So why the hell does the thought of Sheriff Owen Randall sniffing me again make my knees go weak?
Chapter5
Owen
My phone rings, and like a damn fool, I answer without looking.
Big mistake.
Because the moment I grunt a greeting, I’m hit with the auditory equivalent of a hurricane.
“So, what’s this I hear about you convincing Agent Megan DiNapoli—the woman trying to shut our town down— to stay in your spare room?”
I rub a hand down my face and lean back against the cruiser, staring up at the sky like it might offer mercy.It doesn’t.
“Hello to you too, Mama.”
“Don’t you ‘Hello Mama’ me, Owen Randall.I gave birth to you in a thunderstorm with nothing but a wooden spoon to bite down on and a midwife who reeked of onions.The least you can do is not dodge my questions.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“That’s because you were busy being born, smartass.”
I sigh.
“I meant that’s not the story you always told me.Anyway, she needed a place to stay.The motels are hexed, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.That Kitchen Witch still hasn’t paid to have my bathtub de-cursed.”
“You shouldn’t have yelled at her about her casserole.”
“She put cinnamon in a tuna noodle bake, Owen!That’s a hate crime.”
I choke on a laugh, then glance toward the garage, where Megan’s probably unpacking right now.
Or maybe snooping.
Honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.
Mama’s voice softens just a little.
“Is she pretty?”
“Mama,” I begin.
“Don’t you Mama me again, boy.I may be old, but I’m still a she-Wolf with instincts sharper than your grandaddy’s straight razor.”
“She’s something,” I admit.
A beat of silence on the line.
“You like her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.I can hear it in your voice.All growly and tense like you’re trying real hard not to wag your tail.”
