Chapter 1
----
Every woman makes mistakes.
Susannah Quinn glared at the door to the Sheriff's private office. Yep, every woman makes mistakes, but most women didn't have to put up with a constant reminder of their not so brilliant actions. And most women didn't havetheirmistake showing up attheiroffice –flaunting tanned muscles and polluting the environment with clouds of testosterone and male arrogance.
Of course, mistake didn't quite describe what she'd done. No tiny lapse in judgment for old Susannah Quinn. When she decided to throw common sense out the window, she didn't mess around. Her fair skin flamed at the memory.
Temporary insanity was the only explanation for her behavior. If temporary insanity was a legal defense in criminal court, shouldn't she also be able to escape punishment for her lapse in judgment? Instead, she had her mistake aka D. E. Hogan show up, right on her doorstep. That was cruel and unusual punishment if she'd ever heard of any. That kind of redress might be banned by the U. S. Constitution, but, apparently, in the grand cosmic scheme of things, it was still being dished out. What was even worse was that Hogan turned out to be the new consultant for the Murphy's Cove Police Department down on the coast. To make matters worse, he just had to drop by the Sheriff's office every blasted day.
Susannah picked up her coffee cup, an oversized white mug emblazoned with red letters:Deputies do it in mirrored sunglasses!She drained the lukewarm black coffee. Muttering beneath her breath at the injustice of it all, she slammed the heavy ceramic mug down.
"What's wrong with you this morning?" asked Grace Collier.
"Nothing." Susannah didn't look over at the dispatcher for fear of encouraging her. She'd known Grace, her best friend's mom, all her life and loved the outspoken woman, but she wasn't interested in being on the receiving end of one of Grace's well-meaning lectures.
The ringing phone saved her. Grace punched a button. "Dispatch. This is Grace."
Susannah ignored the conversation, knowing it was Grace's friend Eunice who ran the Courthouse Cafe across the street. The woman called every morning so she and Grace could discuss yesterday's episode of their favorite soap opera. Soap news ranked at the top of the list of excitement here in Vance.
There was never any criminal activity in Alton County. Other than high school seniors climbing the spindly old water tower to spray paintClass of whateveron the rusty tank. Sometimes, a few years passed before a kid got an itch and a can of spray paint along with the desire to immortalize his graduation from the consolidated high school that served most of thesmall towns in the county. Nothing ever happened in this narrow slice of coastal prairie far west of Houston. That was the way her uncle Barney Drummond, the Sheriff of Alton County ever since Susannah could remember, liked it. Life here moved as fast as a crawling turtle.
Not much occurred even down in Murphy's Cove, the county's richest town. Besides, the resort town had its own overpaid police department to deal with the few year-round residents as well as the many rich divorcees who mobbed the coastal enclave for the rich and perpetually bored.
The only hotbed of activity was over on the four-lane highway that sliced through part of Alton County. That's where the real action was. Susannah sighed. If catching speeders could be considered action. Disgruntled at her lot in life, she tried to return her attention to the report she was typing. Unfortunately, that reminded her of her temporary insanity.
"Just Hogan," he'd said when her uncle the Sheriff had introduced him. Susannah had shaken his hand as if she'd never laid eyes on him before.
Until Hogan, she'd had only one secret in her life. It had caused her humiliation and anger. Now, she had something else to hide. Ironically, Hogan was the only person on earth who knew anything about her first painful secret. One thing about being hurt, humiliated, and angry. Those emotions sure helped squash the warm tinglies that assaulted certain parts of her anatomy every time Hogan walked through the door. If only those painful emotions had changed her body's instinctive reaction to him.
Another sigh escaped her. There was just something about Hogan. If she'd been a woman given to flights of fancy, she'd have called it love at first sight. But she didn't believe in love. Much less love at first sight. She knew enough about human sexuality to know love at first sight was nothing but pheromones. Calling it smell at first sight would be more accurate. It was just basic primitive sexual response.
Whatever you called it, Susannah would do anything to keep Hogan from learning how susceptible she was to him. Her delicate chin squared in resolve. She might not be able to run away now that he was in her county, but she could stand and fight. Or take cover behind cynicism and sarcasm. Whatever worked.

Chapter 2
----
"Hey, hon. Eunice wants to know if you want her to save you some peach pie?"
"No, thanks. I'm not in the mood for anything else sweet. I had one of Aunt Opal's cinnamon rolls this morning."
