Sheriff Hart here. 

I’m not really sure why I was chosen to introduce this story, I’m more of the silent grumpy type. But maybe this is my chance to defend my actions.

No, I don’t typically bring women I don’t know home, and invite them into my shower, or bed. The last thing I need is some spoiled woman getting her truck stuck in a snowstorm or inviting herself to stay with me.

But when the storm raged on and she started wearing my clothes while cooking for me, I couldn’t kick her out. And I’ll be honest, the fact that her father is my nemesis makes misbehaving with her very attractive. Not that she needs help with that, she’s a total smoke show. And she’s the one that decided to take things to the next level, I just wasn’t strong enough to resist.

Don’t believe me? Then Read on…

The Sheriff’s Rescue

Chapter One:

“I hate the holidays,” Wesley Hart said, grunting and trying to walk through a foot of snow to a truck that had run off the road. It was already twenty degrees and expected to get colder. But every year on New Year’s Day, he and his deputies would be fishing drunks out of their cars, and their cars out of trees, or embankments. Without fail. Sandy Point might be a quaint southern beach town, where he grew up, but there were always a handful of people causing trouble. It didn’t help that his town just had an epic snowstorm. They hadn’t seen this much snow in Georgia in over two decades, and they were not equipped.

“Hey, you okay in there?” he called out as he grabbed on to the side of the truck so he wouldn’t fall into the two feet of snow.

The driver’s side door flew open and an arm covered in leather, with a glove, waved him forward.

“Thank God you’re here. Can you take this and then come back for me?” a woman’s voice said, as she held out a red carry-on bag.

He took one more big step closer, his boots and snow pants sinking into the fresh powder pushed up high by the truck’s dive into the embankment at the end of main street.

A young woman with dark hair and red lips stared back at him with a forced smile.

“Please.” She looked him up and down. “Officer.”

“It’s Chief Deputy Sheriff.”

“Okay, Sheriff.”

He sighed.

“Have you been drinking?” Wes said, leaving no doubt with his tone he believed she had.

“What? No, not unless you count coffee at the diner.” She shook the bag. “But if you’re offering me some whiskey, I’ll take it. It’s freezing.”

“Are you injured?” he asked.

“No, thankfully. This road was like a sheet of ice. I thought the town was supposed to treat them?”

“They did, but the wind is just pushing the snow around, and anything that melted today has turned into more ice. There were warnings that everyone should get home before the sun went down, hours ago.”

She huffed. “Great, well I’m not wearing proper shoes to get through this snow.” She held up the bag again. “And you’re huge, so you can easily carry this bag and me out of this snow.”

Wes sighed. The woman looked like she couldn’t weigh more than the training dummy they used to practice rescuing people in real distress. Of course he could carry her, but it was the principle of it. He wasn’t in the business of carrying women out of the snow when they weren’t smart enough to heed the warning of a winter storm and put him and his deputies in danger.

“If you want your bag tonight, you can carry it and walk yourself out of this snow. But I’ll give you a ride back into town,” he said, then turned back toward the street and started to follow his own tracks. With every step his boots sunk to at least his knee in the deep snow. And he could hear the woman huffing, her car door slam shut, and some colorful language.

Once he was back to his truck, he stomped his feet to shake off some of the snow and tucked his chin into his coat. It was below freezing, the wind was howling, and they were under a blizzard warning. Unable to resist, he looked up to watch as she struggled to carry the bag over her head. She had to take big strides to step into his tracks and the snow went up to her thighs. The first time she fell, he tried not to laugh; the second time he felt like a total jerk. In three huge steps he plucked her out of the snow with his hands tucked under her armpits. He carried her like a petulant child and didn’t set her back down until they were up by his truck.

Her teeth were chattering, and she looked like she was trying not to cry.

“That is not a proper winter coat, and this is a blizzard. You put yourself and me in danger coming out on this road, when you knew damn well you shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she said through her teeth chattering from the cold.

“Get in the truck now,” he ordered, opening the passenger door.

Her entire body seemed stiff from the cold, but she moved toward the heat. He had to give her a boost up into the truck and then leaned over her cold legs in what seemed like woefully inadequate black leggings and cranked the heat on high. Then he closed the door and trekked back to grab her bag, tossed it in the back of his truck and got into the driver’s side. The heat blasted him, and he could feel his own cheeks thaw.

Surprisingly he found her holding his cup of hot chocolate, with rosy cheeks and smiling.

“Thank you.”

“For saving your life or my hot chocolate?”

“Both,” she said and pulled her hat off her head.

Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, as she tossed blunt bangs that skimmed the delicate pale skin of her forehead. The smell of cinnamon and mint filled the cab of the truck. She may not have any sense, but she was gorgeous.

He put the truck in drive and headed back into town, but visibility was terrible.

“You’re going the wrong way,” she said.

“No I’m not—the only way is about a half mile into town. You can either stay in the sheriff’s office or see about a room at the hotel.”

“The hotel is full, which is the only reason I was headed out to the coast.”

“To look for another hotel in the middle of a blizzard?”

“No, I have a place I can stay out on Beach Boulevard.”

“Ah, I see.”

