"Maybe I wanted some fresh air. Is that a crime? Or wait, it probably is around here where you're the law."
I pull up in front of the sheriff's office, smack between the best pizza place in town and Gertie's hair salon.
Hot blood rushes through my veins. I have to touch her again. I need her near me again. I brush all that aside, help her out of the car, and guide her into the office.
Deputy Raj looks momentarily stunned at the sight of us before he jumps up from his chair and proceeds to fumble.
"Take the night off, Raj," I tell him, but he doesn't hear me. His eyes are glued to my little criminal.
What the fuck is wrong with the men in this town tonight? It's like they've never seen a beautiful woman before in their lives.
"Umm...I... I... Is there anything I can do to help, Sheriff?"
"I got this," I say, using the tone that requires no further explanation as I place her in the holding cell.
"You can help me. This is an unlawful arrest," she says as I lock her in.
"It's not. Go home." Damn this woman for making me repeat myself.
"Right, yes, Sheriff. I'll see you tomorrow. Ma'am," he says, almost bowing to her. What in the hell?
I glare at him until he scrambles out of the office.
"You can't keep me here," she says, rattling the bars.
It's going to be a long night. But then I do the fucking unthinkable. I go into my office and grab my pillow and blanket—my extra blanket, the ones I use when I fall asleep in the office.
"Please don't try to escape," I warn her as I unlock the door, and thankfully she calculates her chances and stays put.
I lay the thickest blanket onto the cot, set the pillow down, arrange the other blanket on top, and then lock her in again.She should be using the lumpy pillow and scratchy blanket, the standard jail linen packed in the steel cabinet inside the cell.
But on the bright side, city girls don't last in towns like Candy Creek. I give Ms. Chaos less than a week before she ups and leaves. Then peace and quiet will be mine again.
Chapter Three
Marlowe
Well, this is my life now, I guess. My first night in my new town, and I land myself in jail. Not by my own doing, mind you, but that doesn't seem to matter.
I don't know who I'm more furious at: the wet rat—okay, fine, the otter named Benjamin Lawrence, Candy Creek's national treasure—or the too-tall man built entirely of lean muscle, with dark, almost black hair cut short all around except for a lock that keeps falling across his forehead, which he rather aggressively pushes back by running his hand through his hair.
But back to the otter. It was not cute. I thought it was a rat. I still think it's some sort of rat breed, and the good folks of Candy Creek may have been misled, probably by the creature in question itself. I wouldn't put anything past either of them now: the otter and the sheriff.
Dammit.
I'd thoroughly pep-talked myself into making this move at the age of twenty-five. This was going to be awesome. Perfect bliss. Peace in a basket with a bow on top. No city noise. No family drama. Just fresh air and daisies.
And maybe the picture of the cottage didn't live up to reality, but I dismissed that and focused instead on the bright side. The house stood up straight, and that was good enough for me.
Besides, I planned to pass my time giving it a lot of love and attention—good old-fashioned TLC. It was going to be marvelous when I was done with it. A place I could call home. My home. A cozy escape.
I arrived a little before sunset in Candy Creek and caught only glimpses of the town on my way to the outskirts, where the cottage was situated. The long drive from the city and the chaos—both mental and physical—from the days before hit me hard, and instead of exploring the rest of the house, I found the bedroom where my brand-new bed had already been delivered, thanks to Turner, who helped me arrange it, and settled in.
Yes, there was only a bed in the room, but I planned to fill the house with beautiful pieces of furniture over time. I also had enough money to live frugally for a long while before I needed to find a job—maybe as a waitress at a diner—and everyone would know my name and love me, and I would be happy and content. I just love the simplicity of it all.
But then, within the first ten minutes of arriving, after making the bed with the fresh linens I brought with me, I decided to take a shower to freshen up in the rather thoroughly cleaned bathroom—thanks, Turner.
And that's when hell broke loose. I had just showered, smothered my skin in lotion, and put on a set of underwear when I saw it on my bed, nestled among my faux fur throws. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I touched it.
