LITMIR.BIZ

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of those things, but they didn’t account for the sense of urgency driving him to distraction tonight.

      Laughter, deep and rich and feminine, drew his gaze. The crowd parted, awarding him a clear view of the woman who was responsible for the rousing pull at his insides. It obliterated every coherent thought in his head, but it came as no surprise. It had been pulsing like a blip of radar ever since Lisa Markman had set foot in town a month ago.

      The woman had a flirty walk, an infectious grin and a wink that could stop a hundred-and-seventy-five-pound man in his tracks. Wyatt was normally the most patient man in the county, but his patience was wearing thin. He was getting mighty tired of sitting back while every bachelor in Jasper Gulch vied for her affections. Push had come to shove. It was time for Wyatt McCully to make his move.

      He stood and surveyed the room. Steadily making his way around the small groups of people blocking his path, he gave a brief nod now and then. But most of his attention was trained on the woman he intended to meet.

      Lisa’s back was to him, and although he had to admit he preferred a woman who was walking toward him, he couldn’t find fault with the way she looked from behind. There wasn’t another woman in town with hair as dark as hers. There wasn’t another woman in town who could make a simple pair of jeans and a red Western shirt look like something straight out of a man’s fantasies, either. It was probably just as well that the noise drowned out the rasp of his deeply drawn breath, but he doubted there was anything that could have chased away the anticipation lengthening his stride.

      “Look, Opal, it’s Wyatt McCully.”

      “Why, yes, Isabell, yes, it is.”

      Wyatt jerked to a stop, barely managing to keep from running headlong into the two gray-haired women who’d planted themselves directly in his path. With a grudging tip of his head, he said, “Evening, ladies.”

      “Why, isn’t he just the most polite young man, Opal?”

      “Yes, Isabell, I do believe he is. I was just saying as much to my Louetta a few minutes ago.”

      Wyatt shifted to the right and his attention strayed, his eyes automatically picking Lisa out of the crowd. Not that it was difficult With the blip of radar steadily working its way lower in his body, he could have found her in the dark.

      “Have you had a chance to talk to Louetta lately, Wyatt? She’s sitting at that table right over there.”

      He cast a perfunctory glance at Opal Graham’s daughter who waved shyly then proceeded to blush three shades of red. He hadn’t actually spoken to Louetta lately. Back in high school, the boys had voted her The Girl Most Likely Not To.

      “She’s a lovely girl, don’t you think?” Isabell asked.

      Louetta? Lovely? The girl was thirty-three years old. If she had any curves, they were hidden underneath high necklines and baggy clothes. Wyatt had no idea why Isabell was singing her praises to him, but when Lisa’s throaty laughter carried to his ears again, he didn’t stay long enough to find out. Ignoring Isabell’s affronted huff, he plowed his way to the front of the room.

      He was only six steps away when he noticed the coffee carafe in Lisa’s right hand, only two steps away when she finished filling his grandfather’s cup and gave him a gentle nudge. “Cletus McCully, you must have been a real lady-killer in your day.”

      “Who says my day is over?”

      “Why, Cletus, are you flirting with me?”

      “I see I ain’t losin’ my touch.”

      Laughing, Lisa eased away from the table. Wyatt might not have appreciated his grandfather’s flirting, but he’d have to be out of his mind not to enjoy the gentle brush of Lisa’s hip against his thigh. His hands automatically went to her waist, and for one brief moment her gaze swung to his. Her laughter drained away, leaving behind the most amazing half smile.

      Lisa Markman swallowed. Hard. She’d been in South Dakota a month, but this was the first time she’d gotten an up-close-and-personal look at Wyatt McCully’s lean face. The fact that she’d been keeping her distance hadn’t exactly been a coincidence. She’d noticed him watching her now and then, and she knew what his look did to her. She wasn’t a snob, but she wasn’t stupid, either. She’d come to this town that had advertised for women, because it seemed like the perfect place to start over, to find a man to love, someone like her—a little outspoken, a little beaten up by life. The local sheriff with his sterling badge and reputation to match simply wasn’t the man for her. It was too bad, too. She’d come across a lot of men in her day, but she hadn’t met many as appealing to her as the tall, lean, fair-haired Wyatt McCully.

      A primitive warning sounded in her ears, bringing her to her senses. She couldn’t have been more relieved when Bonnie Trumble, who owned the Clip & Curl down the street, signaled for more coffee at a table a few feet away. Lisa filled the empty cup and topped off another.

      “You’re very good at that.”

      She turned slowly. Facing Wyatt, she told herself he was referring to her coffee-pouring abilities. He hadn’t said or done anything to make her think he’d meant something else by his simple words of praise. In all fairness it wasn’t his fault her imagination had given his statement another meaning. It was his voice. No man should be allowed to own such a voice, let alone use it as if it was meant for her ears alone.

      Trying to put an end to the awareness arcing between them, she motioned to the crowd. “Although I’m only helping your sister tonight, I’ve done more waitressing than I care to think about. Believe me, I have the fallen arches to prove it.”

      If she could have called back her words, she would have. Maybe then his gaze wouldn’t have taken the slow route to her feet, resting on forbidden places along the way. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been so aware of the swooping pull on her insides. But she was aware, and when the light touched upon Wyatt’s white cowboy hat, she knew she had to put an end to it, here and now.

      She stepped to one side and made a show of glancing around. “I’d better get busy. That sister of yours cracks a mean whip.”

      His forward motion was sure and easy, and so was his smile. Both sent her thoughts into a tailspin.

      “You must know that Mel’s bark is worse than her bite. This party’s going to break up any minute. I just heard some of the boys talking about moving it over to the Crazy Horse. What do you say we duck out the back door and drive into Pierre for dinner?”

      “Dinner?”

      He smiled again, and danged if her gaze didn’t get stuck on his mouth. There was a long pause during which she fought for self-control. Her mind cleared gradually, and her determination returned. If there was one thing her life had given her, it was plenty of practice handling touchy situations. Giving him a wink she’d perfected years ago, she said, “Thanks, Sheriff, but I don’t think that would be a very good idea. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it looks as if Melody and Jillian want to talk to me about something.”

      Without another word, she ducked into the crowd, making a beeline for the front of the room. Wyatt clamped his mouth shut and watched her go.

      He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone until Cletus’s crotchety voice cut into his thoughts. “So, things didn’t quite come off without a hitch, eh, boy?”

      With Lisa’s reply sitting on his ego like a box of rocks, Wyatt shot his grandfather a penetrating look. “Whatever gives you that idea?”

      Cletus hooked his thumbs through his suspenders and slowly shook his head. “It could have something to do with the fact that you look like a stallion with a sore—”

      Wyatt heard Isabell’s and Opal’s dramatic gasps, so he wasn’t surprised when Cletus said, “Hoof,” instead of what he’d probably intended to say. “Well?” his grandfather asked, turning his back on the two eavesdroppers and lowering his voice. “Did you ask her?”

      “I asked her.”

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