“What do you see?” she said, incredulous.

But he pulled into his spot in front of the sheriff’s department and got out, not willing to get into an argument with an out-of-towner. He would keep his feelings about the type of people who lived and vacationed out on Beach Boulevard to himself.

He grabbed her bag for her and walked to the double glass doors of the sheriff’s department, assuming she would follow. A minute later she stumbled into the office and looked around the open-concept small-town sheriff’s department. Several deputies were at their desks working the night shift, in case of any emergencies. The clerk was gone for the night.

“Follow me,” he said gruffly, heading to the back of the building where the only two offices were carved out with flimsy walls. Once he was seated behind his desk he dialed the local inn owner.

“Hey there, Dori, any chance you’ve got any rooms left? Penthouse? Honeymoon suite, coat closet?” he said, watching as the woman walked by each deputy with a genuine smile and then stopped in the doorway of his office. Her smile disappeared as she studied him, and then his office. He could only imagine what was going through her mind. She was dressed from head to toe in all black, a leather coat that skimmed the top of curvy hips, and shoes he would bet were designer, made to look rugged like a runway version of combat boots. There were two C’s etched into the leather of her bag, which he assumed cost a pretty penny.

He wondered what she saw in his tidy office with green leather chairs, a metal desk on bricks because he was six four, and a bird’s-eye view of the town square covered in snow.

Dori’s laughter brought him back to the present. “Sheriff, you must be bored if you’re prank-calling me. Not only are we filled to the brim, but two strangers nearly came to blows to fight for the last room. Now one of them is sleeping in the library for the night.”

He slammed his fist on the desk. “No chance you have room for one more?”

“I guess we could put someone in the foyer? There is a wooden bench. Or the floor.”

“Alright, let me see what she says, and I’ll get back to you.”

The woman stood waiting with a knowing look.

“You have the choice to sleep in that holding cell, or on a wooden bench at the inn.”

She took a few more steps into his office and sat in the closest green chair.

“Can’t I just sleep in here tonight? I’m sure it’ll be safe with you and your deputies here.”

“For one I won’t be here, and for two no.”

“I can’t sleep in a jail cell. There is a man already in there.”

Wesley looked back at the holding cell and spotted the town drunk passed out on the one cot in the small cell they didn’t make a habit of using much.

“Wooden bench I guess it is.”

“Sheriff, if you’re not going to be sleeping here, maybe I could go home with you and crash on your couch?”

Wesley leaned forward and studied the woman. In his well-lit office he could now see her honey-brown eyes framed with thick lashes that looked like they were dipped in black ink. Her top lip had a pronounced V shape even as she pressed it down onto her full bottom lip.

“Miss, are you in the habit of looking for trouble? Driving in blizzards, running into snow drifts, and inviting yourself to strange men’s homes? Because I have to tell you we don’t like trouble in this town.”

Unexpectedly the woman laughed. But then her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

“No, I don’t ever get into trouble or find it, sadly. I assure you, Sheriff, typically I live a very uneventful life. And you’re right—I shouldn’t assume you’re an honest, trustworthy man, just because you’re the sheriff in this town. But it says your name is Wesley Hart on the placard outside your door, and we went to high school together, so you’re not really a stranger.”

Wes studied her again, brown eyes, thick dark brown hair, and average height at five foot seven inches according to the measuring strip that was standard issue on any police doorway. Beautiful—but he didn’t recognize her at all.

Holding out her hand the woman smiled. “I’m going to try not to be offended you don’t recognize me. Shelby Shepherd. I was in your younger brother Dalton’s class, and we didn’t exactly hang out in the same circles.”

Shaking his head he was certain he didn’t know this woman, but equally surprised he didn’t remember her. He definitely knew her family name. The Shepherds were one of the wealthiest families that had lived in Sandy Point for decades. Like his family they also owned a lot of beachfront property, but they had the funds to develop all of it and then some. They had massive mansions along the beach and built the contentious beach club that the city was constantly battling with over delivery trucks, traffic, and noise ordinances.

“By your reaction I can tell you’re at least familiar with my family.”

“Of course,” was all he offered.

“So can I sleep on your couch and then tomorrow I promise I’ll get out of your hair?”

He sighed. He wanted to say no. He didn’t need some foolish woman invading his space, much less a woman related to the same family that was trying to challenge him at every turn. To all intents and purposes, she was the enemy. But he wasn’t an idiot. Forcing a Shepherd to sleep in a cell or a wooden cot at the inn would only afford him more ire from them. Perhaps he could earn some goodwill by being neighborly and helping Shelby out.

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P.S. Stella said to remind you the first book in this series is on sale for .99 cents now The SEAL’s PROMISE.

~Sheriff Hart Out.

About the Author.

Author of your next binge-worthy romance series, Stella Holt has been plotting sexy, tear-jerker stories since she was old enough to hold a pencil. Born a Georgia peach, Stella loves all things country but calls the beach home even though she’s currently living outside D.C. with her family. Most days she can be found drinking too much coffee, collecting lipstick she forgets to wear, and baking.

Stella’s first series featuring first responders debuts in 2023. You can find her on Instagram @stellaholtbooks and www.stellaholt.com