She's The Sheriff

By Anne Marie Duquette

HOME ON THE RANCH

The Silver Dollar Ranch, near Tombstone, Arizona

Virgil Bodine. Oldest of the Bodine brothers. One–time sheriff of Tombstone and former bodyguard to the stars. He's come home from California, with his reluctant ten–year–old son in tow.

Desiree Hartlan is a big–city D.A. who talked herself out of a job and is looking for a new one.

The position of sheriff an elected position is open. Desiree decides to run. So does Virgil, figuring he'll win in a landslide.

Next thing he knows, he's calling her sheriff. And boss. And wife?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460866375

Anne Marie Duquette

Anne Marie, daughter of a native Colorado wilderness expert, granddaughter of a Rocky Mountain miner, wife of a man with Native American blood, and a silversmith who works with turquoise and jade, has always been in love with the great Southwest. Having shared the same home as the Anasazi, Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, the "unsinkable" Molly Brown, "Doc" Holliday, and Geronimo, Anne Marie feels preserving the Southwest's history is just as important as preserving the land and its wildlife. She started her writing career with her first sale to Harlequin in 1988, and is now a regular Superromance writer. A member of the local San Diego, California, chapter of Romance Writers of America and founding/past president and member of Florida's First Coast Romance Writers, Anne Marie also belongs to the Science Fiction Writers of America. Anne Marie is also a proud union member of the Writers Guild of America because of her sale of a Star Trek story to Paramount TV Studios. At home and hearth in Southern California, Anne Marie enjoys deep-sea boating and fishing with her retired U.S. Navy husband, being a Disneyland junkie with her high-school-student daughter and college-age son, and keeping her daughter's cat away from her four dogs - three of which have appeared in her books. (See her web site for a list of her novels that feature her pets!) Presently she continues work on her jewelry art degree, her science fiction, and screenplays. But Harlequin romance novels and her readership will always remain her first priority. She hopes you enjoy reading her stories as much as she loves writing them, and invites visitors to her web site at www.annemarieduq.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Early Fall...

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA’S infamous Santa Ana winds blew blistering hot and desert dry through L.A.’s smog, but the heat was the last thing on Virgil Earp Bodine’s mind. He concentrated on two things—guarding Chrissie Evans, a beautiful teenage starlet, and watching for her obsessive stalker. An adoring fan gone wrong....

Sweat rolled down his brow. He ignored it, for he was Arizona born and raised. Virgil remained motionless outside the mansion, a mansion his teenage employer had paid for in cash, thanks to her TV role as a high school harlot. It was a show he’d watched only once—a show that made even this seen-it-all bodyguard blush. He’d never waste his time on that program again, let alone permit his ten-year-old son, Travis, to see it.

Trash, he thought. Just like this poor misguided girl. Just like this city.

The stalker behind the bushes made enough noise to wake the proverbial dead. This fool’s as mixed-up as the girl is. Hope he’s not dangerous.

Virgil deliberately kept his grip easy and relaxed on the gun in his hand. He carried a dark, sleek 9 mm Luger Parabellum that matched his dark, sleek Armani suit. Virgil appreciated the small touches. So did his customers. In fact, they demanded subtlety, class, an urbane appearance, and considering the price tag that came with his services, Virgil delivered style as well as results. His fee was thought outrageously high, but was willingly paid, nonetheless. Hollywood was full of people who could afford the best.

Virgil Earp Bodine was the best.

The stalker finally emerged, his face concealed by a baseball cap and sunglasses. Virgil mentally gauged the enemy, the stalker himself now the stalked. His prey trampled noisily through the hibiscus, leaving torn blossoms on the Italian tiles surrounding the huge pool.

Virgil watched him head straight for the starlet’s bedroom window—the very room he’d equipped with a hidden autostart infrared security camera. The stalker’s face lit up with joy at his good luck when he tried the window and it opened.

Enjoy yourself while you can. I made things easy for me, not you.... Didn’t even arm her security system. No police around to foul things up. Virgil smiled, a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It’s just you and me, buddy. Just you and me.

