A Sheriff in Tennessee by Lori Handeland Read Free Book Online Page A

she could have sworn it was a laugh, but when she sharpened her gaze on his face, there was no humor to be seen. How did he do that?
    Belle was very good at emotion—both real and pretend. What she couldn’t get a handle on was how to remain stoic in the face of disaster. She needed to learn, and she wasn’t too proud to beg.
    â€œListen, Klein, I’d like your help. I know we didn’t start off on the right foot, but could we try again? Maybe be friends?”
    Friends? Had she actually said that? She couldn’t recall meeting a less friendly man.
    â€œFriends?” he murmured, and looked at her at last.
    The idea of friendship must seem as outlandish to him as it did to her. But he also appeared intrigued, which only made her wary.
    Belle knew what she wanted from him, but what did Klein want from her? With most men, she’d know. With Klein, she might never be sure.

CHAPTER FOUR
    â€œY OU SAID you weren’t hurt.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    Klein took a step closer and reached for her arm. “Then, what’s this?”
    He turned her elbow, big hands gentle and sure. Running down Belle’s forearm was a bright-red trickle of blood.
    â€œHmm,” she said, and raised her gaze to his.
    He was watching her face in that way he had that made her think he was trying to see inside her. Belle’s youngest brother looked just that way at machinery—large and small—right before he took it apart to discover what made it tick.
    â€œHmm,” he repeated. “Funny, that’s just what I thought.”
    She smiled, and amazingly, he smiled back. Perhaps their being friends wasn’t such a foolish, farfetched idea after all.
    But as quickly as he’d smiled at her, he stopped. As quickly as he’d reached for her arm, he dropped it. As quickly as he’d moved toward her, he turned away.
    â€œYou’d better clean that out and put a bandage on it before you get blood all over your designer sneakers.”
    Belle’s own smile faded. “Thank you for the advice, but I could figure that out for myself. And I have other sneakers.”
    â€œI’ll just bet you do.”
    Why did that sound like an insult?
    â€œCome on,” he grumbled, and headed for the white farmhouse on the opposite side of the road.
    Belle hesitated. “Come where?”
    He stopped, turned and stared at her as if she were dim. “ My place.” He jabbed a thumb at the farmhouse. “Remember?”
    Suddenly she heard clearly what he’d said before she fell into the ditch. “Oh! So this is yours?”
    His nod was slow and deliberate. Though she really should turn up her nose and jog on back to Pleasant Ridge, the idea of dripping blood behind her like Hansel and Gretel’s trail of bread crumbs held very little appeal. Her elbow was starting to sting, and in truth, she really wanted to see the inside of that house.
    Belle hurried across the road and joined him at the gate. There was actually a white picket fence around the yard. It could use painting, perhaps not white this time but sky blue or yellow, with ivy, stenciled or real, winding up every third picket.
    Lost in her dream decorating, Belle didn’t realize at first that Klein hesitated outside the fence. She glanced at him just as he unloaded his pistol and tucked the clip into one pocket.
    She frowned. Did he have children? That would make him married, something she hadn’t been told. The disappointment that flowed through her should not be so strong. Shouldn’t be, but was.
    Her confusion deepened when he drew a large bandanna out of another pocket and wrapped the gun in the cheery red material. Then he unlatched the gate and stepped into the yard.
    Belle opened her mouth to ask what on earth he was doing, but before she could, the air was filled with the braying bark of a hound dog.
    Expecting to see it tear around the side of the house toward them, ears flapping madly,