скачать книгу бесплатно
Falling for the Lawman
Ruth Logan Herne
Piper McKinney’s got her hands full. Busy saving her farm from developers, and her family from trouble, she has no time for love.Not even for the handsome state trooper who becomes her new neighbor. But Zach Harrison can't ignore the girl next door. Even though he gave up the farming life years ago, Piper intrigues him, and her plight calls out to the protector in him. Piper may not want a man, especially one with a badge, but Zach will show her that he's here to serve and protect…and love.
The Lawman Next Door
Piper McKinney’s got her hands full. Busy saving her farm from developers, and her family from trouble, she has no time for love. Not even for the handsome state trooper who becomes her new neighbor. But Zach Harrison can’t ignore the girl next door. Even though he gave up the farming life years ago, Piper intrigues him, and her plight calls out to the protector in him. Piper may not want a man, especially one with a badge, but Zach will show her that he’s here to serve and protect...and love.
Kirkwood Lake: A town full of heart and hope.
“We’re neighbors and that’s all we’ll ever be.”
“You’re sure about that?” His touch was so gentle, so pure that Piper’s heart wanted to melt on the spot. His gaze lingered on her short nails, the calluses on her fingers. He didn’t bring her hand to his mouth for a kiss, but his expression was a kiss, a look of warmth and understanding.
“Zach, I don’t flirt well.”
He laughed. “Yes, you do.”
“Okay, maybe I do. But I can’t. Shouldn’t. Won’t.”
“Me, either. Maybe sometime we should sit down and list our reasons for why we won’t work, Piper, because even though I live next door and I’ve only known you a few days, when I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you.”
“Well, stop.”
“I’ve tried. It doesn’t appear to be working.”
“Try harder.”
He grinned at her. “What if I don’t want to?”
RUTH LOGAN HERNE
Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, freshly baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and for the dirt…
Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at http://ruthloganherne.com (http://ruthloganherne.com).
Falling for the Lawman
Ruth Logan Herne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Philistines gathered at Lehi and attacked the Israelites in a field full of lentils. The Israelite army fled, but Shammah held his ground in the middle of the field and beat back the Philistines. So the Lord brought about a great victory.
—2 Samuel 23:11–12
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Kim Zarpentine of Zarpentine Farms and Robyn Sweeney of Sweeney Farms for their wonderful example of “Piper” in reality. You women bless me with your faith, industry and knowledge. May God bless you both! Huge thanks to New York State Trooper Christopher Lana, whose candid
help made Zach Harrison come to life.
To Anne Lana, a dear friend and sister-in-Christ. You bless so many with your gentle presence. To Mary and Ivan Connealy for answering my nonstop farming questions. Ivan, Nebraska truly does have the best beef! To Beth for all your help on keeping manuscripts tight. Thank you for blessing me with your time and effort! Huge thanks to Melissa Endlich, my editor, boss and buddy at Love Inspired Books. Her constant encouragement and belief are true gifts. And to the town of Parma, whose support of
“Blackie the Rooster” changed local laws allowing farm animals to live in peace. Although Blackie
is no longer with us, “Phoenix” and “Starlight”
carry on his morning tradition.
To Katie, my beautiful granddaughter… May God bless you and keep you all of your days, Katie-girl! Grammy and Grandpa love you!
Contents
Chapter One (#u429a5500-c2ad-556e-8c94-1838345be55d)
Chapter Two (#uc83d1a8d-d0f5-59a3-ad54-8d2536951bf0)
Chapter Three (#uffac16a5-0154-5677-bc41-5303ba7a76af)
Chapter Four (#u8aee92d8-af0c-5a80-9fd1-c5a975436db7)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heavens.”
Raised in the pews of a sweet country church, New York State Trooper Zach Harrison embraced the poetic lines of Ecclesiastes one hundred percent.
But it couldn’t and shouldn’t apply to constantly crowing roosters.