Buddy had done more than stalk the starlet. He’d begged for dates, begged for the chance to show Chrissie how much he loved her. When refused, he’d vandalized her car, trashed her studio trailer and, finally, poisoned her beloved collection of exotic pet parrots. It was then that she’d hired Virgil.

Virgil remained as still as the surface of the pool in the afternoon’s dead, motionless air. He watched the stalker climb through the window, saw the gun exposed in his waistband before he disappeared. Virgil mentally nodded; he’d expected as much and had covered all his bases. He’d secured the bedroom door that led into the rest of the house with four-inch wood screws. The stalker would have to come out the same way he went in—once he finished attacking the girl’s possessions.

Fifteen minutes later, a sneaker-clad foot in a dirty sock poked its way out the window, followed by the rest of the trespasser. If his prey hadn’t been so close, Virgil would have made an audible snort of disgust. Instead, he used the remote control for the outside video camera to zoom in on the stalker’s armload of stolen goods—lacy red teddies, skimpy nighties, flimsy see-through bras and black panties...crotchless panties.

Virgil stared at the lingerie, trying to match its decadence to the sixteen-year-old girl who owned them. Merciful heavens, where were this child’s parents? Still in court fighting over her money? He wouldn’t let a daughter of his wear clothes like that at home—let alone on television. Not for all the money in the world.

He saw a silk teddy slide off the pile and flutter to the tiles. The baseball cap fell off the stalker’s head, revealing a boy who couldn’t be much older than the starlet.

Great—another mixed-up teen. Smile pretty for the camera, son. As the kid bent to retrieve hat and teddy, Virgil stepped forward into sight, the 9 mm in his hand following the boy’s heart as he straightened. Predator and prey exchanged glances.

Hands in the air.

The boy swallowed.

Now.

The boy refused. Under cover of the lingerie in one arm, he slowly started to reach beneath his baggy T-shirt.

Don’t do it, kid, Virgil warned. You’ll be dead before your head hits the ground. Be smart.

The kid hesitated, then dropped the lingerie and grabbed for the gun Virgil knew he carried. Virgil was prepared—until Chrissie ran screaming out of the bushes right into his line of fire.

Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!

The boy’s attention was diverted. The man’s was not. He pushed the girl aside, reaimed and shot straight at the boy’s shoulder, disarming and incapacitating at once. The whole sequence took mere seconds. Virgil immediately kicked the fallen gun into the pool as Chrissie grabbed for the bleeding boy. Virgil grabbed for her.

You promised to keep away from the house! he shouted.

I know, but the paparazzi found out about you! I was coming to tell you!

Confirming her words, a herd of paparazzi stampeded into view less than a minute later, eager for Virgil’s blow-by-blow description. They were disappointed, but there was enough ongoing drama to keep them happy.

You killed him! Chrissie wailed, cradling the boy’s head. Her skimpy cutoffs and see-through crop top garnered plenty of attention.

Great shot! the photographers cried, some focusing on her braless breasts, others on her stalker.

I love you, the wounded boy moaned.

Then you won’t sue me? she begged.

No, never, never... Why did you shoot me?

"I didn’t shoot you! He did! I just wanted to catch you, not kill you! She sobbed hysterically. I’m so sorry you’re hurt...."

The boy reached for her cheek with a bloody hand. "You didn’t want to hurt me?"

No! I just wanted to find out who was following me...scaring me! You killed all my birds! I loved those birds.

You don’t need them! You have me! I’m all you need. I just wanted to see you...touch you. The stalker moaned. God, I’m dying. Kiss me goodbye. Please?

Chrissie did. She glared at Virgil, real tears in her five-million-dollar-a-year eyes as the boy continued to bleed from the shoulder. How could you kill him? I only wanted you to stop him!

Virgil Bodine Earp stared at the sickness before him. It hovered in the air, as tangible as the city’s pollution. He stared at the two children before him, the ravenous paparazzi all around, and he couldn’t help thinking of his former life in Arizona.

