the air. She could feel her blood pumping. Where did he come from?
Polly stood by preening, waiting for him to notice all six feet of her. She tossed her hair. A pro at hair tossing, Polly tried to look up flirtatiously, but it was difficult from her height. However, the man seemed preoccupied with the buffet. No doubt he was used to women gathering around his star quality. It gave Lacey a few extra moments to stare.
Angling for a better look, Lacey managed to move in closer to pick up a glass of wine. He turned around and bumped her. He had eyes the color of summer grass and long lashes under thick arched eyebrows. Not brown, they were merry leprechaun eyes. All too soon she realized she knew him.
Oh my God. It can’t be Victor Donovan, the tumbling tumbleweed. She was knocked for a loop and nearly spilled her wine.
Donovan had still been chief of police in Sagebrush, Colorado, six years ago, when she fled her job as a reporter on the local rag there. He would be thirty-eight now. Damn, he’s still handsome. The jerk. Donovan had spent two years flirting mercilessly with Lacey, who’d covered the cops beat for the The Sagebrush Daily Press . She always believed he did it at least partly to distract her from getting the news. Vic hit on her constantly until it became a joke all over town. Lacey hated being the butt of jokes. It was a small town, with a very small police station. It was difficult not to physically bump into each other, which occasionally they did. The sparks were palpable. She refused him for many reasons. Conflict of interest for one. For another, he was married, albeit separated, both legally and by about four hundred miles. Vic said he didn’t care. But she did. It was very simple. She was Catholic.
All this was played out in front of the cops, witnesses with knowing looks and winks. Lacey wondered if they had bets on the odds of her saying yes to Vic. They probably had a pool going on when he would nail her. She wished she could go back and be more clever about the whole thing, more witty, instead of so painfully green. She took a deep breath. Relax, Lacey. It was years ago. He’ll never even remember me, let alone recognize me.
He studied her. His eyebrows went up and his mouth curled into a grin. Does he have to have such a nice jawline? He’d been crossing her mind for no good reason: spring, drinks on the balcony, Tony’s new boots. She glanced down. Donovan was wearing well-worn cowboy boots. She’d forgotten how awkward he always made her feel.
“Lacey, Lacey Smithsonian? Wow. It is you. What are you doing here?”
She looked around to see if anyone was staring. Only wide-eyed Stella and a few other stylists, who had all snapped to attention. It was understandable, with the sudden hormonal charge in the air. Estrogen was rising. Stella nodded her obvious approval. Jamie made a thumbs-up gesture. Leonardo looked bemused, while Polly looked offended. She hated it when a petite woman walked off with an available tall guy.
“Well, well, well. Victor Donovan. Nice seeing you.” Lacey just wanted to get away from him. As far as she was concerned Polly could have him. Lacey spun on her heels, but not quickly enough.
“Not so fast.” He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “I haven’t seen you in what—five years? Six years?” He glanced quickly at her left hand. “Let’s catch up.”
“Let’s not.” She removed his hand from her arm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Gotta go.”
“You’re not still mad at me?” He looked surprised. “Damn, I never could figure that one out.”
“Me neither. Probably some kind of toxic reaction.”
Vic laughed, showing strong white teeth. “I’m a changed man, Lacey. Older and wiser.”
“A wise old wolf?”
“Wolf! I’m a puppy dog, Smithsonian.” Lacey glanced at his left hand. It was still bare, but that didn’t mean anything. “And I’m not married anymore, Lacey.” It irritated her that he noticed her looking.
Polly stood by preening, waiting for him to notice all six feet of her. She tossed her hair. A pro at hair tossing, Polly tried to look up flirtatiously, but it was difficult from her height. However, the man seemed preoccupied with the buffet. No doubt he was used to women gathering around his star quality. It gave Lacey a few extra moments to stare.
Angling for a better look, Lacey managed to move in closer to pick up a glass of wine. He turned around and bumped her. He had eyes the color of summer grass and long lashes under thick arched eyebrows. Not brown, they were merry leprechaun eyes. All too soon she realized she knew him.
Oh my God. It can’t be Victor Donovan, the tumbling tumbleweed. She was knocked for a loop and nearly spilled her wine.
Donovan had still been chief of police in Sagebrush, Colorado, six years ago, when she fled her job as a reporter on the local rag there. He would be thirty-eight now. Damn, he’s still handsome. The jerk. Donovan had spent two years flirting mercilessly with Lacey, who’d covered the cops beat for the The Sagebrush Daily Press . She always believed he did it at least partly to distract her from getting the news. Vic hit on her constantly until it became a joke all over town. Lacey hated being the butt of jokes. It was a small town, with a very small police station. It was difficult not to physically bump into each other, which occasionally they did. The sparks were palpable. She refused him for many reasons. Conflict of interest for one. For another, he was married, albeit separated, both legally and by about four hundred miles. Vic said he didn’t care. But she did. It was very simple. She was Catholic.
All this was played out in front of the cops, witnesses with knowing looks and winks. Lacey wondered if they had bets on the odds of her saying yes to Vic. They probably had a pool going on when he would nail her. She wished she could go back and be more clever about the whole thing, more witty, instead of so painfully green. She took a deep breath. Relax, Lacey. It was years ago. He’ll never even remember me, let alone recognize me.
He studied her. His eyebrows went up and his mouth curled into a grin. Does he have to have such a nice jawline? He’d been crossing her mind for no good reason: spring, drinks on the balcony, Tony’s new boots. She glanced down. Donovan was wearing well-worn cowboy boots. She’d forgotten how awkward he always made her feel.
“Lacey, Lacey Smithsonian? Wow. It is you. What are you doing here?”
She looked around to see if anyone was staring. Only wide-eyed Stella and a few other stylists, who had all snapped to attention. It was understandable, with the sudden hormonal charge in the air. Estrogen was rising. Stella nodded her obvious approval. Jamie made a thumbs-up gesture. Leonardo looked bemused, while Polly looked offended. She hated it when a petite woman walked off with an available tall guy.
“Well, well, well. Victor Donovan. Nice seeing you.” Lacey just wanted to get away from him. As far as she was concerned Polly could have him. Lacey spun on her heels, but not quickly enough.
“Not so fast.” He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “I haven’t seen you in what—five years? Six years?” He glanced quickly at her left hand. “Let’s catch up.”
“Let’s not.” She removed his hand from her arm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Gotta go.”
“You’re not still mad at me?” He looked surprised. “Damn, I never could figure that one out.”
“Me neither. Probably some kind of toxic reaction.”
Vic laughed, showing strong white teeth. “I’m a changed man, Lacey. Older and wiser.”
“A wise old wolf?”
“Wolf! I’m a puppy dog, Smithsonian.” Lacey glanced at his left hand. It was still bare, but that didn’t mean anything. “And I’m not married anymore, Lacey.” It irritated her that he noticed her looking.
Similar Books
