Page 10 of May I Kiss the Bride
“Sheriff, you should sit down,” Beth said at the same time Viola’s softer voice added, “You don’t look so good, sir.”
Oh no. Don’t faint now. You’re the sheriff here. To protect and defend. Not to wilt and be coddled.These thoughts ran through his mind faster than the imaginary lightning that had struck him earlier, but thankfully, someone had the foresight to scoot a chair behind him and sit his rear down.
Rey didn’t faint after all.
“You all right, Sheriff?” Had Thatcher’s voice always been that loud?
Where’d he come from anyway? Sure enough, the man was leaning over him, his breath stinking of whisky. They were going to have a serious talk later.
“I’m fine,” Rey mustered, but his thoughts were spinning faster than a dust devil, and his throat felt like he’d swallowed his grandpa’s pipe smoke.
“Take him back to the nook under the stairs. There’s a bed there.”
Beth Cannon had spoken. Her voice was an octave too high, but that wasn’t as irritating as the several pair of hands forcing him to his feet, supporting him, and propelling him through the bakery, past the hotter-than-Hades ovens, and into a closet.
Well, it wasn’t a closet, but close enough.
He heard other voices. Women. Men. All fussing over him.
“I’m fine,” he repeated, but no one paid him attention.
Voices rose and fell, blended together, until blessedly, mercifully, there was only one.
Viola.
“Try this, Sheriff Rey.” Her voice was soft, still prim, yes, but he really didn’t mind that.
He dragged his eyes open. The light was dimmer in the nook under the stairs. And he was on a small bed that would better fit his daughter than his own six-foot-something frame. But he wasn’t in a position, or of the mind, to point that out right now.
Viola sat next to him, perched on a small slice of mattress, which meant that her hip was nestled against his hip.Well.He’d process that later.
Right now, she held out what looked like a cool glass of something, and his throat was practically screaming for it.
He reached for the glass and their fingers brushed. Her hand was warm and soft—just as a woman’s should be—so there wasno surprise there. If he could command his pulse to calm down, he would have, but his pulse wasn’t listening.
He drained the cool glass of lemonade, then handed the empty glass back to Viola. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You don’t need to be so formal with me, Sheriff. Ma’am is for someone who is older than you or a stranger.” She tilted her head. “You almost fainted.”
“No … I was just hot. The bakery is an inferno.”
The edges of her mouth lifted, and the gray of her eyes lightened. He didn’t think he fully appreciated her smile on the train. Now he was making amends.
“Bakeries are generally warm, and it’s summer in Wyoming.”
“Both of those facts are true.” His heart did a double thump when her smile grew. “You seem to work fine in the heat. Rolling out pie dough and putting up with gawking men.”
Her dark lashes lowered, and her hands curled around the empty glass. “I don’t mind the heat. It doesn’t make me faint. Not like seeing a man covered in blood.”
Her cheeks were definitely pink, as was that mouth of hers.
“I’m sorry if I startled you.”
Viola’s gaze lifted again, her gray eyes steady. “When? In the bakery just now, or on the train?”
He had to think about that for a moment. “Both?”
Another smile stole across her pretty features, and he knew that a moment or two longer of this smiling back and forth might lead to something that he’d definitely regret later.