He thought of his Hollywood-raised son left at home behind safely locked gates, the son of his marriage to the actress Tawnee—Tawnee with no last name, like Cher. His son had a tutor; he’d never attended a school, public or private, because Tawnee—formerly May Harrison—was always on location. Virgil was continually working so he could afford Travis’s nanny and expensive tutor...and pay for top-notch bodyguards, since Tawnee’s famous son had stalkers, too. In the meantime, he dragged Travis all over the world so the boy could visit his mother at various shooting locations, visits that occurred all too rarely. Travis was weary, Virgil even more so, yet still he continued to work.

For what? So his son could grow up in a town like this?

He thought of his brothers, Wyatt and Morgan, and their wives back in Arizona. They all knew the difference between real love and some sick obsession. He remembered the clean, dry desert air, the freedom of vast spaces. He pictured the family ranch, the Silver Dollar, where car doors were never locked, and even the youngest children were safe. He visualized his niece, lovingly tended by family instead of paid baby-sitters, schooled in town with other happy children like herself.

He—Virgil Earp Bodine—had given all that up so Travis could have a few lousy minutes with his mother. If her photographers didn’t get in his way.

May was a rarity, a truly talented woman who was honest and honorable. While she loved Virgil, she hadn’t wanted children at this stage—or any stage—in her career. She’d always been straightforward and open about that. But she’d become pregnant anyway, for him—a great sacrifice for a woman who didn’t want children, but an even greater one for an actress who played single-woman, action-adventure roles.

Virgil knew it was unfair to ask her to be a parent, let alone a full-time mate. He should never have married her thinking he could change her mind; he should have known better. Inevitably, they’d decided their marriage wouldn’t work. So May continued loving Travis and Virgil from afar as husband and wife filed for an amicable divorce. Virgil hadn’t found any of it easy, although he’d managed to adjust.

But life doesn’t have to be so confusing for my son.

Long before Virgil called the police, administered first aid, called the girl’s parents via their lawyer, pointed out the watery location of the boy’s weapon to the police and chased off the paparazzi...

Before he comforted Chrissie and gave her the phone number of the crackerjack counselor he’d used for Travis after the divorce...

Before he directed the ambulance in and contacted his own lawyer for eighteen-year-old Mitchell Gibson, then held the stalker’s hand while they lifted him onto the stretcher...

Before he did any of these things...

Virgil Earp Bodine had made up his mind.

I’m going home.

DESIREE HARTLAN DRUMMED her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel of her sedan. She was circling the Phoenix terminal of Arizona’s Sky Harbor Airport for the seventh time. The passengers she was picking up were late, and she wasn’t sure if she should park and inquire inside or circle again.

Yesterday had been her last night at her Phoenix home. Desiree was leaving the city behind to stay at the Silver Dollar Ranch, home of her sister, Caro Hartlan, and brother-in-law, Wyatt Earp Bodine. She’d stay with them for a few months, then—if things worked out in Tombstone—she’d find a place of her own.

Even though she was driving there, she’d ended up at the airport. That was because she’d received a call from Caro the night before.

I know you’re busy packing, sis, but I have a big favor to ask.

Sure. How can I help?

I need you to pick up Virgil and Travis. They’re flying in tomorrow.

Caro was pretty good about keeping Desiree informed of family doings. Had she missed something? Virgil, Wyatt’s oldest brother, rarely flew home. What’s the occasion?

A big one, it seems. Virgil called this morning and said he’s having his car and his things shipped home—he and Travis are back for good.

Desiree whistled. Wow. Talk about short notice—and on a Labor Day weekend, too.

That’s the problem, Ray. Caro used the family nickname—the pronunciation of the last syllable of Desiree. It had been coined by their father at her birth, when he called Desiree his little ray of sunshine. Caro went on. All the flights into Tucson are booked solid because of the holiday and some big golfing tournament, she explained. The rental cars, too. Virgil managed to get a flight into Phoenix, but he doesn’t want to buy bus tickets. Travis is sick.

Poor kid.

He could always hire a cab, I suppose, but that’s so expensive, and since you’re coming here, anyway... Do you think you could possibly swing by Sky Harbor and pick them up? I know this is last minute, but it would save us a trip.

A long trip, at that; Tucson was a two-hour drive from Tombstone, and Phoenix’s airport was another two-hour drive from Tucson.

No problem, Caro. Is Virgil going to call you back?

