Sandra Jones

“He slid his hand into his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He then opened it and held it before her. “I’ve been charged with capturing Velvet Grace.”

The poster had haunted her every move in town, pasted on the wall at the bank, the post office, Jupiter’s, wherever she’d went.

Her pulse kicked into a stampede seeing it in the new sheriff ’s hand. “W-what does this have to do with me?”

He refolded the paper and returned it to his clothing. “I figured you might be able to give me a few possible names to begin with. It’s rather extraordinary, a woman who shot a sheriff and fired at the deputy? She wouldn’t be any regular homesteader’s wife, I imagine.”

She played with a curl that had fallen to her shoulder and forced a laugh. “Do you think I know any women besides the ones who work for me? Really? You should ask me about the men of Fort McNamara, Sheriff. The only other females I see are the wives who come around here looking for their husbands.”

He laughed. “I guess you’re right.”

“You’re on your own. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.” She skirted around him, intending to open the door for him to leave, but he caught her elbow.

“Cora—”

His grip was loose, but he captivated her with the appeal in his gaze and the tender stroke of his thumb on her arm.

“What?” She fell under the spell of his azure gaze as his touch sent a ripple of pleasure deep within her.

“I really would like another night with you. One I can remember.”
― sandra jones