Once a Rancher by Linda Lael Miller

the smart thing and walk out of here while you can?”
    It was a shame, really. Reinhart was tall, young, nice-looking, personable, and he was right, the patrons liked his facile charm. But she’d met criminals like him before, and although the previous manager—who’d since retired—had hired him, Grace became suspicious. As a result she did a thorough background check and had to conclude that he’d faked his references. This wasn’t his first rodeo. The long string of jobs he’d abruptly left triggered her curiosity. She also discovered that he’d been expelled from college, which didn’t prove he’d steal, but wasn’t exactly a character endorsement, either.
    â€œThe tough cop.” His eyes held a certain glint she didn’t like but had seen countless times. It said she was too feminine, too soft, to defend herself.
    If that was what he thought, he was dead wrong.
    For a long moment, they glared at each other.
    And then someone knocked on the door.
    Reinhart lifted his hand from the desk with an unpleasant smile. “I guess I was leaving, anyway.”
    When he wrenched the door open, Slater Carson was standing on the other side.
    Slater watched as the young man rudely brushed past him. When he turned back to Grace, he asked, “Is this a bad time?”
    Grace shook her head. “Pretty good timing, actually. Our business was concluded, but I have a feeling the interview wouldn’t have been over without a few more threats, and I was about to be called worse than a red-haired bitch.”
    Slater’s blue eyes suddenly took on a dangerous gleam. “Wish I’d been around for that. I’ll be right back.” He swung around.
    â€œCarson, stop!” Grace rose, touched but exasperated, and used her best cop voice. “In your tracks. I mean it. I used to be the person who was called to break up fights between big strong men, remember? It’s handled. Now, I assume you stopped by for a reason?” She waited, willing him to listen to her. “Ryder seems to have had a wonderful time at the game. Please tell me he behaved himself.”
    Slater stopped, turned around. Reluctantly.
    She wondered if he’d come by, intending to give her another restless night’s sleep. She’d had an unbelievably erotic dream the other night, and even though Slater was dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt that emphasized his wide shoulders, thanks to the dream, she had no difficulty imagining what the relentlessly sexy Mr. Carson looked like naked.
    Good. Too damn good.
    She really hoped she wasn’t blushing. With her fair complexion it was always noticeable.
    â€œRyder did fine. And I’m glad he had a good time. We all did.”
    So, Ryder hadn’t acted out; that was a relief, anyway.
    Just then the phone on her desk lit up—the front desk was calling. “Excuse me for a moment. I have to take this.” She indicated a chair. “Please, sit down.”
    Slater sat, but not in one of the comfortable plush chairs in front of her desk. Instead, he hitched himself onto the edge of the desk itself; the motion was smooth, and it brought him way too close. Grace handled the small problem conveyed over the phone (concerning a staff scheduling issue), and fought the urge to scoot her chair back to put some distance between them. She rolled the chair away an inch or so, hoping he wouldn’t notice how jumpy she was.
    He did. She knew that from the hint of amusement lifting the corner of his mouth. Slater was well aware that he affected her and just how he affected her. “How did you happen to land this job?” he asked.
    Great. A relatively normal, if somewhat blunt, question. One she could answer, unlike some he could have asked, such as, Why are you looking at me like that? As though — if there was a convenient horizontal surface—you might consider...
    â€œI majored in criminal justice, but I did a