Grace hung up the phone. "Maybe some more sugar would change your sour mood."
Though Susannah protested that she wasn't in a sour mood, Grace waved her words aside. "You're grumbling and muttering beneath your breath with every word you type. And what's with all those long-suffering sighs?"
"It's not fair that I have to do Hogan's reports while he swaggers around this office every day. Why doesn't he stay down in Murphy's Cove at the police department where he belongs?"
"My advice to you, missy, is to just get over it. Life isn't always fair."
Susannah clamped her mouth shut. She, better than anyone, knew how unfair life was. She'd learned that at the age of seven. Just in case she ever thought about forgetting that little lesson, what had happened when she'd turned sixteen would always remind her. Then there was last month. She just hadn't been able to leave it alone. What a fool she'd been.
Enough, damn it! Anger at the present was better than wallowing in the past. She shot a venomous look at the solid oak door separating the outer office from her uncle's inner sanctum. Every day Hogan visited her uncle. Susannah suspected he hung around just to irritate her. Just to look at her with his big blue eyes as if he were–.
"Damn!" Susannah struck the keys with so much force that her fingertips hurt. Thinking about him was always a mistake. Why wouldn't he stay away? "Double damn. I don't care if Hogan and Uncle Barney are best buds. Just let that man ask me to type one more report. Or. . . or . . . anything, and I will not be responsible for my actions."
Her fingers flew across the keys as she typed. The archaic word processing program, set to make an audible electronic beep when a word was misspelled, beeped like the back-up horn on a garbage truck. "That man isn't even connected to the Alton County Sheriff's Department. Unless you count his schmoozing with Uncle Barney."
Grace laughed at her as if she were a stand-up comic. With a careless wave, the woman dismissed Susannah's complaints and turned her attention to the romance novel that lay ever present on the dispatch desk.
Susannah picked up a crumpled paper napkin covered with blue ink squiggles. "Would you just look at this? It looks like a Rorschach test, not notes to be transcribed. I should've refused the first time Uncle Barney asked me to lend a hand. I'd like to lend Hogan a hand. Right across his smug face."
"Then why didn't you just say no?" Grace chuckled. "It's not like anybody twisted your arm and forced you to type Hogan's reports."
Grace was right, but Susannah's intuition had told her it might be wise to pick her battles with Hogan. "I was just trying to please my uncle."Her first day as a deputy for her uncle had been a disaster. She looked up and caught Grace's hard stare. "Okay, okay. We both know I was trying to make amends for my littlefaux pas."
"Littlefaux pas? That's a good one."
Susannah gritted her teeth as Grace laughed loudly.
"Hon. You're gonna grind the enamel off your teeth if you keep gettin' upset like that, and what's Hank gonna say about that?"
Susannah exhaled loudly and leaned back, determined to cool off. "Thank you, Grace, for that pearl of wisdom. I'm sure your husband, talented dentist that he is, can just make me a set of veneers if that happens."
When Grace laughed even louder, a reluctant smile tugged at Susannah's mouth. Grace had always been like a second mother to her. The only thing more ample than the woman's bountiful curves was her quirky sense of humor.
"Hon, just smile when Hogan comes in. Don't stiffen up like somebody put you in a body cast. And quit being as touchy as a wet cat. Try to be more agreeable."
"Being agreeable is what got me stuck transforming Hogan's chicken scratch into a report. If this report's for the Mayor of Murphy's Cove, why can't Mr. Hotshot Consultant get someone in that police department to type it?"
"Maybe he likes the way you glow like a red warning light when he hands you his notes."
"It's the principle involved. I'm a deputy, not a secretary."
When Grace just chuckled, Susannah frowned. "Well, I am. Or I would be if I were given half a chance. Stop laughing. This isn't funny."
"You're too danged serious. Lighten up. Be nice to Hogan. After all, he was pretty gracious about that littlefaux pasas you call it."
"He was not! He was obnoxious and overbearing. I'll tell you what his initials stand for. D is for demanding. E is for egotistical. To top it all off, he got Uncle Barney to tear up the ticket."
"Tickets," Grace corrected. "One for parking. The other was for a cracked tail light on the Suburban he was driving. At least that's what you said."

Chapter 3
----
"Tickets then. And the tail light was cracked." Susannah hoped Grace attributed the crimson that stained her cheeks to anger. That day, meeting Hogan again, here in her town, had shaken her. After her uncle had introduced him, Hogan had possessed the nerve to ask her to lunch. Fear had flooded her. Fear that he thought they could have a fling. Fear that he didn't want a fling. Most of all, fear that she might not be able to keep her hands off him.