He refused to look at the dashboard temperature readout as he climbed out of his car. The trickle of sweat along his neck proved the meteorologists correct. Low nineties by noon, even here in the hills of Western New York.
He shut the driver’s door and ignored the initial blast of mid-July heat. The best thing about working nights to help cover summer vacations was the cooler temperatures. The worst? Trying to sleep in the middle of the day in a new house, with his father pacing in the next room, the sun beating on the roof, no central air and the neighbor’s rooster crowing on the quarter hour.
He couldn’t change anything too major about the house. Not yet, anyway. The down payment, closing costs and lumber to replace the rotting backyard deck put a serious dent in his savings.
Three weeks ago his summer had stretched before him, filled with work on the force and his new home. One phone call had changed all that.
“Are you a real policeman?”
Zach turned, surprised, and a small part of his heart went soft in the space of a beat.
Two identical girls peered up at him from behind an aged catalpa tree. The twins were petite perfection, mirror images of each other. Pink and purple pigtail ribbons danced in the July wind, a breeze that did nothing to soften the hot, humid conditions. “Yes.” He stooped low, knowing his size could intimidate, captivated by this unexpected pair of miniature greeters at the nearby farm. “I’m Trooper Zach.”
“I’m Dorrie.” The first girl beamed him a smile, open and broad, tiny white teeth a contrast to her latte skin beneath the purple pigtail ties. “And this is my sister, Sonya. We’re five.”
“Nice to meet you.” Zach put out his hand and fought a wince as a rooster crowed again, the loud reason behind his late-morning call on his new neighbor. New chicken dishes filled his brain. Maybe something deep-fried for the bird that aggravated his father and interrupted Zach’s midday attempts to sleep.
“Are you getting ice cream?” Dorrie wondered. She pointed to the line at the window of a converted barn. “Aunt Piper has the best ice cream anywhere.”
“Grandma helps,” interjected Sonya, obviously determined to give credit where due. She looked like her more assertive sister, but one finger twirled the pink ribbon tied around her left pigtail, the anxious action speaking louder than words.
“But not Uncle Chas,” Dorrie added, determined to keep the record straight. “He hates this place. So does our mom. Uncle Colin, too.”
“Doralia! Sonya! Where are you?”
Zach straightened, remembering his task, and it wasn’t to fall in love with two kids who would cause their father plenty of worry once they turned into teenagers. “They’re here.”
A robust woman of similar coloring strode his way. She nodded thanks to him, then gave the girls an earful in a mix of English and Spanish with a hint of what might have been Native American thrown in for good measure. The girls dropped their chins, pretending penitence, but Zach knew they’d disappear again in an instant, given the chance.
That was the one thing he’d loved about being raised on a farm in Central New York. Freedom, once his work was done. Time to roam. Study nature. Hunt white-tailed deer come fall. Find birds of all sorts, tucked into nature’s God-given homes. But it was the only thing he’d liked. The endless hours of farm work, day after day, dawn to dusk, confronting the weather, market prices and wind-borne disease?
Not so much. He liked his steady law enforcement paycheck, a promised pension, clear expectations and visible rewards. Bad guys got put away. Good guys stayed safe. It was a tangible world with measurable results, which suited him.
The girls hustled into the country-themed barn. Zach followed. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in lighting, but when they did, he was surprised.
The other buildings showed wear and tear no doubt caused by lack of money or time. Probably both. The Southern Tier of Western New York had fallen on hard times over a generation ago. Businesses closed, factories shut down, employment dropped to all-time lows.
But this barn glistened. Bright white coolers were located to his right, their glass doors immaculate despite the throng of people and busy hands. Inside the coolers, glass bottles formed military-straight lines. He moved closer, intrigued. Intrigue gave way to surprise as he read the labels. Whole milk...2 percent milk...skimmed milk...eggnog...
Eggnog? In midsummer? Either these folks lived by a different calendar or they were way ahead of the game prepping for Christmas.
