you won’t find any tourist attractions. We do have a tiny museum, but it’s not very interesting. Ditto our small library.”
She smiled. “I assure you, I’m not planning to make this a tourist attraction. Maybe it’s well you don’t work for the Chamber of Commerce or the Tourist Center.”
“We don’t have a Tourist Center,” he said quietly. “That should give you an idea.”
From the moment he had discovered the red limo, this woman had been surprising him, but her purpose for being here was an even bigger surprise—and an unpleasant one.
“I’m sorry you came all this way, Ms. Jones. You should have contacted me and I could have saved you the trouble. Lavita Wrenville was the last surviving Wrenville and she deeded the place to the town of Verity. According to the deed, we can’t do anything to the grounds or house until next year, when it reverts totally to the town. I’m sheriff and I’m not opening that house.”
“I am so sorry that you’re unhappy about this, Sheriff Milan.” Leaning back, she rummaged through a large purse. Gold bangles jingled on her arm and while her attention was on her purse, he looked her over from head to toe once again, his insides tightening as he envisioned her without the dress. As he gazed at her, she withdrew two envelopes and held them out to him. With a sinking feeling, he recognized the logo on one. “I wrote the governor of Texas, and I’ve written the mayor of Verity. I have letters from both stating clearly that I may look through the Wrenville house. Actually, I’m here as a guest of the state of Texas. You have such a nice governor. If you’d like to read the letters, here they are.”
Wyatt held back a groan and resisted swearing. The last thing he wanted was someone stirring up the old family feud and drawing tourists who would want to walk through the Wrenville house. The dread that he experienced earlier—that his peaceful life and the public serenity of Verity were on the brink of destruction by one headstrong, sexy redhead—was coming true before his eyes.
* * *
A few moments later, after he’d read the letters, Wyatt made a mental note to talk to the mayor. Gyp Nash hadn’t let him know one thing about Destiny Jones coming to Verity to see the Wrenville house. Gyp didn’t like conflict, so that’s probably why he had avoided telling Wyatt. But for the mayor to say how “thrilled” the townspeople would be that the Wrenville story would be the subject of one of her shows... Did Nash know this town at all?
He gave her back her letters. “Very nice,” he said in clipped tones, trying to think what he could do to get rid of her.
“The Wrenville house is a big, dusty, empty house. There are all sorts of rumors and a legend about the property. People and kids have looked through it over the years until finally there’s no interest in it. I want to keep it that way,” he said. He felt a clash of wills with the charming, breathtaking bit of trouble that was sitting only a few feet from him. Along with the friction was a strong physical appeal that he didn’t want, but couldn’t shake.
“I suspect you’ve been through the house?”
“Oh, sure, when I was in high school. Kids used to be curious and there were all sorts of wild rumors, but they all died out. Ask people who have high school kids—there’s no interest now. Jump back to my grandparents’ generation and fights would break out over whether a Milan or a Calhoun shot first and killed the other as well as Lavita Wrenville’s father that fatal night. In the three years that I’ve been sheriff we haven’t had a fight break out over who fired the killing shots, nor have I had a trespassing call at the Wrenville place. It’ll be better for the Calhouns and the Milans when the old house is gone. It serves as a reminder of the feud.”
“Well, I’m curious and you’re not discouraging me. It’s a fascinating story of three unsolved murders and perhaps a hidden fortune. That’s an intriguing mystery.”
“Not really. There were three murders, but they took place in the late 1800s. That’s so long ago no one cares now,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing. “And as for the so-called fortune, Lavita Wrenville never married, was eccentric and may have saved some money and hidden it, but she was considered by most to be poverty stricken after she went through the money left to her by her father. All I’ve ever heard was that she lived in poverty and off other people’s charity.”
“Maybe you’re too closely involved,” Destiny said lightly, her constant smiles softening her persistent argument with him. “I find that it’s still an interesting subject and I hope I can persuade you to give me an interview. I would be absolutely thrilled,” she said in a throaty voice that made him think of hot kisses instead of a factual interview. “After all, you are a Milan and one of the men murdered in that house was a Milan—wasn’t one of your ancestors rumored to have been murdered by a Calhoun?”
“Unfortunately, yes, that’s my family’s version, though the Calhouns say it was a Calhoun murdered by a Milan. But it was way before my time and I sure as hell didn’t know him. There’s not that much to talk about. Later in her life, Lavita Wrenville was considered a recluse and an eccentric old maid. End of information.”
“Sheriff Milan, I hope it’s not the end of information or our conversations. I imagine you know all sorts of things, maybe more than anyone else, about history here.” She rewarded him with another dazzling smile that made him want to stop arguing with her. “I have been looking forward so much to meeting you.”
He could see why Dwight didn’t know how she had talked him into letting her wait in Wyatt’s office. It was difficult to keep his mind on his subject with her hanging on his every word, smiling at him constantly and sounding as if she might be talking to the most brilliant man in Verity. That plus her looks probably caused her to get her way almost 100 percent of the time. Of their own will, his eyes glanced down at her long legs. Just looking at them sparked desire. He didn’t want to give her an interview. He wanted to seduce her and then send her on her way.
“Maybe I can get you to change your mind about the interview,” she said in a breathy voice.
“You can try,” he replied with amusement.
“I think that will be a fun project.”
He found himself excited by the challenge. Yes, it was going to be difficult to say no to Destiny Jones.
With an effort he looked up again. He gazed into the green eyes that held him captive. His every nerve sizzled, his pulse quickened and his breathing altered. He wanted to reach for her and close the last bit of distance between them even though he knew this whole conversation was to get what she wanted from him.
“Sheriff Milan,” she drawled.
With an effort he sat straighter. “No interview,” he gasped, struggling to get his voice back to normal while fighting the urge to lean the last few inches and kiss her.
She smiled. “I hope you’ll change your mind. You’re part of this town and one of families involved in the famous feud and you’re sheriff—there would be a lot of interest.”
“I lead a quiet life. I don’t think I would be that interesting and the feud is fading, so I don’t care to bring it back into the limelight.”
She laughed, a sunny, contagious, merry sound that he could listen to all day. His mind groped for sanity and to get back to a factual, impersonal conversation. He felt as if he wanted to loosen his collar. Even more, he wanted to reach for her, to kiss that full mouth and feel her softness pressed against him. Lost in that mental picture, he struggled to remember what he had to discuss with her.
“Your limo is in my parking place and you have a ticket,” he blurted in an effort to get back to business. His voice came out with a husky note and it was difficult to think about business or anything except giving in to her or kissing her. He didn’t like that loss of control. He didn’t give in to his urges anymore, not after getting his heart broken by Katherine. “We’ve called to have the limo towed,” he said, beginning to gather his wits. “Where’s your driver?”
“I told him I’d