When she'd declined his offer, his eyes had mocked her. She'd pretended to be absorbed in the fax from the state police that she'd been reading.
In a voice so soft she'd thought perhaps she'd imagined it, he'd said, "Coward."
Alarmed that he'd nailed it so perfectly, she'd not dared to look up. Moments later, the door had opened and closed. He'd left without challenging her further.
Later, returning from lunch, she'd seen a black Suburban pull up and double park behind the cars filling the diagonal slots in front of the Sheriff's office. She honestly hadn't realized it was Hogan driving until she'd walked over to ask the driver to park in the lot across from the courthouse.
His blue eyes had gleamed with amusement. And with something else. Something that made her breath catch. Suddenly, the heat of the July day intensified. She knew what Hogan was thinking. She could read it in his gaze as clearly as she could feel it in the pulse points of her body. And that really scared her. If only he hadn't looked at her that way. If the corner of his mouth hadn't lifted in that little smile.
All it had taken to send panic chasing after the shiver of sexual awareness was his softly spoken question. "Don't you think we have something to talk about, Susy?"
The timbre of his voice and the heat in his gaze were like flame to dry tinder. Terrified at her body's response to everything about him, Susannah had backed away. She shook her head. "Don't call me Susy." She knew her quavering voice must have matched her "deer in the headlights" expression.
"No heart to heart talk today? No problem. I'll be here a few weeks. We've got time."
Susannah had felt all the blood drain from her face. She'd felt hot and cold all in the same moment. She could find no words to counter what she viewed as a threat. To be honest, there was a traitorous part of her that wished she could leap into his arms. Into his bed. But that would be disastrous.
All she'd had to do was make a joke about that night. Pretend that she was sophisticated. Unfortunately, she'd lost the ability to put together a coherent sentence, much less a smart, hip response to defuse the situation. So she'd taken refuge from his searching gaze and husky voice by whipping out her ticket book from her khaki shirt pocket. Gruffly she'd explained he was illegally parked. She'd only intended to write a warning. But Hogan had flirted. He'd winked and softly said, "Are you sure you don't want to go someplace private and talk about this, Deputy? Maybe we can work something out?"
That had just increased her panic. In a flash she saw a future she dreaded. He'd finish his job at Murphy's Cove and shake the dust of this small town. If she yielded to her emotions, he'd leave her with nothing but regret. She'd ripped the ticket out and handed it to him. He'd laughed.
The sound was the match to her fuse. She seared him with a glance and walked around the Suburban, making a pretense of inspecting the lights on the rear of the Burb just to buy her panicked brain more time. In her most official voice, she said, "Your right rear tail light is cracked."
"Well, gee whiz, Officer," he said in a parody of a Texas drawl. "You sure as shootin' better write that up. Can't let a lawless desperado like me get away with anything."
His mocking voice spurred her on. Retribution was a bitch with a ticket book in hand. Ripping the second ticket from the book, she handed it to him with a flourish. "As you wish."
"You must not have been in uniform longer than a nano second, or you'd know you don't give tickets to other law enforcement personnel. It's not professional."
His jeering words burned her. She'd wanted to smack him with her ticket book.
Fortunately, her uncle had arrived just then. It hadn't taken the Sheriff long to get the picture. He'd tsk tsked a bit, taken the tickets from Hogan, and stuffed them in his pants pocket. She'd known her uncle would tear the tickets up. And he had.
Battle lines were drawn that day. When Hogan dropped by, he alternated between flirting outrageously and treating her like a child. She countered with whatever put-down fit the occasion. She was just counting the days until he packed up and went back to wherever he'd come from. Until then, her best defense was a good offense.
Still, it hurt that her best friend's mother seemed to side with Hogan. "Grace, you don't think it's right for Hogan to act as if he's above the law, do you?"

Chapter 4
----
"Oh, pish. You're too young to be such a stickler for rules. Just once I'd like to see you thumb your nose at responsibility."
Grace's outburst surprised Susannah. "You make me sound like a, well, like a stick in the mud. A pompous stick in the mud at that."
"Kids should be kids, but you skipped over that and went straight to adulthood. You're too serious to moralize like this."
Surprised, Susannah asked, "Do I really sound so self-righteous?"