Yes.

Then tell him to meet me outside. I’ll time it so I won’t have to park.

Let me give you the flight info, then. But wouldn’t you rather meet them at the gate?

Of course I would, but I have Oscar with me, remember? Oscar, her brown dachshund, was wellbehaved, but in the Arizona desert heat she could hardly leave him alone in the car. The daytime temperature outside was in the high nineties and above. Even with the windows partially rolled down, the car would be stifling, dangerous for a dog. And the only way the airport would admit Oscar was in his travel kennel, a bulky affair. Besides, I’d rather stay in the car in case I get followed.

Not that madman! Desiree, you call the police in the morning! Tell them you want an escort to the airport. Promise me!

Law and order was the family business, so to speak. Their mother was a judge, their father a high-ranking cop. Desiree had followed in his footsteps before becoming a lawyer, and older sister Caro held a doctorate in criminal forensics.

Caro tended to worry about her younger sister. Usually Desiree shrugged off her concern. Not this time.

Former police academy valedictorian and police officer, then a lawyer with the district attorney’s office, Desiree Hartlan had disgraced herself. Her present troubles had started off with the rape of a friend. Desiree had personally prosecuted Albert Jondell, the man who’d beaten and raped her next-door neighbor in her own bedroom. Desiree herself had discovered Linda Elby battered and near death from shock.

Arizona still considered itself an Old West state, where men respected and protected their women. The population had been appalled. Rapes were for big cities in California and New York, not Arizona. It looked bad for the accused, despite his denials, since the evidence, including shreds of his skin under Linda’s fingernails, would have sent him to prison for an extended term. Thanks to Mrs. Jondell’s expensive lawyer, however, and a legal loophole, the suspect was set free before the case ever came to court.

The press had a field day with this outrageous flouting of the justice system. Linda’s family and Desiree weren’t merely outraged, they were fighting mad. The Elbys’ reaction was nothing like Desiree’s. They were simply furious. Desiree vowed to take matters into her own hands, vowed to see that her battered friend received justice. Against police procedural rules, against her lawyer’s vow of confidentiality, Desiree did exactly that. She called a press conference and made certain that the media, especially the television stations, found out about the DNA tests. She even handed out copies of the medical reports instead of citing an anonymous.leak. The story hit the papers with a huge splash, causing dreadful repercussions for all parties concerned.

Linda and Desiree found themselves the target of every cheap tabloid around, all offering them money for an exclusive.

Desiree told the tabloids she’d made her statement to the respectable press and had no further comment. Linda, traumatized by the attack and overstressed by reporters and photographers, buckled under the pressure. Her parents had flown in to take her back east for a vacation from the tabloids and from her job, writing a syndicated column entitled Wisdom for Women. The three never made it to the airport. The morning of their planned departure, they found Linda in her hotel-room closet, huddled in a little ball, sucking her thumb. She was admitted to a treatment center in Sedona, which promised psychotherapy, privacy and no press, the latter guaranteed by armed security guards. Linda’s supposed disappearance provided even more fodder for the tabloids.

Mrs. Jondell vowed revenge for the loss of her family’s good name and filed a lawsuit against the D.A.’s office. The district attorney’s office immediately fired Desiree for conduct unbecoming a public official. The suspect’s wife then filed suit against Desiree personally. Desiree had expected her termination notice. In fact, she’d already cleared out her desk in advance. She fully accepted the price she’d known she would pay for her actions.

But there was more. Mrs. Jondell petitioned the Arizona State Bar Association to rescind Desiree’s license to practice law. Jondell lost his job, as well, since a company employing an accused rapist quickly lost business. Jondell’s lawyer had filed a temporary injunction, and he was allowed to return to work. However, the verbal antagonism of his co-workers escalated into physical violence. Management looked the other way. Jondell wisely took their advice of an unpaid leave of absence. After that, he concentrated on his legal fight against the D.A.’s office.

Even with Linda out of reach, the media still found plenty to report on the case, shifting their focus to the lawyer versus the suspect.

