The Sheriff's Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots (Cobble Creek Romance Book 1) Read online

  The Sheriff’s Bride

  Country Brides & Cowboy Boots

  Kimberly Krey

  Copyright © 2017 by Kimberly Krey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Kimberly Krey

  Introduction

  Welcome to Country Brides & Cowboy Boots, a series full of everything country, from horses and rodeo to small towns and business owners. There a little something for every reader in this series and we can’t wait for you to jump right in and get reading.

  One thing you’ll notice, is that the books stand alone. You can read them in any order (except for the Fair Catch Ranch Family Saga—but those books are labeled so you can easily find your way.) You’ll also find that they are all in the same universe—meaning what happens in one book, can be found in another. You’re going to love finding all the eggs we’ve stashed and once the whole series is out, you’ll want to read them again and again to connect the dots.

  Without further delay, please enjoy The Sheriff’s Bride.

  Happy reading,

  Gelato

  Foreword

  The town of Cobble Creek, Wyoming, is fictional, but I wish it wasn’t. I would love to walk down Main Street, sample a doughnut, browse the shops, meet the people, and retire for the night at the Country Quilt Bed & Breakfast. I would want to live in a place like this, where kindergarten teachers hug their students in the grocery store and neighbors help look for a lost dog.

  Alas, the best I can do is visit Cobble Creek in the pages of this book. I can soak up the small town feeling for when I’m cursing the long line at the box store or drumming my fingers on the steering wheel while in traffic.

  Maybe, if we all soak in some of Cobble Creek, the busy days and long to-do lists won’t bother us as much. Maybe we can bring some of that slower pace into our world. Maybe this great big world won’t feel so big anymore and we’ll make time to visit Main Street in our town, sample a doughnut, visit with neighbors, and retire at night under a warm quilt.

  Welcome to Cobble Creek. I invite you to sit down and visit for a spell and enjoy this beautiful town full of inspiring people.

  Lucy McConnell

  Author of the Billionaire Marriage Broker series

  Chapter 1

  Jessie Phillips stepped inside the bright salon, a stack of fundraising flyers in hand. The scent of fruity conditioner almost masked the bitter chemicals as she glanced around the busy shop. It had been a while since Kris worked her magic on Jessie’s hair—her color now closer to chocolate than caramel—but she wasn’t there for a color today. Her errand concerned the heart, not the head.

  “Hey, Jess,” Marlene hollered, her hands buried in a woman’s hair at the sink. “Who’s this one for?”

  Jessie walked over to the pinup board and tugged out a few free pins. “Sheila Dodge. The cancer’s gone, thank heavens, but they had to do a double mastectomy. The bills are outrageous.” She grunted while pressing the pushpins in place at all four corners.

  “That’s awful,” mumbled a gal in her chair. “First Ted leaves her and now this. Least Nate is such a good kid.”

  “He sure is.” Jessie headed for the door, anxious to get the remaining flyers up before mingling hour at the inn.

  “Is that Jess?” came a familiar voice from someplace in back. It was Connie Metz, Jessie realized as the woman tipped her head back. Connie dabbed the roots of her own hair while scrutinizing her from across the room. Jessie hoped her ponytail hid the condition of her hair, since she was overdue for a trim, too.

  “Hey, is it true that Sheila’s brother-in-law is coming into town for that fundraiser?”

  “Yep. He’s flying in with the kids.” Jessie always made a point to spread news of the single guys who’d be at her events—anything to encourage a bigger turnout.

  A triumphant grin spread over Connie’s face. “I’ll definitely be there.”

  “We’ll be sure to come, too,” Marlene said. “I’ve got a niece who’s getting married soon. I’ll grab her a nice quilt.”

  Jessie smiled, a rush of gratitude filling her heart. “Thanks, ladies. You’re the best!”

  She repeated that statement at Hammers Hardware, Tops Bakery, and at Frank & Signs, too. Jessie might have said it to a whole lot of people, but the folks of Cobble Creek were as generous as they were kind, which was why she offered to head fundraisers whenever a worthy cause arose.

  One last stop at Tony’s Diner, and Jessie would be ready to head back and get started on iced tea and lemon bars for her guests. Oh, and she needed to pick up the lemons, too.

  The trusty bell chimed as she walked in, and the usual employees bustled about, their dark blue aprons a contrast to the red vinyl seats. A few hellos to those who spotted her, a deep inhale of that warm, savory comfort food, and Jessie made her way to the community window in the corner. Situated on 25th and Main, the corner window was the perfect place to display flyers for everything from dog-walking services to Cobble Creek’s fairs and festivals. Jessie dug into her purse for the baggie of poster putty and used it to place one flyer facing the street, and another facing the diner patrons.