"No, hon, no." Grace smiled and held her thumb and index finger close together. "Well, maybe just a teeny bit. You gotta quit judging people and how they should or shouldn't act. And quit assuming responsibility for other people. You've been doing that since you were seven. It's time to live your own life. Let others live theirs. Good golly. Have some fun. Stop being as unyielding as a clod of sun-baked mud."
Grace's assessment hurt. A lot. Susannah blinked to dispel the sudden moisture that threatened to turn into tears. "I was just saying that Hogan, as a hotshot consultant, should set an example for others."
"It's not as if he robbed a bank. All he did was double park."
"That's illegal. He was impeding traffic flow. He could have caused a traffic jam."
"Oh, come on. Not only is this the smallest dang county in Texas, it's also got the smallest towns. The closest thing to a traffic jam here in Vance was when Cici Rojas's pet sheep got loose and rammed the plate glass window at the bank."
Susannah smiled at the memory. She'd been fifteen when the massively overweight Ruffles had made his great escape.
"Now that assault sheep impeded traffic when everybody jumped out of their cars to try to catch him. Would you have written tickets for all of them or joined in the effort to catch Ruffles? I'm just saying that sometimes there might be mitigating circumstances to consider."
Resignation seeped through Susannah. "You should have been a preacher the way you keep at a person until she admits her sins. All right. Maybe he wasn't impeding traffic. I'll even admit, I should have let him off with a verbal warning."
"You've got a bad case of Rookie Cop. Ever hear about pride going before a fall?"
The phone rang again. Susannah decided it was better that Grace thought she was a gung ho rookie than to have her learn the truth. She listened to Grace's side of the conversation, hoping someone, somewhere, needed a deputy. But the call was from another of Grace's friends. No escape. The only thing more boring than this job was the small town she couldn't escape from either.And the only thing more boring than that was her personal life.
In college, she'd had friends. And dates. Though she'd never let any relationship slide into the perilous waters of romance. She sure didn't have to worry about that here. Eligible men were as scarce as unbroken sand dollars on a Gulf coast beach. Not that she cared, she silently affirmed. She'd decided long ago that all she wanted was a career. She'd be a good cop. If her uncle would give her a chance. She didn't want romance, but a social life would be nice.
Unfortunately, her high school friends had deserted Vance for the bright lights of Houston or San Antonio. She didn't blame them. She'd have done the same if it hadn't been for her mother. Luke Orland, her high school boyfriend, was now a cop down in Murphy's Cove, but they hadn't hooked up when she'd come home. To Luke, women were divided into two groups. Those good for sexy fun and games, and those he'd never get between the sheets. She still fell into the latter category.
Boring job. Boring town. Boring personal life. The triple threat was about to do her in.
Maybe it would be more bearable when Paula came home. Grace's daughter taught at Sam Houston State, the college they'd both attended. When the summer semester ended next week, she'd be home. That might save her sanity.
To Susannah's annoyance, after Grace finished the latest call, she picked up where she'd left off. "You've always been a rule follower, but in law enforcement, professional courtesy is as important as protecting and serving. You don't write the Mayor's pal a ticket. Especially when the Mayor runs the richest town in the county. And you sure don't ticket a cruiser from another police department." Then Grace spoiled the whole effect of her professional courtesy lecture by giggling like a school girl. "There's easier ways to get a stud muffin like Hogan to notice you."
Horrified, Susannah stared at Grace. Surely the woman couldn't know. "I did not write him a ticket so he'd notice me. Even if the governor declares D. E. Hogan heaven's gift to womankind, I wouldn't be interested. He's not even what I'd call handsome."
"Well, Susy Q," a male voice drawled. "I'm mortally wounded. Are you sure you don't find me appealing?"

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Chapter 5
----
Susannah's head snapped around hard enough to give her whiplash. Fortunately, Grace's giggle camouflaged the groan of dismay she couldn't suppress. Heat rushed to her face. How had the dratted man opened the door to the Sheriff's inner sanctum without even a squeak of the old hinges? Susannah swallowed hard. She refused to act as embarrassed as she felt.
As usual, weirdness accompanied D. E. Hogan into a room. That had to be the explanation since all the oxygen seemed to dissipate leaving her breathless. Her pulse beat harder, faster. Her senses heightened. She caught the scent of coconut that made her think of suntan oil on naked skin, heated by the summer sun.
