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

huge feet pattering wildly, tongue lolling, jowls dripping, Belle was bewildered when no dog appeared.
    â€œQuiet, Clint,” Klein ordered, and the braying stopped.
    â€œWhere is he?”
    â€œOn the porch.”
    Belle peered at the house, and sure enough, a hound dog lay at the top of the porch steps, head on his paws as he calmly observed them with sad, sad eyes.
    â€œHe isn’t going to greet you properly? Run down here, knock you over, drool on you a little?”
    â€œKnock me over?” Klein slid a glance her way. “I don’t think so.”
    Belle let her gaze wander over Klein. “I see your point.”
    Klein grunted and stalked toward the house, presenting her with his back—and a very nice back it was. The uniform hugged him in all the right places. He certainly was a big man. When had she become attracted to tall, strong, broad, undoubtedly hard bodies like his? She couldn’t quite recall when she hadn’t been.
    The dog kept his eyes on the bandanna and noton Klein. As soon as Klein’s foot hit the bottom step, the animal leaped up and ran to hide behind the nearest rocking chair, where he peeked around the corner, trembling.
    Klein sighed. “Relax, Clint. It’s not loaded.”
    Confused, charmed, amazed, Belle hung back and watched as Gabe Klein hid his bandanna-shrouded gun in an old milk bucket next to the front door, then went down on one knee and beckoned to the dog.
    Clint crept out from behind the chair and meandered over to Klein. Belle’s lips twitched. What was that saying about people resembling their dogs? These two were quite a pair—sad eyes, relaxed manner, steady and sure, trustworthy.
    Klein rubbed behind the dog’s ears, and the animal lifted his nose and laid his cheek along Klein’s. Closing his eyes, Clint sighed. Belle’s heart did a slow roll. She knew love when she saw it.
    After a single quiet moment, Klein stood. “Take off, boy,” he ordered. With a dubious glance in Belle’s direction, the dog wandered over to the cool shade beneath the eaves, circled once and collapsed in a heap of loose skin and russet fur.
    Belle looked at Klein. Eyes wary, he shrugged.
    â€œLet me guess,” Belle said. “He’s gun-shy.”
    â€œBig-time.”
    Her father and brothers had a pack of dogs for hunting. She’d been around them all her life. “You know, some dogs have to be eased into hunting, not forced.”
    â€œReally? I’ll have to remember that the next timeI take a puppy out and blast my shotgun over his head until he cries and hides under the truck.”
    Belle frowned. She couldn’t imagine Klein doing any such thing. But, then how—?
    Klein opened the front door, and Belle forgot about the dog for a moment. “You don’t lock your door?”
    Klein, halfway in and halfway out of the house, paused. “Not in Pleasant Ridge, Ms. Ash. That would be an offense against myself. Besides, Clint’s here all day.”
    â€œOh, I bet he’s a lot of help. They pull a gun—he hides behind the rocking chair.”
    Klein winced, then glanced at Clint as if he expected the dog to understand. Unable to help herself, Belle looked that way, too, and was immediately contrite when she met the sad, sad eyes of the hound dog. He seemed to have understood her words and been crushed by them.
    Foolishness. The dog didn’t understand her. All hound dogs appeared sad all the time. Sad was what they did best.
    â€œLesson number one.” Klein held up a finger. “Any thief who knows his business knows it doesn’t pay to carry a gun on a job like this. You get a lot more years if you’re caught with a weapon. And any burglar worth his salt would pass on by a house with a braying hound dog and rob the one without. It’s not worth the noise or the trouble. Besides—” he swept his arm out in a “be my guest” gesture “—I