Hungry, Sheriff?”

He could see that she expected him to be. He could see also that she hadn’t lost her inherent…cityness. She wore a two-piece number today, with a snug top and a short, wide skirt that screamed fashion. He had no idea who the maker was, or even the material, but he had no doubt it was the latest fashion, made by someone expensive.

“I brought breakfast,” she said.

Tearing his attention away from the way the ice-blue color of her outfit emphasized her eyes, he looked at the food she’d put out. Steaming eggs, sausages, cinnamon buns…the works. “Wow.” He didn’t know which stunned him more-her little smile, which made her seem young and vulnerable in a way he’d never imagined, or the fact she’d actually brought him food. “You cooked?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” She lifted a blond eyebrow. “Food is the way to a person’s stomach.”

“I thought food was the way to a man’s heart.”

“I don’t care about your heart. All I care about is you liking the food.”

“Why?”

“So you can influence the people in town, of course.”

Thinking she was kidding, he laughed. Leaning against the desk, he crossed his arms and studied her.

She looked the same as ever; cool, calm and collected. And very sure of herself. But he was beginning to think maybe that was all an act. If she was so sure of herself, she wouldn’t be here. “Excuse me for being cynical,” he said. “But yesterday I got the distinct impression you didn’t like me much. Why do you really care what I think of your food?”

“Actually, I don’t care what you think. But like I said, the people of this town do, and since I didn’t exactly bowl them over yesterday-”

“You yelled at them, you spilled on them, you treated them like they were dirt beneath your heels,” he pointed out.

“Yes, well, maybe I could use a little honing up on my people skills. So are you going to eat this damn food and tell everyone you know it’s good, or what?”

He shook his head at her audacity, but she didn’t back down in her quest. She actually expected him to help her.

Jud walked in the front door, saw the two of them and stopped short. Pulling up his slipping pants, he lifted his nose and sniffed. “What’s going on here?”

Holly looked at Riley, expectation and hope in her gaze. It was so far and away from the mistrust and sarcasm she’d been showing him since yesterday, he could only stare at her.

“Well?” Jud asked again.

Holly’s gaze pleaded with him.

If he didn’t help her, she’d be gone before sundown. A really tempting thought.

If he did help her, she might keep looking at him with those eyes that made him want to drown in them.

Idiot, he told himself, even as he held out an empty plate to Jud. “Help yourself. It’s breakfast.”

Holly smiled.

“From Café Nirvana,” Riley added. “It’s a special treat.”

Jud looked at Holly with a good amount of suspicion, but with Riley holding out an empty plate, and all the steam and good scents rising from the food, he didn’t have a prayer in resisting. When the plate was heaped high, Jud dug in with his fork and…choked.

“Yuck!”

“Yuck?” Riley looked at Holly. “I thought you said it was good.”

“It is good!” she claimed, but she bit her lower lip uncertainly.

Riley whipped around to Jud, who was dumping the food in the trash.