"Grace and I were just, uh, just discussing. . . ." Her voice trailed off into nothingness. When he was near, her brain went into meltdown. It always took a few seconds for her to muster up an attitude. The kind of attitude designed to keep him at arm's length. Cool as can be, she lied, "Actually, I was just transcribing your notes."
The impediment to her peace of mind leaned against the doorframe. All six feet plus of tanned majesty. He could be the poster boy for tall, dark, and too yummy for her peace of mind. But she'd step barefoot on a jellyfish before she let anyone, especially him, realize how she felt.
As usual, he wore ragged cut-off jeans, a white tank, and a Hawaiian shirt. Today a red one adorned with palm trees. Running shoes that looked as if they'd seen their fair share of miles completed his ensemble. He might not know fashion, but he sure knew how to strike a pose.
"Transcribing my notes? Sounds like you were trashing me. I'm wounded." He faked a pout. Then he smiled in a way that made her insides feel as if they were in a blender.
"Wounded? I'd like to wound you." She muttered. Hoping the chill in her voice countered the heat in her face, she asked, "Don't you have somewhere to go?"
"Nope."
"Don't you have something better to do than stare?"
"Nope."
Susannah glared at him. "Well, look in another direction."
Hogan met her blistering gaze and wished looking in a different direction was all it took to get the woman out of his head. The truth was that he'd thought of little besides the prickly deputy since he'd met her. Even though he knew she was off limits, he still spent way too much time thinking about her. About kissing her. Stroking her. Getting her into his bed. Like that was going to happen.
She wouldn't even acknowledge his existence outside this office. He'd called her at home. She'd hung up as soon as she'd heard his voice. After that, he got the answering machine until he'd given up. He'd tried to talk with her on the street. With cold amusement gleaming from her green eyes, she'd whipped out her ticket book and pen.
She made him feel like a bumbling high school idiot. He'd been a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation for a decade and had handled every kind of crisis, but he couldn't handle his attraction to Susannah Quinn. Nor could he figure out what to do about the ridiculous situation he found himself in.
Hell. He was an idiot. And it was his own damn fault. He never should have approached her that night when he'd known who she was. But the tears sparkling in her eyes had made him ignore common sense. As a result, he found himself playacting in a farce that, unlike a movie, had no possibility of a good ending. All because of his family. First Vonnie. Then his uncle.
Damn that photograph. No matter how he'd tried, he couldn't get Walter to give up his grand plan. Walter Bofco was his favorite uncle. Most of the time. At the moment, the man was a major irritant. He'd left Hogan with only one course of action. Make Susannah detest him so much that she wouldn't agree to play a part in Walter's scheme. He justhadn't realized making himselfpersona non gratawith her would bother him so much.
"Why don't you go get another of Aunt Opal's cinnamon rolls while I finish your report?" Susannah asked in a low voice.
"Why?" Hogan lowered his voice. "Am I bothering you? Making you think about me instead of the job?"
"Actually, I don't think about you at all." Susannah's eyes stayed on the keyboard.
"Really?" Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same. Why wouldn't she at least talk to him?
"I have more important things to do." Susannah started typing again.
Hogan knew he should go. But he was tired of getting stonewalled. "Hey." When she looked up, his eyes locked with her cool green gaze. "You're a liar."
His challenging words incensed Susannah. She didn't care if he was right. Her temper soared. Her fingers stilled. "Don't call me a liar."
The phone rang, shattering the tension. Susannah jerked her gaze from his blue eyes. She barely heard Grace's voice as the dispatcher answered the call. Why wouldn't Hogan leave her alone? She couldn't fall for him. She wouldn't. Or had that train already left the station?

Chapter 6
----
"Don't call you a liar? Liar, liar. Pants on fire. What are you going to do about it?"
Though her poor heart hammered, with anger, she tried to tell herself, she couldn't think of a blessed thing to do about the situation. She told herself that his voice, pitched just loud enough to make a woman's pulse throb, was too practiced. Maybe it worked on other women, like the rich divorcees in the Cove, but it had no effect on her.
She'd lost her rose-colored glasses at the age of seven. Everyone in town knew that. He needed to learn it too. She refused to allow his low-voiced purr sweep away her hard-won disdain. If her pulse did throb, she reassured herself, it was from anger with the man who knew just what to say to rile her.
Hogan settled a hip on the edge of her desk. Softly, he asked, "Do I haunt your thoughts as much as you haunt mine?"