  She glanced at her watch. Was there time to order some fried zucchini? She could take it home and eat it on the veranda while the lemon bars baked.

  “Let me guess,” came a familiar voice. “A waffle with raspberry jam and whipped cream?”

  Jessie spun around to see Anthony poised behind the bar, his chin thrust toward her. “Not this time,” she said.

  “Spinach and feta wrap?” he asked, folding his arms across this chest.

  Jessie shook her head and grinned. “Actually, I was thinking of taking an order of fried zucchini to go.”

  Anthony pointed a finger at her. “That was going to be my next guess.” He snagged a notepad from his apron and scribbled on it with a red pen. “Be right out with that.”

  “Thanks.” A wave of relief washed over her as he disappeared into the kitchen. Perhaps Anthony had finally given up on her. She reached across the counter, lifted one of the sugar packets from the small ceramic compartment, and considered grabbing a cup of coffee to go as well.

  “You know you still owe me a date …”

  And there it was. Did telling a guy you weren’t in a good place to date mean you perpetually owed him a date? A regretful smile pulled at her lips. “Anthony …”

>   “I know,” he said, waving a dismissive hand before she could give him the same old line. “It’s okay. I’ll be out with your order in a minute.”

  Jessie sighed. Someone like Anthony should have no problem getting a girl; he was handsome—rocking that man bun like Banderas. He was kind, too. And it didn’t hurt that he knew how to cook. So why did he have to pursue the one single woman in Cobble Creek who wasn’t interested?

  She slid a five-dollar bill toward the register as he walked back through the swinging door. “Go ahead and keep the change.”

  “Thanks,” he said, placing a white paper sack onto the counter. “Be sure to count me in on that fundraiser. I’ll bring out some sandwiches for the night of the event, and you can auction off a catering certificate. Up to twenty people.”

  Jessie tilted her head and added generosity to his qualities. “Thanks, Anthony. You’re the best.”

  Chapter 2

  If Sheriff Trent Lockheart saw one more flyer stapled onto one more pole, he was going to lose his cool. How could people be so inconsiderate? Or right-out clueless, he wasn’t sure which. Either way, whether for a lost puppy, a garage sale, or a charitable cause, posting flyers on poles was dangerous, illegal, and unacceptable.

  Trent reached out, tore a bright green sheet that shouted about some fundraiser from the pole before him, and shook his head when the page ripped beneath the stapled edges. He glared at the four tiny corners of paper that would loosen when it rained and litter Main Street. Great.

  Being the new sheriff in town might not make him a whole lot of friends, especially where he was appointed rather than elected, but eventually the small community of Cobble Creek would thank him. Hopefully.

  He walked on, squinting even through his sunglasses. If he didn’t catch the person responsible for the act, he’d be forced to drive out to the bed and breakfast where the fundraiser would be held. They were sure to know who the culprit was.

  He glanced down at the stack of flyers he’d collected. Here he’d just given a lecture on distracted driving at the library only to become distracted by the array of loud, lime-colored papers littering Main Street. “The Country Quilt Inn,” he mumbled, reading the where portion of the flyer. Must be that place on the hill. It looked nice. How much pull did the owner of such a place have in a small town like this? Don’t want to get on that guy’s bad side. He’d have to tread lightly if it came to tracking down a suspect at the B&B.

  At that thought, a woman stepped into view at the end of the street. Thin. Young. Beautiful. A dose of heat stirred low in his belly; hopefully she wasn’t the culprit.

  There was no indication of flyers at first glance. She held a small white sack in one hand, food from the diner, most likely. With the other, she clutched the handle of an oversized purse. Large enough to fit flyers, staplers, and whatever else she’d need to do the job.

  They walked toward each other as the mystery built. While the woman greeted the occasional passerby, Trent noted identical flyers posted on the doors of the salon, the hardware shop, and the bakery.

  The woman had stopped at the produce stand, where she squeezed a fresh lemon in one hand. She sniffed it before inspecting it further. Trent slowed, tucked himself behind a pillar at the bakery, and watched. The bright color of the lemon toyed with the hazel in her eyes, accenting them with a golden tint. Her dark lashes, flushed cheeks, and light brown hair created a stunning sight. One that nudged at the heat in his belly once more.

  She had a nice country appeal. Not a lot of makeup to speak of. Denim jeans, a simple T-shirt, and a pair of cowgirl boots.

  At that moment, her gaze veered directly to him. Trent’s eyes widened. He sucked in a breath and pulled himself behind the pillar, but not before catching the slightest hint of a grin on her face. Whoa. Never had he known the kind of punch a Mona Lisa smile could deliver. Between the mystery in her eyes and the slight lift at the corner of her mouth, she’d managed to jack his heart rate faster than a high-speed chase.

