Tempting the Deputy Read online

  “Is this you with your mother?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Lyle said. “Pretty huh?”

  “She’s absolutely stunning,” she said, and not just in looks. The woman’s fiercely protective stance and generous smile made her look exactly like the sort of mother Charlie had once dreamed of having. Back when she was a child and she had believed in functional families and other fairy tales.

  “She died not long after that photo was taken,” Lyle said. “Logan missed her. I don’t remember her much,” he finished, but his eyes flicked away from the photo when he said it and she had the strangest sensation he was lying.

  “What about the baby?” she asked.

  “It died with her,” Lyle said, the flat tone so unlike him, Charlie frowned. But then his lips tipped up in his trademark grin and it was as if the moment of melancholy had never happened. “Let’s check out the kitchen, see if Logan’s there, so we can gang up on him.”

  More questions tormented Charlie as she followed Lyle down the hall toward the back of the house.

  Was that where Logan’s joy had gone? What about the Tate brothers’ father? Had they been orphaned as children? At least she and Em had had their mother and father around until they were eighteen—paying for the very best boarding schools money could buy while gallivanting round the globe to the crème de la crème of high-society events.

  The sting of bitterness dissolved as she walked into the ranch kitchen behind Lyle. Her heartbeat slowed.

  Infused with the ruddy glow from the spring sunset, the picture window above the butler sink framed a breathtaking view of the Marietta River winding its way behind the back of the house, the banks peppered by Ponderosa pines. Copper Mountain stood like an elegant leviathan in the distance.

  The room itself was big and functional and furnished in a style that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a 1950s’ movie. A scarred butcher-block table dominated the space while elegant glass-fronted cabinets stood above a worn Formica countertop where a brand-new microwave vied for space with an ancient toaster and yet more hunting magazines. Like the rest of the décor, the cast-iron cooking range and the vintage fridge beside the back door looked old and well used.

  “Hey, Logan, where are you?” Lyle shouted. “We’ve got a guest.” He dumped Charlie’s pack onto the table next to a half-eaten loaf of white sliced bread and the makings of at least five baloney and Swiss sandwiches.

  “Stop yelling.” Logan stepped out of what looked like a pantry holding a jar of mayo in one hand and a jar of pickles in the other. Even in his stocking feet, he looked tall, broad, and intimidating. The Jumping Bean Convention went into overdrive as his dark brows shot up his forehead and storm clouds swirled into those broody blue eyes.

  “Meet our new roomie,” Lyle said.

  The jar of mayo crashed onto the polished wooden floor next to Logan’s toes with a loud splat.

  *

  No freaking way. Has Lyle completely lost his damn mind?

  He’d been busy avoiding Charlotte Foster for the last three days while also ignoring her increasingly persistent attempts to get him into the temporary waxing parlor she’d set up at Main Street Style. He did not appreciate the unpredictable effect she had on his libido—and no way was he letting anyone rip out his chest hair, calendar or no damn calendar.

  And now this? Lyle had offered her a place to stay at the ranch? So she could get all up in his face without even trying? What the hell?

  But then he took his eyes off the woman in front of him long enough to spot the smile on his brother’s face. And knew Lyle siccing Charlotte Foster on him was not an accident. Son of a bitch! His brother had always loved messing with him—but this was too damn much.

  “Hi, Deputy Tate, you dropped your mayo,” she said, in her smoky British accent, the bold challenge in her deep green eyes causing a predictable spike in his libido.

  Great, so his avoidance tactics hadn’t killed that reaction the way he’d hoped.

  “I know,” he said, but made no move to pick it up. Stepping over the mess, he dumped the jar of pickles on the kitchen table. “How long are you planning to stay?” he asked, keeping a tight rein on the urge to leap across the table and throttle Lyle.

  Kicking her out now would just give her the upper hand. And make him look like a turd.

