Under the Covers

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Juliet tensed the second the outside door clanged shut. So much for her brief reprieve. She turned around and sat on the highest rung of the ladder, her gaze on the hard wooden floor so far below her feet. Paintings still hung on the wall, and she needed to take them down. But first, she had to face the sheriff.

She’d known he’d show up after receiving her e-mail. Nerves jumped in her belly as she waited.

He strode into the main room of the art gallery and brought the scents of male and pine with him. Stopping several feet away, he looked up. “Juliet.”

“Sheriff.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep her focus on his dark eyes.

But that body deserved a second glance. Tight and packed hard, the sheriff wore faded jeans, a dark button-downed shirt, and a gun at his hip. Black hair swept away from a bronze face with rugged features. Not handsome, but definitely masculine and somehow, tough. Years ago, she’d liked tough. Many years ago.

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