In a voice, carefully dripping with boredom, she drawled, "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but not every woman in the county is obsessed with your rather unexceptional charm."
"You're a hard woman, Susannah Quinn." He grinned. "That's okay. We're evenly matched because I'm a hard man."
She snorted. "I wouldn't touch that line with a ten foot–." Her mouth snapped shut. Color blazed in her cheeks. When Hogan leaned toward her, she snapped, "Haven't you heard of the concept of personal space?"
Lazily, he stood. "It'll be interesting to see who wins this battle of wills."
"There is no battle." Susannah scowled. "Was there something else you wanted?"
"Something else I wanted? Hmmm." He swept her with a hot gaze.
When Grace giggled, Susannah snapped, "Clerically, that is."
Grace whooped with laughter. Susannah's face burned. Her eyes retreated to the monitor.
"Clerically, I wondered if you'd finished my report."
She stared at the words on the screen, refusing to look up. "It'll be ready by the time Mayor Bofco arrives if you'll quit bothering me."
As if his gaze had been a physical touch, as tangible a connection as flesh to flesh, she knew the instant his eyes left her. She heard a soft click when the door to her uncle's office closed behind him.
Relieved that he'd departed without further comment, Susannah exhaled loudly. She felt as if she'd run the hundred meter dash in full uniform. Boots, gun, cuffs, and all.
"Whew!" Grace fanned her face with her paperback book.
Why did Hogan always make her want to forget her rules concerning the obstinate sex?
"Glad I wasn't standing between you and Hogan. Talk about hot! A body could get singed by the electricity flowing between you two."
"Don't be ridiculous," Susannah protested. "The only thing between that man and me is animosity. Unless you count his enormous ego."
Grace giggled. "Yeah, I think he likes you too."
The corners of Susannah's mouth turned down. "And I think you've been reading too many romance novels."
"Yeah, yeah. You're not interested in him or any man. All you want's a career." Grace sighed dramatically. "You and Paula are two peas in a pod. A very lonely pod, I'm afraid."
At the mention of Grace's daughter, the desire to confess all to her best friend hit Susannah. If anyone knew how to handle Hogan, it was Paula. The girl had been born with man-handling skills encoded in her DNA.
"I just don't understand you girls nowadays. Instead of dating men, you want to be friends with them. Or in your case, enemies. Y'all need to get interested in romance."
"I'd say you're interested enough for both of us."
"Well, someone needs to lend a hand. Otherwise, you'll both end up as old maids still talking about achieving your life goals."
Susannah didn't bother asking what was wrong with being an old bachelorette.She knew Grace would tell her. Instead, she asked, "What's wrong with goals?"
"Nothing, but why do you have to plan every step of the way? Whatever happened to just enjoying what life may bring?"
"We discovered it brings nasty surprises." Susannah didn't care if she sounded as if she'd sucked on a lemon or two.
"You think by setting goals and writing five-year plans, you'll eliminate life's nasty surprises?" Grace hooted.
"Enough, Grace. I want to be a good cop, and I want to get ahead. What's wrong with that? I'll tell you. Nothing. I will be respected as a member of the law enforcement community. I worked hard to get my criminal justice degree, and I'm not going to let it go to waste."
"You can be taken seriously without being a stick in the mud. To use your own phrase. Lighten up. Life's too short. Have some fun with Hogan."
Susannah ignored her and resumed typing. Fun? Ha. There was little chance of that. That would be like having fun with a stick of dynamite. How dare Hogan turn his well-practiced charm on her, and in front of Grace too. Men like Hogan dispensed charm as easily as false promises.
Her flying fingers hit a wrong key for every right one. The computer beeped endlessly as it signaled misspellings. Susannah grumbled and backspaced to correct the typos.

Chapter 7
----
There was only one answer. She had to make Hogan stay away. She had to quit typing his reports. Since Uncle Barney had volunteered her services, she couldn't tell Hogan to take a hike. She had to make him want her to quit.Her fingers froze over the keys. The error beeps stopped.
"You know. I think you're right." Slowly she began to type, deliberately making mistakes. The machine started its crazy beeping again. "I think I do need to have some fun with Mr. D. E. Hogan."Grinning, she inserted a few asterisks in the next word and chuckled. "You know, Grace? I've seen the light. I feel better already. Let's see how Hogan likesthisreport."