  From all the glowing reports he’d heard in the last couple of days from their dispatcher Betty—who couldn’t resist giving him hourly updates about the comings and goings of the ‘famous photographer’ in their midst—Charlotte was fully invested in the calendar and already working overtime to get stuff organized. That meant he owed her, they all owed her, and a place to stay was the least of that—which he already knew was totally how Lyle was going to spin this offer—because as well as being reckless and irresponsible, his brother was also a wily little bastard.

  The fact that Logan was still extremely uneasy about the whole idea of dropping his pants so Charlotte could take photos of him naked was equally beside the point. The nudie calendar was going ahead and him and the rest of the guys had accepted they were going to have to suck up any misgivings and get on with it.

  If it raised the money she said it would for Harry’s House, any embarrassment caused by flashing his butt for the whole of Montana to see would be worth it.

  But the fact he was going to have to suck up having Charlotte Foster in his place for the next little while felt above and beyond the call of duty. Maybe he couldn’t kick her out—or kick his brother from here to next week for suggesting she hang with them for the duration—but that did not mean he had to pretend to like it.

  “As long as it takes,” she said. Arousal tightened his skin—and he knew she wasn’t just talking about the calendar shoot.

  The shot of adrenaline hit ground zero as his gaze roamed over her.

  He took in all the things he’d been trying so hard to forget—the petite feet in what looked like brand-new boots, her slim coltish figure in battered boy jeans and a thick cotton shirt, the riot of unruly curls on her head.

  His gaze eventually landed on her face, and payback blossomed in his soul at the misty unfocused look in the emerald green. So he wasn’t the only one struggling with libido overload. Good to know.

  “Pleasure having you with us, Miss Foster,” he said, sucking up his displeasure big-time. The muffled choking sound from Lyle at his equanimity was some consolation—obviously his kid brother had expected to get a lot more mileage out of this power play with his new best friend.

  Yeah, that’s right, baby bro; I’m on to you. And her.

  “Why don’t you show her to the room next to mine?” he added, rubbing it in.

  “Mom and Pop’s room?” Lyle said. “You sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. It’s the best room in the house.” And the best place to keep a close eye on Little Miss Troublemaker.

  He shrugged off the shadow of grief and the prickle of unease at Lyle’s searching look. He’d gotten over their mom’s death a long time ago, and the things it had done to their old man. Of course, Lyle would be more sentimental. Because Logan had always made damn sure to shelter his kid brother from what their father had become.

  “Okay, if you say so, Logan,” Lyle said, shouldering Charlotte’s pack. “Come on, Charlie, let’s get you settled in your new home,” he added, still needling Logan.

  “You’re sure this is okay?” she asked, not sounding so sure herself now.

  Logan nodded, twisting open the jar of pickles. “I don’t suppose you cook, do you? I’m getting sick of baloney sandwiches. And Lyle’s meat loaf.”

  “I can do a mean eggs Benedict and my Irish stew’s not half bad either,” she said, but then her lips tipped up in a tempting smile that somehow managed to be both cute and sultry. Damn, had he thrown in the towel too soon and made a major mistake with their sleeping arrangements?

  “Irish stew? Great, you’re cooking tomorrow,” he said, struggling to keep his mind on his hunger for a decent meal until Martha
returned from her spring vacation to do her weekly housekeeping chores—and off his inexplicable hunger for Charlotte Foster.

  British bad girls are not your style. Remember that, buddy.

  “Irish stew it is then,” she said. “I’ll get some supplies in town tomorrow as Lyle refuses to take any rent from me.” She slanted his brother an aggravated look. Her obvious irritation with Lyle made Logan a little less inclined to strangle him. So the two of them weren’t as tight as they’d appeared when they’d walked in together?

  “I told you, sugar, we’re not taking your money,” Lyle said.

  “No rent,” Logan confirmed, for once him and his brother were on the same page. “That’s non-negotiable.”

  “Fine, I can’t fight the both of you,” she said. “And I don’t mind cooking occasionally so I don’t feel like a freeloader.”

  How could she come up with the notion she was a freeloader, when she was already giving so much of her time and expertise to the town for free? Not for the first time, he wondered about that prickly independence of hers and where it came from.

