Chapter One
Lucy
God, my feet are killing me. I stand on sore legs, stretching my arms up to the sky. It's another beautiful morning in Oak Valley, Wyoming. Oak Valley is a nice place to live, though it's definitely a small town. I'm Lucy Knight, a recent high school graduate, younger sister to Abigail Knight, and the notorious Noah Knight's youngest daughter.
Today is Friday, which means I am prepared to jog the next five blocks to the convenience store where I work. Abigail, my older and now engaged sister, may have struck gold with the sexy professor, coming into a boatload of money. But I am not so lucky. Even if I had been the one to snag the sexy brainiac, I still would've gotten the lame ass job at the convenience store. I like working for my own things, buying what I want when I want, and not having to answer to anyone. I'm not too fond of shortcuts, and while my father may be a notable criminal in our town, I have been very careful to stay on the right side of the law. Mostly because I've been admiring a very handsome older man who is leaps and bounds out of my league by age alone, but that hasn't stopped me from fantasizing about him.
I may be an eighteen-year-old virgin, but a girl can dream, can't she? And the dreams I have had about him. "Hot" doesn't even begin to cover it. Stretching my limber legs one last time, I jog towards the convenience store, imagining the way Chief Traverse strides around town, his sunny blonde hair neatly trimmed, his blue eyes dazzling. I wonder if he knows how incredibly sexy he is? I don't think he's aware, but that’s part of the appeal? It's subtly sexy, the way some men just don't know how disarming they are.
Looking both ways before crossing, I jog toward a little convenience store, lovingly referred to as Annie's corner.
"Good morning!" I call to the ever-cranky Annie Andrews.
The woman mans that counter like a bulldog on guard duty. I have worked here for a couple of weeks and have yet to see her leave her post. You would think she’s expecting the mayor to stroll right in and ask for a pack of smokes, not that it is likely to happen.
I let myself behind the counter and tug on my smock that reads "Lucy" in fancy cursive letters. It doesn't fit me well. It hangs long and baggy around my slim frame. I won't win any fashion contests, but that's okay. I don't like any of the guys in town, and the odds of that one man walking in are pretty slim. I think Chief Traverse is avoiding me.
Speaking of avoiding me, Annie still hasn't responded to my chipper greeting. Turning to smile at her now, I can't help but stare at the frazzled redhead. I don't think Annie likes me, but I’m growing on her, I can tell, I think with some amusement as I stroll over, wrapping an arm around one of her broad masculine shoulders.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why are you always so damn chipper?" she barks. If I’m being completely honest, it’s as more of a challenge at this point. She will like me one day; I will make sure of it.
"Oh, Annie, it's because I have you in my life!" I grin at her, flashing her one of my best "love me now" looks that always works on my dad.
"Oh, God," she mutters, shoving me off, "go make yourself useful, girl," She orders, "there's plenty of work for you down there on aisle two."
"Anything for you, Annie," I call sweetly as I stroll toward the aisle. I can feel her eyes on me, and I can't help but grin. Maybe it was passive-aggressive of me, but frankly, I don't give a rat's ass. I get my kicks in (and my laughs) in any way I can. I'm the kind of girl who likes to take life by the horns, to seize the moment, blah blah blah, you get the idea.
Bending over as I stack the many boxes of granola, I hear the door ding behind me, signaling that a customer has entered the building. Not bothering to turn, I continue to stack revolting flavors such as apple cinnamon and pumpkin spice onto the worn aisles' shelves.
Geez, I groan to myself, how does anyone stand these flavors. What was Annie thinking? It's summer; pumpkin spice is for basic bitches named Brittany who have nothing better to do on a fall day than actively live out American clichés.
"Ehem." I hear a voice behind me and a throat clearing.
Slowly rising and turning, I find myself smack face to face with the very man I've been fantasizing about since I was sixteen years old. God, get a look at him, I think, trying to force myself to look at his eyes and not let my eyes wander anywhere else. I desperately want to let them roam, to take in the delicious sight of him.
"Can I help you?" I ask, giving the Chief my best smile and loving how his full mouth lays in a hard line.
It’s the perfect shape. I wonder how it would feel crushed against mine.
"I need you to move," he says roughly, not sparing me a smile in return. The phrase "hard ass with a good ass" comes to mind as I beam up at him.
"Why, anything for you, officer," I reply with my best southern twang. Stepping aside and gesturing broadly with my slim arms. He only stares at me for a moment, as if he’s deciding whether or not to smile at me or arrest me. I wouldn't mind him using those cuffs on me.
Finally, Sheriff Traverse's mouth twitches in amusement.
"Thank you," he says, watching me for a moment longer before stepping forward and grabbing a revolting box of granola.
Well, I guess no man can be perfect.
"Shouldn't you be in school, Miss Knight?" he asks, his voice rough with concern which has me suppressing a giggle.
"How old do you think I am?" I reply, giving him my sassiest look and crossing my arms. I can't help but smile at him. He's clearly trying to put me in my place, and it's definitely not working.
He turns suddenly, contemplating me, a challenge in his eyes.
"I don't know, Miss Knight," he says coolly. "How old are you?" His strong brow now arched in a sexy challenge.
God, I am a sucker for strong, brooding men.
"I'm eighteen. Legal in case you're wondering." I reply, winking at him. I can't help but grin as I watch his face falter in surprise— the smug jerk.
"You weren't expecting that were you?" I challenge him, proud of myself for my attempt at witty banter.
"No, I wasn't," he whispers, his voice soft, as if he’s fighting for it to return. "Excuse me," he says, nodding his head in a farewell to me.
God, I love that man, I think to myself, enjoying the way his pants hug his ass as he strolls toward the ever-sullen Annie.
Sighing heavily, I turn back to the aisles and begin stacking the empty containers.