Desiree Hartlan, age thirty-five, became an overnight sensation, a surefire newspaper seller. Albert Jondell, the guilty-as-hell man who’d been set free, vowed dire consequences for the D.A.’s office. Desiree’s family took that to mean Desiree herself. Caro wasn’t the only one worried for her sister’s safety; Desiree was a bit nervous herself.

Now, don’t get all riled up, Caro. I’m an ex-cop, remember? Desiree had protested the night before. I don’t need to call the police to protect me from the press.

As long as it’s just the press and not that maniac.

Caro, he wouldn’t be that stupid. Reporters would. And I can handle them.

I hope they don’t follow you down here, her sister said, obviously not reassured.

Desiree sighed. You and me both. I’m sure Virgil and Travis don’t need cameras in their faces any more than I do. Especially if Travis is sick. I’d rather your daughter didn’t catch whatever he’s got.

Cat doesn’t stay long enough in one place for that. Desiree could almost see Caro’s smile over the phone. Don’t worry about her. Worry about yourself.

That’s why I intend to stay in the car.

Promise me you’ll be careful.

I will. I have the cell phone. I’ll keep circling and pick the guys up at the curb. Oh, and, Caro?

Yes?

Save me some dessert. Pie’s good. Cake is better. And I never turn my nose up at chocolate. Caro’s chuckle was Desiree’s reward.

You and your sweet tooth. Bye, Ray.

That had been late last night. Early this morning Desiree had left her apartment for good, with her luggage and dog in tow. She’d already stored her furniture and arranged for a moving van to take it to Tombstone as soon as she found an apartment or a small house in town. Everything had gone smoothly until now. Where were Virgil and his son? The dog panted and whined. Desiree’s hand reached over to the passenger seat to stroke the silky brown head.

Sorry, Oscar, but I can’t get you a drink here. And the air conditioner’s already on high. She squinted, searching the crowded curbside for any sign of Virgil or Travis—or men and women with cameras. The motor-driven still cameras with their huge lenses were easy to spot, but those miniature video cameras with the computerized zooms—the ones used by the television tabloid shows—were harder to see. She caught a glimpse of someone familiar and slowed her circling car.

Finally! Thank goodness Virgil looked like his brothers, over six feet, with blond-brown hair and steel blue eyes. He was easy to pick out of a crowd— and then some. His clothes were precision cut to fit his lean, well-proportioned body, and his rugged, chiseled face was the kind women noticed. The strap of a black leather carryall was slung over his broad shoulders, leaving his arms free to hold his sleeping son.

Desiree steered around a few cars, darted into an opening at the curb and beeped her horn. Virgil didn’t see her. She touched the electric window button, put her car in park and yelled his name.

Virgil! Over here!

He glanced up and nodded, then made his way through the crowds to her car. Desiree hopped out, opened the trunk and took the luggage from him, stealing a fond glance at the rarely seen child in his arms. Travis might be young, but he was no light burden. Like his father, the boy was tall. His athletic shoes were almost as large as Virgil’s Italian loafers.

Hello, Virgil. She gave him a quick, welcoming kiss on the cheek. Is everything okay? I was worried when you were late. Desiree finished stowing the luggage, then closed the trunk.

The flight was way behind schedule. And I didn’t recognize the car. New, isn’t it?

New since the last time you saw me. Actually, it was three years old. And paid for, thank goodness. She opened the back door and arranged a pillow for Travis. We’ve got to stop meeting this way—holidays and weddings.

And airports. Thanks for picking me up. I wasn’t looking forward to riding in some overpriced, smoky taxi.

No problem. You and Travis are family. Caro had fallen in love with her in-laws soon after falling in love with Wyatt. The Bodine men returned her feelings; Wyatt and Morgan included Desiree in their hearts, too. Virgil was friendly to her whenever they met—which wasn’t often. But he was Caro’s brother-in-law. Go ahead and settle Travis. Move, Oscar! she commanded.

Hey, Oscar. The dog, who’d jumped into the back seat—obviously to get closer to Virgil—wagged his tail in delight. He’d always gone gaga over the three Bodine brothers. You’ve grown.

Tell me about it. The shelter told me he was a miniature, but... Desiree gestured toward the solid brown body, definitely that of a standard-size dachshund. "He’s not the