  “But FYI,” she continued, her mouth pursing into a pout that had lots of inappropriate thoughts of biting and sucking that full bottom lip flowing into his head, “I’m not taking over all the kitchen duties just because I have a vagina.”

  “No sweat. Logan and I know how to do for ourselves,” Lyle said as he headed toward the door. “When you cook, we’ll take KP.”

  Charlotte sent Logan one final challenging look, daring him to deny it. He raised an eyebrow.

  Like I’m going to rise to that bait.

  “You have a beautiful home, Deputy,” she said, her features softening and her tone surprisingly sincere, especially considering the Double T hadn’t been a home since his mom passed. “I think this might actually work out better than expected…” she finished, the wistfulness surprising him even more.

  Did The Independent Woman have a soft side?

  But then she walked out of the room behind Lyle—and Logan’s eyes became surgically attached to her round butt framed in worn denim. Every last molecule of blood in his brain surged southward.

  Better than expected? I don’t think so.

  Adjusting his fly, he set about clearing up the spilled mayo. Not easy while sporting a boner the size of a totem pole.

  Chapter Five

  “Have you got time tomorrow for your shoot, if the weather holds up?” Charlie said to Lyle as she unpacked the box that had arrived that morning via the local mail truck. “I don’t want your chest hair to grow back.”

  She’d been staying at the Double T for three days now and she had yet to do any shoots. More importantly, she had yet to get Logan to agree to get waxed. In fact she’d barely seen him. Either he was in town doing his shifts as a Sheriff’s Deputy or out on the ranch checking the cows that were getting close to calving.

  She heard the shower go on before dawn each morning, in the room next to hers, and after visualizing that big body steamed up, it was impossible to go back to sleep. But she’d never been a great morning person, and so far she hadn’t managed to drag herself out of the cozy double bed and pad down to the kitchen in time to catch Logan before he headed off to the calving fields to check on the cattle at daybreak.

  The evenings had proved equally sparse on Logan sightings. So far she’d spent one evening watching a basketball game with Lyle—while they devoured the Irish stew that Logan had snuck in later that night and ate—and another soaking in the huge enamel tub in the bathroom after spending an afternoon shooting pictures of Lyle and the two ranch hands, Tad and Ryan, cutting heavily pregnant cows out of the herd to bring to the calving field.

  “I’ll make time.” Lyle looked over his shoulder as he fried some eggs. “No way am I risking having to go through that torture again.” The mock shudder made Charlie smile.

  “Where and when do you have in mind?” he added slipping the eggs onto a couple of plates and piling on hot buttered toast and the slices of ham he’d had under the grill.

  “I wanted to try out back, on the riverbank. It’s private and a beautiful setting. And close enough to the house so you can head back indoors between shots to warm up.” She did not want Lyle getting frostbite on any important parts of his anatomy; it might scare off the others, especially as he was the only one of the First Responders so far who had agreed to go the full monty and not just shirtless.

  “Private’s good,” he said, placing a plate next to her packing box with enough food on it to feed four of her. “But I won’t need any comfort breaks.” He sent her an offended look. “The weather’s like Hawaii at the moment.”

  “If you say so.” Charlie laughed at the comment. The temperature had been hovering around the forty-degree mark for the last few days, above average for Montana in March, but still chilly enough to have her wrapped up in hat, gloves, and heavy coat. Lyle though wasn’t the only guy who seemed to be fine in shirt sleeves. They certainly made men tough in Montana. “Have you got a preferred time?”

  “Yeah.” Lyle poured them both a cup of the coffee he brewed every morning that was strong enough to tar a road. “Tad and Ryan are repairing the fence on the South Pasture tomorrow afternoon, so let’s do it then.” He straddled a chair. “If those two catch me with my butt hanging out and nothing but the Stars and Stripes covering my junk, they’ll be ragging on me for the rest of my natural life.”