Susannah started to hum the Kelly Clarkson song, "Miss Independent." She smiled smugly. "After today, I bet Hogan won't even ask me to type a grocery list."
Her mood lifted at the prospect. Before the unsettling man had dropped in, everything had been going her way. After last night's storm, the first of August had dawned with cooler temperatures and lower humidity. For a Texas county bordering the Gulf, low humidity promised a good hair day which was a blessing for her because her naturally curly hair had developed a mind of its own since she'd chopped off the length when she'd returned from that disastrous Houston trip.
She planned to talk to her uncle again and demand he let her be a real deputy, not a secretary in a shapeless uniform. She wanted her share of patrols. She was tired of being stuck with all the paperwork. If that didn't work, well then, she'd cry and beg. Barney Drummond, her mother's much older brother, was a sucker for tears. Her macho uncle might be Alton County's oft-elected sheriff, but he was a total marshmallow when it came to a crying niece.
A woman had to use the weapons at her disposal, she reasoned. That was female empowerment whether people on the outside looking in saw it that way or not.
The phone rang again. Three calls in less than an hour. Susannah heard Grace say, "Raynelle, of course Red hascrab beigneton the menu tonight. It's Wednesday, isn't it?"
Susannah shook her head in disgust. Life was too predictable when you knew the entree offered each day of the week at Sunset Red's, the only restaurant in Vance open after dark.
Protect and serve? In this county, it seemed the Sheriff's department served up information rather than protection and law enforcement.
The desire to flee her hometown welled inside her. That wasn't going to happen. But she could at least be a real deputy and take pride in her job. Uncle Barney just had to let her start doing something other than be a glorified secretary, or she was going to go completely stark, raving crazy.
"I got one question for you, hon?"
Susannah hit the print button. "What's that?"
"You really don't think Hogan's cute?"
Susannah checked over her shoulder to make sure the man wasn't again lounging in the doorway. "Maybe he'd be passable if he didn't always look as if he needed a shave."
"Oh, honey." Grace batted her eyes comically. "Couldn't you just imagine his five o'clock shadow abrading the tender parts of your anatomy?"
"Now I know you need a reality check. Getting your tender parts scraped by beard stubble is not appealing." Not that Susannah knew from experience. Her few romantic adventures had been, well, less than adventurous. She was tempted to say sex was even more overrated than romance, but she imagined she'd only get another lecture from Alton County's version of a sex therapist. Instead, she asked, "Now what would Hank say if he heard you?"
"Oh, pish. Who cares what he'd say? Just because I've been married since the pioneers came over in covered wagons doesn't mean I don't appreciate a good-looking hunk like Hogan."
"Then you think it's all right for Hank to appreciate a good-looking woman too?" Susannah teased, thinking of Grace's equally round husband, the town's only dentist.
"Honey, as long as that woman is me, it's perfectly all right. And, let me tell you. He does appreciate me. Every pound and every curve."
Susannah blushed. She'd walked in on Grace and Hank Collier one day when she'd returned early from lunch. Hank's exploration of his wife's mouth hadn't been a search for cavities. And she didn't even want to recall where the dentist's hands had been located. To see her best friend's parents carrying on like that had given her pause.
"Take it from me, honey. You gotta let a man chase you until you decide to catch him. Then you grab him and hold on tight."
"I don't want any man chasing me, and I certainly don't want him getting a choke hold on me. I'm like Mom. I'm perfectly happy going through life alone."
"Puh-lease. You know even less about Rory than about yourself."
"What are you saying? Mom doesn't want a man in her life."
When Grace made a rude sound in reply, Susannah protested, "She's content in her own little world. She really is."
"There's a difference in content and happy."

Chapter 8
----
Susannah frowned. "I meant happy. She's happy. I'm happy. We're both happy, damn it! Quit trying to confuse the issue. Mom doesn't need male companionship to make her feel complete or to be happy. And neither do I."
Grace leveled a look that spoke volumes. Susannah didn't want to talk about that any more. "So you think it's okay for you to look and appreciate, but not okay for Hank? Isn't that a double standard?"
"Okay. I'll let you change the subject. For now. And, yep, I do believe in the double standard when it favors women. We need every advantage we can get in the battle of the sexes."
"Battle of the sexes? That's kind of archaic, isn't it?"
"Trust me, hon. Ain't no new millennium going to change the battle of the sexes."