The rooster crowed again, the pitch and length of his practiced voice taunting Zach. Clearly the bird didn’t realize Zach packed heat in the form of a lightweight Glock.
The twins buzzed past him, back toward the door, dragging a small brown-and-white goat between them. The creature needed a haircut, which reminded Zach he could use one himself. But the sight of them bound for fun touched a wistfulness inside him. Their presence instilled a warmth he didn’t know existed five minutes ago.
“May I help you?”
He turned.
His heart melted. It was an absurd reaction because he’d met a lot of pretty girls in his life, but the one watching him now with more than a hint of question and a bite of sass in her gaze, could have been cast in a country music video. Her trim T-shirt read Yes, I’m the Farmer. How Can I Help You? A faded Kirkwood Lake Central School ball cap was pulled down properly on her forehead, while a long reddish-brown ponytail swung from the hat’s opening. Thin jeans, faded and worn, said she wasn’t afraid to work for a living, and farm boots gave testament to the shirt’s claim. A pair of work gloves poked haphazardly from her right hip pocket. Right-handed, then, most likely.
“Zach Harrison. I live...”
“Piper McKinney.” She stuck out her hand, then paused and withdrew it. “Oops, forgot. Cops don’t like to shake hands. My bad.”
She was right, but how did she know that? Some cops were fanatic about not shaking hands for various reasons. Zach wasn’t one of them. He’d been on the force for eleven years and he’d defused many situations with a simple handshake. In this case? Shaking this particular hand couldn’t be called a hardship.
He extended his hand. She waited two breaths, maybe three, then inhaled and touched her fingers to his. He gripped them gently, noting the work-worn surface of her skin.
“Piper?” A voice, ripe with question, interrupted the moment.
She withdrew her hand and turned. “Lucia. This is Trooper Harrison. He lives...?” She raised a brow again and made a face. “I have no idea where he lives because I never gave him the chance to say so. Sorry, Officer. This is my stepmother, Lucia McKinney.”
Zach nodded politely. A hint of distrust marked the older woman’s eyes. She swept his uniform a furtive glance, as if she’d had less-than-happy run-ins with police before. That would be something to think about later. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. McKinney.”
“Lucia is fine,” she told him. Her voice, a touch gruff, sounded work-worn. Zach understood that. Farms were life-draining occupations. He’d seen that firsthand, hence the pledge to work somewhere else. A pledge he’d kept from the day he graduated from the academy.
Lucia turned her attention toward Piper. She jutted her chin toward the back. “Chas is grumbling about the new pasteurizer.”
“Of course he is.” Piper offered a bright smile that stopped short of her eyes. The resignation in her gaze made Zach want to have a word or two with Chas.... Whoever he was.
Her expression called to the protector in him. And while this woman’s straight-on gaze said she needed little protection, something in her stature said otherwise.
Piper shifted her focus to Lucia. “Are the girls still in the back room or did they escape again?”
Zach waved toward the door. “That way. With a goat.”
“Ach, those girls!” Lucia flapped her apron in Zach’s general direction, as if it was his fault the two miscreants had performed another vanishing act. The college-age girl behind the counter took care of the next milk customer while Zach shifted his attention back to Piper.
Her expression defined the current chaos as normal. Zach wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, especially where kids were involved, but he remembered some early escapades from his youth on the family farm. And he’d survived.
“Are you here on a case?” Piper interrupted his musings.
“No.”
“Have we done something wrong? Maybe you need milk. Or eggs. Unless you’re waiting for Ada Sammler’s daily baking of bread? It should be arriving any minute.”
He had no idea who Ada Sammler was, and while fresh bread sounded great, he wasn’t about to store bread that would only go moldy in days because his busy schedule meant he wasn’t around often enough to eat it. Even with his father there. Dad wasn’t eating all that much. Another source of concern.
He simply wanted peace and quiet. The sooner the better. “It’s the rooster,” he said again. “Roosters,” he repeated, stressing the plural.