  “Fair point.” Charlie chuckled as she blew on her coffee. Lyle never failed to amuse her. “Are you okay with Amanda Wright coming by beforehand to do your hair?” The owner of Main Street Style had offered her services as a hair stylist for the guys and Charlie planned to take her up on it.

  “The pretty little thing who owns the hair salon?” Lyle’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, she can mess with my hair any damn time.”

  They ate in silence for a while as Charlie envisioned how she wanted the light to play over Lyle’s torso during the shoot. She hoped she could get him out there during magic hour. The light had been glorious over the river in the last three days. What a shame it wasn’t high summer; she could have done some amazing shots with Lyle and a flag in the water. Somehow though, she didn’t think even Lyle’s enthusiasm would stretch to a dip in the Marietta River in March.

  The thought of a hot guy in water brought her mind spinning back to her predawn visualization experiment that morning.

  “By the way, do you know if Logan’s going to be around this evening?” she asked, casually, as she gave up trying to put a dent into the huge helping of ham and eggs.

  Lyle shoveled up the last of his eggs, the knowing glint in his eye telling her she hadn’t been nearly casual enough. “My guess is, he’s going to be around tonight at some point. He’s done four shifts already this week for the Sheriff and he only usually does three… And there’s only so much checking he can do on the cattle till the calving actually starts, which isn’t for another three weeks by my reckoning. Why? You still trying to schedule his shoot date?”

  “That, and his waxing appointment.” She stood to open the flaps on the box that had been delivered. “But I’ve bought a secret weapon for that.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” Lyle asked, while pulling her half-eaten plate of ham and eggs across the table so he could finish off her breakfast like he did every morning. For such a lean, well-muscled guy he could certainly pack away a lot of food.

  “I’ll show you…” she said, as she unpacked the rest of the bottles of developing fluids for the darkroom she was setting up in the ranch house’s downstairs bathroom. Finally she located the other package she’d ordered two days ago, having given up on ever managing to drag the elusive Deputy Tate into Main Street Style.

  “If the mountain won’t come to the waxing parlor,” she said, tugging the heavy tub out of the box with both hands. “The waxing parlor will have to come to the mountain.” She dumped the professional waxing kit she’d ordered from Amanda Wright’s beauty product supplier onto the table with a reso
unding thud. “Logan’s chest hair is mine, tonight!”

  Lyle tipped his chair back and hooted with laughter. “Hot damn. Logan is so screwed.”

  Charlie bit down on the surge of arousal at Lyle’s choice of words.

  Nope, not gonna happen.

  Time to dial down on her excitement at the prospect of having Logan and his magnificent chest at her mercy this evening. She was only offering him a personal waxing service for the good of the project—and to satisfy her own desire to photograph the man. There would be no screwing going on, of any description. Because she was not about to let their insane chemistry get in the way of either of those objectives.

  “Aw hell.” The front legs of Lyle’s chair thudded back to earth as the chuckling cut off abruptly. “I’m playing at FlintWorks tonight.” He actually looked dejected about the regular guitar date she’d heard him practicing for last night while she was lounging in her bath. “Can’t believe I’m gonna miss seeing you torture Logan.”

  “Don’t worry.” Charlie smiled. “I plan to take photos.”

  *

  Charlie was feeling considerably less excited by eight o’clock that evening after spending a whole day at the ranch house, lying in wait for her victim.

  At least it had been a productive day. She fitted the infrared bulb in the light fixture on her brand-new darkroom. Dusting off her jeans, she stood back to admire the result of six hours’ hard work. With the developing trays and fluids set up on the tabletop Lyle had helped her install over the small tub, alongside the old enlarger she’d borrowed from Big Sky Photography and some plywood boards duct-taped over the bathroom’s one window, she was all ready to get started.

  The only problem was, the guy she wanted to photograph still hadn’t materialized. What were the chances he was going to duck out of appearing today? All day? She headed into the kitchen to put together something for supper. She planned to be ready for him when he finally appeared. Ready with her home-waxing kit and a nutritious and delicious meal to lull him into a false sense of security.