Talk of the Town by Author Karen Hawkins

January 11th, 2012

The distant sound of a car approaching fast made Nick lift his radar gun and look down the road. A red-hot ’68 Mustang roared into view. Oh, yeah. That was a good one. He clicked the trigger and was rewarded with a rising squeal. Twelve miles over the limit.
He reached into his squad car and flipped on the lights, then waved the car over. The Mustang’s rear lights flashed on and the car whipped to the side of the road, spraying gravel. Nick caught a glimpse of the driver, a hot blonde wearing huge hater-blocker sunglasses that would look less out of place in L.A.
Well! That was a sight he hadn’t seen in his two-year tenure as town sheriff. And a good thing, too. If he knew anything, it was that women could be trouble, especially hot blondes who thumbed their perfect noses at the law. He’d seen the damage a woman could do if a man got too mixed up and lost his objectivity. He’d sworn to never succumb to such dangerous temptation.
He approached the car, noted the Raleigh plates, and counted at least two other occupants besides the driver. To keep his hands free, he tucked his ticket book into his back pocket and walked to the open window. The driver was turned away from him as she dug through her wallet, obviously looking for a license. His gaze dropped to the space between the woman and the door, instinctively looking for a weapon-old training from when he’d worked somewhere far busier and far more violent.
As he expected, he didn’t find anything of interest. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. That long expanse of smooth, tanned thigh and, at the curve of her hip, the hint of a tattoo peeking from the edge of her white shorts were very interesting.
His gaze lingered appreciatively.
Whoever she was, she definitely wouldn’t fit in with the grayhairs and shiny domes who sat around Micki & Maud’s Diner, complaining about the weather.
Nick bent down to the open window. “Ma’am, I’m going to need to see your driver’s license and registra–”
The woman looked up and flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head. In one blinding moment, Nick forgot everything he was going to say. Sitting before him was the reason he’d left the idyllic little town of Glory in the first place – Roxie Treymayne. “You changed your hair color!”
It was a stupid thing to say and her reaction was immediate.
Hot color flooded her cheeks, but her chin immediately notched up a level as if ready for a fight. “You think?” she asked in a cool, faintly sarcastic way he immediately recognized.
Nick flicked a glance to the creamy blonde hair lifting up into a ponytail, hair that had once been such a deep brown that it had bordered on black. He might not know that new hair, but he did know those wide, pale blue eyes, thick black lashes and pouty, kissable mouth, just as he knew that too-stubborn chin. At one time, he’d showered them all with kisses. “Roxie Treymayne.”
“Nick Sheppard.” Her gaze flicked over him before she met his gaze, humor lurking in her expression. “A cop. I never saw that coming.”
“Yeah, well, neither did I. Though my mother’s glad I’m in charge of the jail rather than residing in it.” Though he tried not to, his gaze drifted, noting the low-cut halter top and…the twinkle of a navel ring above the waistband of her short shorts.
Once a too-good-for-anyone brunette ice queen, Roxie Treymayne had returned to town as a hot, sexy blonde. A hot, tattooed, navel-pierced blonde, at that.
Hot damn.
Nick’s mind reeled. Growing up, he’d watched little Roxie Treymayne prance about Glory, so pure and perfect that it had almost hurt to see her. He’d watched her grow from a leggy sprite wearing a Peter Pan collar to a supremely confident homecoming queen with a large blue satin bow on her shoulder. Just breathing, Roxie had kept every male for miles around panting. Except him.
He hadn’t panted. He’d dreamed, desired, longed for…and had had the good sense to make a run for it before he’d made even more of a fool of himself.
Now, he met her icy blue gaze and realized just how much things had changed. At one time, she’d been the town’s hottest and most available virgin, while he’d been Senior Most Likely to be in Jail During the Reunion. Now he was a by-the-book cop, while she, by all appearances, had returned a sultry scofflaw, the exact sort of woman he avoided like the plague.
“Well, Officer?” Roxie’s voice traced across his skin like warm fingers: “Am I getting a ticket?”