Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(6)

Harper laughed.

Shay didn’t. She wanted to pick up the poor dog and cuddle her close. It was obvious that Foxy was terrified being in a sea of legs, and Estella’s tone was only amplifying the dog’s insecurities. But their conversation had caught the attention of Nora Kincaid, who slid closer. Nora was the kind of woman who made a business out of knowing everyone’s business, then posting it on her Facebook page—which had over ten thousand likes and was growing daily. And informing Estella of her lacking parenting skills with the town’s own paparazzo nearby wouldn’t help matters.

“Foxy Cleopatra came from two champion lines . . .” Estella paused to watch Nora pull her phone out of her purse, then turned so that Nora could catch her good side, should the Voice of St. Helena decide to start snapping and uploading pics. “And is, herself, a blue ribbon holder, and you didn’t once come to ask me if she’d like to be in the calendar.”

“And she is a wonderful dog.” A painfully shy and insecure dog who needed gentle reassurance, not a stroll through a forest of drunken legs. “But this calendar is for adoptable dogs.”

“Which explains why you only went as far as to search through that ark of misfits you have in your house.” An ark of misfits that had been a point of contention since the day Shay moved in. “You should clarify that for buyers.”

Then to ensure that everyone in line could hear, Estella raised her voice, which had Foxy cowering and Nora’s trigger finger bursting into action. “Because you can’t imply that you have the finest tail in all of wine country if you didn’t inspect all the tail wine country has to offer.” Estella turned back to look—right over Shay’s shoulder. “Isn’t that true, Deputy?”

Oh boy. Shay didn’t have to turn to see which deputy was standing behind her—her nipples already knew. Jonah oozed enough testosterone and confidence that all he had to do was stand downwind and Shay’s hormones short-circuited.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jonah said without a hint of humor in his voice, but she knew he was laughing. “And I have it on good authority that a thorough search of the best tail in wine country has not been completed by Shay here.”

At that she turned to face him, completely ignoring how well he filled out his uniform. Or that his cuffs and more-than-impressive equipment were at eye level. Even his gun had swagger. She looked up and found those laser-sharp pools of blue aimed right at her.

So she aimed back. “I’ve inspected enough tail to know right away what a cause worth pursuing is and, more importantly, what is not.”

Estella, thinking Shay’s comment was directed at her dog, snatched up poor Foxy and stormed off, mumbling, “Wouldn’t know good tail if it bit you in the ass.”

Which was probably true, but Shay kept silent.

Jonah, however, let his gaze fall to Shay’s tail, which was sporting her best pair of shorts, and smiled. An arrogant smile that promised to deliver everything Shay could ever want, and more.

Only Shay had seen that smile enough to know that it lied.

People either wanted to control Shay or change her, and she had a feeling that the sweet sheriff fell into the former category. Sure, their chemistry was off the charts, and sleeping with Jonah Baudouin would most likely be a religious experience, but beneath all the swagger and upstanding small-town charm was a man who controlled his world. And Shay was done with being controlled.

“I stand by my earlier statement,” she said.

“Following your gut is important.” Jonah took in the hordes of women flapping their money in the air, pushing their way forward—and the pitchers of alcohol. “Like when it’s nagging you that the hostess probably doesn’t have a permit to sell wares in a public park or serve open containers.”

“I’m handing out calendars. For charity,” she argued, purposefully leaving out the alcohol part.

“Which requires a permit.” He leaned in close. “You got a permit, Shay?”

Yeah, that would be a big, fat, apparently illegal no. The way his hands went to his cuffs told her he’d figured it out. The way her body responded said she was crazy, which was the only explanation she could come up with for why she stood and held out her wrists in surrender. “You going to cuff me, Sheriff?”

“Deputy,” he corrected, looking as though he was contemplating it, and a whole lot more.

“Deputy,” she said with a smile. When he didn’t move to whip out the cuffs, she decided to change the topic. “And how is our favorite Great Dane?”

He remained locked and loaded, but his swagger faltered slightly. “Working on it, Trouble.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” she reminded him, ignoring the thrill of him giving her a nickname. “You said you’d handle it and I believed you.” Something Shay didn’t do lightly.

Trust was a hard concept for her. But for some reason with Jonah she’d been willing to give him a chance. She just hoped he didn’t turn out like all the other men in her life—a gigantic disappointment.

“Give me a few more days,” he said quietly.

Shay looked at the stack of calendars, each one getting her closer and closer to her dream, then back to his gun. “Only if you give me a few more hours here.”

“You’re serving alcohol without a permit,” he explained, but she could hear the hesitation waver in his voice.