Dammit.
“Riggs is a retired service dog,” Callahan said dryly. “Belgian Malinois. He’s not exactly a cuddler.”
Shocker. Neither is his owner.
“What kind of service?”
“Military. He was a working dog in my unit.” Callahan glanced down at Riggs, his expression unreadable. “Explosives detection, tracking, and perimeter security. He’s trained to guard and protect. Saved my ass more times than I can count.”
Okay, well, that was sweet. Her heart pinched a bit thinking about the sheriff not leaving his dog behind. She looked at Riggs again, this time with fresh eyes. “And now he spends his time intimidating women in wedding dresses?”
“Sounds about right,” he drawled, and Lily noticed a trace of a Southern drawl slipping into his voice, warm and smooth, making her pulse skip unexpectedly.
She ignored it and crouched to get on Riggs’s level. “Listen, Cujo, I respect your service, but I’d appreciate it if you could dial down the murdery vibes. Just a little?”
Riggs didn’t move, just leveled her with the same unblinking stare.
Tough crowd.
“Like I said, he’s not a cuddler.”
Lily shot them both a skeptical look. “What’s he like with people he actually likes?”
“Tolerant.”
“That’s it?”
Callahan shrugged, his mouth twitching. “He doesn’t let just anyone pet him. And he sure as hell doesn’t cuddle.”
“I’m starting to think that’s a house rule,” Lily muttered.
Callahan’s eyes flicked to hers then back to the fire. Oops, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But now that it was out, she found herself idly wondering if there was anyone the sheriff did cuddle with…
Shaking off the silly thought, she turned back to Riggs. “Fine. I’ll win you over eventually.”
Callahan laughed. The sound was rough and did something strange to her insides. “Good luck.”
She watched him feed another log into the wood-burning stove. The cabin seemed to shrink when he stood. His damp hair was still pushed back from the shower. He wore another soft-looking flannel, and worn jeans clung to his long legs. The flannel pulled snug over his shoulders when he reached for the poker.
Her eyes drifted lower, catching on his hands again. Those scraped knuckles she’d noticed earlier gripping the steering wheel flexed as he used a poker to shift a log. The sight sent a little warning pulse through her. What had happened? Had he gotten into a fight? Northfield wasn’t exactly crime-filled. It was the kind of town where people left their doors unlocked and the biggest scandal involved missing library books.
So who was Sheriff Callahanfighting?
She shouldn’t ask. It wasn’t her business. But something about his quiet, controlled energy made her feel like there was a storm brewing just under the surface. And that storm felt… intensely, powerfully male. Incredibly sexual in a way her body apparently responded to in a big way.
Nope. Not going to think about that.Not thinking about his muscular arms and shoulders and how they flexed when he ran the towel over his face.
Lily shot a quick look at him, and the sheriff’s usual impassive expression made her exhale in relief. So they were going to ignore the shower interlude. Perfect. That would certainly make the next day or so less awkward, to forget that she’d practically been riding his thigh like a rodeo queen. Best to forget that little lapse in judgment.
Cheered up, she looked around the cabin.
The spark of optimism flickered.
The cabin was small—really small, as in a one-room A-frame. With the stove door open and firelight illuminating the space, the details sharpened, and she looked around with interest.Rusticwas the kindest way to describe it.
A two-seater leather couch slumped in the center, across from the stove. Along one wall, the kitchen amounted to a sink, an avocado-green fridge and stove straight out of the seventies, and a butcher-block table with two chairs crammed into the galley-style setup. Opposite that, against the wall, was a single bed neatly made with a faded quilt and two pillows. Her pulse skipped then thudded hard in her chest.
One bed. Of course there was only one.