  He groaned inwardly. Trent had transferred to the county for a reason. Wasn’t this place supposed to be filled with a bunch of growing families and elderly folks? Not … not beautiful young women in their twenties who weren’t wearing wedding rings, not that he’d noticed.

  He held his breath as a conversation started near the produce stand. Something about a lemon bar recipe. He had to get out of here, and quick. Talk about a bad first impression; he’d been caught gawking at the woman while in uniform. The bakery door opened behind him, offering the perfect escape.

  He ducked into the place and quickly got in line behind a couple of older gentlemen who were ordering about everything on the menu. The scent in the shop was heaven. Smelled just like when Mom baked her irresistible sweet rolls or fresh apple pie. He tilted his head to see the selection better. The glazed looked good, until rows of frosted doughnuts caught his eye. Beside those were the stuffed ones; he never cared for those much, but the maple bars on the other hand … May as well pick up one or two while he was here.

  “So do your wives really tell you to order this much, or do you boys stash a few someplace?” the gray-haired lady behind the counter asked.

  The older gentlemen chuckled. “That’s for us to know and for you not to find out.”

  The woman joined them in a round of laughter. “Did you hear about Sheila? Had to get a double mastectomy.”

  “Yeah, that’s too bad,” the tall one said.

  “I’ll say. I was wondering when Jessie would do a fundraiser for her. Hope they get enough to pay her bills.”

  Trent’s eyes grew large as he noticed one of the flyers taped right onto the display case, something one of the men had been blocking a moment ago. He glanced at the messy stack in his hands, folded the papers longways, and tucked them inside the bulky utility belt at his back. “Is, uh, Jessie the one posting the flyers all over town?” he asked.

  The men looked at him over their shoulders. One thin and tall, the other short and stout. “The one and only,” the stout one said. “That woman’s a saint. Any time there’s a cause, she’s there. In the movies, people call Wonder Woman for help. Here in Cobble Creek, we call Jessie Jean.”

  “You the one taking Sheriff Lakes’s place?” the tall guy asked.

  “Yep. Trent Lockheart, sir.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sheriff. I’m Don.”

  “And I’m Chuck,” the short one said.

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  The woman behind the counter straightened up and adjusted a clean white apron over her pink, plaid shirt. She finished loading a shallow box with pastries, then placed it next to the cash register.

  “Oh, that’s Jessie right there,” the cashier said, pointing a gloved finger toward the window.

  Trent turned to look, instinctively knowing whom he’d see. What he hadn’t planned to see was what she was up to.

  Jaw gritted tight, an open stapler in her hand, the woman jabbed four new staples into the utility pole outside the window, securing a brand new flyer in place. She glared up the street with narrowed eyes, a challenge presented there. While her expression mere moments ago offered an endless mystery, this one was unmistakable.

  “What can I get for you, Sheriff?” the woman behind the counter asked.

  The men, who’d already paid, gave him a wave as they headed toward the door. “Get the croissants,” Chuck suggested. “You won’t be sorry.”

  Trent was caught in a dilemma he hadn’t encountered before. Never had he felt such a … an aversion to doing what he should. And in this case, he needed to stop this woman in the act.

  Jessie, as they’d called her, hunched down beside the pole, gathered a few things at her feet, and moved on.

  “Sir?” the lady behind the counter prompted.

  “Just one moment, please. I’ll, uh, be right back.” He was the sheriff, after all, and it was important to set the tone. There was no going easy when it came to the law.

  Trent sighed in relief when he saw the men h
eaded in the opposite direction; no need to make more enemies than necessary. And what was this? Jessie, as they’d called her, was in fact setting yet another flyer on the next pole down. Did she plan to replace every announcement he’d removed? She had a lot of nerve, this one. Time to set this lady straight.

  Chapter 3

  Of all the nerve! Who in their right mind would remove flyers for a fundraiser to help a single mother battling cancer? If Jessie came across this guy, she’d let him have it. No doubt it was a guy; no woman had the heart to do such a thing.

  She took her frustration out on the stapler, pounding three staples into each corner of the page. “There,” she hissed. “Take this one down. I dare ya.”

  The deep sound of a man clearing his throat sounded behind her. “Who are you talking to, miss?”

  She spun around, surprised to see an unfamiliar officer standing there. Wait, maybe he was familiar after all. Those sunglasses looked a whole lot like the ones she’d caught sight of a moment ago. She hadn’t noticed the uniform, as distracted as she’d been. In those tinted glasses, with that thick, dark hair and chiseled features, he looked more like a Hollywood heartthrob than a …

  The thought was lost as a shock of lime green caught her eye. Why were those papers in his hand? A gasp tore from her throat. “Are you the one ripping these down?”