Susannah collected the pages from the printer. Anticipation filled her as she stuffed them into a manila envelope. "Let me tell you something, Grace." She waved the envelope. "This is a preemptive strike against the enemy which I predict will bring a swift end to this war between the sexes."
"War? I said battle, not war."
"As far as I'm concerned, this is war. And it's a war I'm going to win."
"There you go. Turning into a stick and throwing yourself in the mud. You're getting more like your cousin Judy Anne Palmer with every day that passes."
"I'm not like that professional virgin."
"Professional virgin? That's a terrible thing to say. And don't try to change the subject this time. You don't know anything about men. A battle of the sexes is fun and games, not war."
"This little muddy stick disagrees with you. This is war. I'm not about to let Hogan get the best of me. Besides, winning is lots of fun. It's one of my favorite things."
She walked to the door separating her uncle's inner sanctum from the rest of the office. Hogan was still closeted with her uncle, but it wasn't as if he actually had business in there. He showed up at the same time every Wednesday morning since that first Wednesday when he'd happened to be here when Uncle Barney had brought in a container of cinnamon rolls.
Homemade cinnamon rolls, warm from the oven, and dripping with icing. Aunt Opal baked three dozen of the luscious creations every Wednesday morning for her book discussion group. She couldn't even blame Hogan. Legend had it that Uncle Barney had proposed within minutes of her serving him one of the sweet rolls, hot from the oven, with a big pat of butter melting on top.
If Walter Bofco, the Murphy's Cove Mayor, was on his way over, she knew the men would end up playing three-handed gin the rest of the day and filling up on coffee and cinnamon rolls. It was amazing that Hogan didn't have love handles sprouting beneath that tight tank top.
She rapped on her uncle's office door then entered without waiting. The office smelled like a coffee shop with the aromas of cinnamon and strong, rich coffee perfuming the air. Hogan stopped talking in mid-sentence. Both men looked at her. "Excuse me, Sheriff." She always made it a point to be proper when someone else was present.
"What is it, Sugar?" Barney Drummond asked.
Hogan snickered. Susannah signed in exasperation.
"I meant Deputy Quinn." An apologetic grin creased a face baked as brown as quarry tile by six decades in the Texas sun. "Sorry, you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and this old dog has known you since you were in diapers. I'll just never get the hang of thinking of you as Deputy Quinn no matter how much you scold me."
Susannah laughed. "Well, at least that's honest." Her uncle would never change. And that was okay. She adored the man just the way he was.
Hogan stretched. "Looks like Susy Q finished my report."
Her eyes followed his brawny, tanned arms. His shirt flapped open. He wasn't carrying, she noted. There was no room beneath the tight tank top for a shoulder holster. Her breath caught as she watched the white ribbed tank expand with the muscles in his chest. Curly dark hair peeked above the deep neckline.
"Finished?" His grin told her he'd caught her looking at his assets.
She ignored any possible double meaning and silently handed him the envelope.
I don't want him. I don't.
Susannah kept up the silent chant even as her pulse beat hard and heavy in a place she didn't even want to think about with him just inches away. It was impossible not to glance again. She'd felt the crinkle of his curling chest hair against her skin when he'd held her. She wet her lips. Her fingers tingled. She wasn't attracted. She was just practicing her observation skills.
"Thanks, Suze."
Susannah hated the assortment of nicknames he called her, but she beamed at him. "You are more than welcome." Anticipation hummed inside her. She knew she must look like a cat that had dined on canary. She walked away. Her hand was on the doorknob when Hogan stopped her.
"Just a minute, Susy Q."
Susy Q again. She scowled and turned. "Yes?"
He shook the pages. "You made quite a few typos in this."

Chapter 9
----
She smiled for real this time and opened her eyes wide in pretended innocence. "Really? Now that you mention it, I'm not really surprised."
"You're not?" Hogan sounded puzzled by her frankness.
"No. After all, I majored in Criminal Justice. Not typing. Maybe you should get someone more skilled than I to type your reports next time."
"Ah. I think I get the picture." His grin reappeared.
Irritated that he looked so cheerful, she snapped, "Good. I'm glad you do. Finally."
Again, when she started to open the door, he stopped her. "Just another minute, Susy Q."
She gritted her teeth. What kind of creative solution was needed to make him stop calling her that? She crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. "What?"
"I'm puzzled."
"I just bet you are," she muttered.
"This report is full of mistakes. Yet, the first ones you typed were perfect. Not a single error. Tell me, Susy Q. How do you explain that?"