Cerise Deland
Is That a Gun in Your Pocket?

Is That a Gun in Your Pocket?

Cerise DeLand • April 26, 2012
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A Sheriff, A Hot Gal and his gun.

What’s a girl to do when she has the hots for the local sheriff—and he’s playing it cool? Mae Montaine knows the man has a gun in his pocket and he’s always happy to see her.
So why won’t he come over and see her sometime…for a date? A hug? A kiss? More?
West Farraday yearns for the All-American knock-out who lives next door, but Mae’s got problems and secrets. He’d love to help her out…of her problems. And her clothes. Then into his bed.
When timing seems right, West makes his move. He’s happier than a colt in clover.
Mae’s skeptical they can make it as a couple. After all, town gossip says the good sheriff is hard on the ladies.
But when three bad coyotes invade Mae’s life, West tries to prove to her that a man who’s hard in the sack can be easy to love.

Read an Excerpt

Something was burning.

August in Texas meant crispy grass, drought and wild fires—and West Farraday had no desire to see his house burn to the ground. Where was that smoke coming from?

He lifted his nose and tracked the smell of charcoal, then startled when he saw red flames rise over the top of his tall wooden fence.

A barbeque pit out of control? Not good!

“Aw, hell!” No need to think. He’d learned from previous incidents that his new neighbor was an East Coast gal with no clue how to survive in Texas. Hightailing it into his kitchen, he pulled open the pantry door and grabbed the fire extinguisher. He pivoted, broke into a run, charged through his gate and darted for the tiny house next door.

Mae Montaine. Mae from New Jersey. Mae of the flowing, dark-chocolate hair and aquamarine eyes. Mae of the creamy skin, the voluptuous breasts and curvy legs. The fillings in his molars melted every time she sashayed past him. Mae, that gorgeous klutz, had gotten herself in a pickle again. And he was her handy dandy neighbor, ready at the draw.

Jumping her waist-high chain-link fence, he instantly saw her problem. Not only was she staring at the leaping fire in her potbellied grill, but she jumped up and down, screeching, doing nothing to contain the blaze.

“Move!” he yelled at her as he thrust one arm out and pushed her behind him. Then he let loose with the foam, dousing the five-foot tall flames and cursing beneath his breath.

He spun to check where Mae’s niece was. There. He breathed more easily. In her playpen by the door stood little Emma, grinning her welcome to him.

“Oh, oh, that’s wonderful,” Mae cooed in the raspy contralto that ignited wild fires along his spine and had him stealing a glimpse of her loveliness. “That’s terrific. I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea. How did this happen? Who knew? Oh, you are so good to do this. How can I ever thank you?”

I know one way. “Don’t think about it,” he offered as he continued to spray the flames, keeping his gaze on the fire even if his mind sizzled with the glimpse he’d gotten of her skimpy top and shorts.

“I don’t know what I did wrong. I was so careful.” She fretted and fumed, her firm breasts brushing his arm as she leaned forward to peer at his efforts. “I’m so grateful you even noticed.”

He snorted. How could I not? “I was home. Outside working on my lawn. This could have been a real disaster.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a wee voice. “I thought I knew how to do this. Build a fire, that is. You must think I’m a mess.”

“Truly?” He threw her a smile and the one he got in return dissolved his urge to scold her. The most gorgeous mess I’ve ever seen. “A bit accident prone.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said beneath her breath. “I don’t know what I would do without you. I guess you’re used to saving people. Sheriffs do that, don’t they? You’ve saved me so many times now.”

“Four.”

“That many? Maybe so. There was the nail in my tire.”

“Your kitchen faucet blew its gasket,” he reminded her, recalling Mae Montaine appearing at his front door last Sunday morning in a white cotton sundress wet from nipples to knees. One look at her display and his legs had turned into feathers. He’d had to brace himself against his door jamb at the sight of her asking for help. Every one of her lush curves had been defined in mouth-watering detail beneath the sodden, transparent fabric. Including her round, puckered nipples.

“I’m grateful.” Her sensuous mouth tipped up in a grin. “Really.”

So was I. Better than an X-rated flick to see you in all your glory. “No worries, Mae. I was here. I was available.” I am now certifiably hooked on your looks and your humility.

“I’m trying so hard,” she fussed at herself.

“Don’t. Just let yourself ease into country life,” he consoled her, complementing his words with a broad smile in her direction. But he froze. Her gaze had been plastered to his naked back. When his eyes sought hers, her lashes fluttered. Flustered? Interested? Maybe?

Do not go there. He ground his teeth. Then returned to his work. How one woman could have so many challenges beat him. How he could be her savior so often thrilled him. Getting close to her—within inches as he was now—made him hard. Made him drool. Made him rein in his fantasy of having her sighing beneath him and remind himself of how that was such a bad idea.

“And damn. All my wieners are burnt!”

Mine is too, lady.

“Plus, the neighbors will be so scared. Because of the drought, the brush fires have been so terrible.“

“Doubt anyone else saw.”

“I feel awful. They’ll think I’m an idiot.”

“No. No.” That’s what she had said the first time he’d saved her from disaster. When was that? A month ago? He’d been outside then, too, heard her yell in dismay and come barreling over the fence. She had stepped in a giant mound of red ants and they had feasted on her feet. Her elegant feet. Her slim, red-lacquered toes.

Shit. Are you playing with a full deck, Farraday?

“Think I should go apologize to them?”

“Who? The ants?”

“What? No, the neighbors.” She waved a hand in the direction of the other houses around theirs. Her beautiful breasts bobbed.

His brain sizzled like an egg in a frying pan. Ah, Farraday, you have lost your mind over this woman. “You don’t have to.”

“But I do. Oh, I do! They probably think I’m a nitwit screaming for help every other day.”

She didn’t calm down quickly after any of her disasters.

Just call me your fireman, your handy man, your only…. Enough. He bit his lower lip. Pain would bring him back to sanity. “Look, Mae. You are fine. No one else is running over. The fire is almost under control—“

“Thanks to you. What if you hadn’t been home?”

“But I was.” Good for me.

“And now I don’t have anything else for dinner.” She babbled on about this and that, while he did more damage control and stepped forward to peer into the grill and check for any smoldering embers.

Like he wasn’t one himself.

“Thank you, Sheriff.” She laid a hand on his and his skin melted.

What the hell is wrong with you, Farraday? This is just one woman with nice tits. And a great ass that would fit just fine into your two palms. Up against you, your cock nestled between her thighs.

Stop. This.

“West,” he corrected her as he worked on the pile of glowing coals. Get a grip, man. Like most city slickers, she’s oblivious to the world. Sadly, to you, too. Some folks are built like that, and you have to accept what you can’t change. Take another woman to bed and squelch your own fires.