Sunday morning I changed clothes three times before deciding on a white, spaghetti-strap sundress with cherries on it. My Vincennes’ everyday uniform was a black T-shirt and black pants, so having enough black in my life, whenever I dressed for anything other than work, I went with colors. A pair of comfortable red, flat-heeled sandals, and my hair up in a ponytail to keep it off my neck, and I was almost ready for Blue Ridge Valley’s annual car and motorcycle show.

The forecast was for unusually warm temperatures for this time of the year, getting up into the midseventies and sunny. That called for some suntan lotion on my bare shoulders and arms, and I was trying to reach the middle of my exposed shoulders when the doorbell rang.

“It’s open. Come on in,” I said after looking in the peephole to make sure it was Dylan. When he entered, I held up my lotion-slicked hands. “Sorry. I couldn’t turn the knob. Give me a minute to get the rest of this lotion on, then we can go.”

“Let me.”

He took the tube from my hand when I tried to reach my back. Goose bumps rose when he rubbed the cool lotion over my skin. It had been three days since I’d seen him—since we’d made out like teenagers—and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about kissing him again.

“You look very pretty today, Red.”

He put his mouth on my neck, just behind my ear, and my “Thank you,” came out all breathy.

“You smell good, too,” he said, taking a deep breath. He stepped around me, fingering a strand of hair I’d left down.

“So do you.” And God did he ever. I didn’t think he wore cologne. It was more like bay rum–scented soap and maybe a spicy aftershave. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering sexy. The whole package was sexy, actually. He wore jeans, topsiders, and a sky-blue polo shirt that he filled out very nicely. And that lopsided smile could melt a girl’s heart.

“I’m ready.”

He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip. “First I have to do this.”

Our eyes locked as he lowered his mouth, and when our lips touched, I put my hands on his upper arms. His muscles flexed under my fingers, and I longed to run my hands all over his body, exploring all the places he had muscles. Butterflies fluttered their wings in my stomach, making me feel twitchy all over.

He lifted his head, then tapped my nose. “Now we can go.”

“If my knees can still hold me up.” Because they’d gone weak with that kiss. If he could do that to me with only a kiss, I was pretty sure we were going to be dynamite together in bed when things progressed that far. But I wasn’t ready for that yet. I wanted to get to know him better, and I was enjoying the anticipation of it happening. The building sexual tension between us was exciting, and I wanted to draw it out a little longer.

He smiled as if I’d pleased him. “Not sure my knees are working much better than yours, but I’ll hold you up if you’ll return the favor.”

I grabbed the red straw hat I’d put on the coffee table. We held hands, leaning against each other in pure silliness, laughing that we made it to his car without falling on our faces. It only took ten minutes to get from my apartment to the fairgrounds, and Dylan spent the time quizzing me on Blue Ridge Valley.

“So let me get this straight,” he said as he pulled into a parking space. “Betty Kirkland owns the Mountain Crafts store and she hates Virginia Stanley, the owner of All Good Things because Virginia was voted homecoming queen forty-six years ago, but Betty thinks Virginia bought the votes with laced brownies? And the feud is still going on?”

“That about sums it up.”

He leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes, and gave a full-bellied laugh. When he opened his eyes, he looked at me and grinned. “I’m going to love this town.”

“Wait until I tell you about Hamburger Harry, famous for his moonshine. No one has ever seen him eat anything but hamburgers, and that’s saying a lot because he’s eighty-three. He’ll probably be here today.”

“Please don’t tell me I’m going to have to arrest an old man named Hamburger Harry.”

“Don’t feel bad. It won’t be the first time he’s been arrested. Judge Padgett said to him once, ‘Hamburger, if you’ll promise me you won’t ever make moonshine again, I won’t send you to jail,’ and Hamburger said, ‘Well, George, I cain’t rightly tell you that ’cause I’m a honest man and that would be fibbin’ and my mama teached me better’n that.’ True story.”

I loved listening to Dylan laugh. It was contagious, and we both sat in his car with tears streaming down our faces. When I’d told Chad about Hamburger Harry, he’d said it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard, that they should just put him in a cell and throw away the key. First off, Hamburger wouldn’t hurt a fly, and second of all, his apple pie moonshine was to die for. I loved that Dylan thought the story was hilarious.

Two hours later I liked him even more. He’d let me take the lead, saying, “This is your town, Red, so I’m yours for the day. Introduce me to people, and then whisper their story in my ear.” I could do that.

The first people we came to were Adam and Connor Hunter. The twins were sprawled in lawn chairs behind their classic Harleys. “Adam, Connor, this is our new police chief, Dylan Conrad. Dylan, if you ever want a to-die-for log cabin built, the Hunter twins are your men.”

Adam and Connor were the hottest bachelors for a hundred miles. Every woman in striking distance had tried to catch one of them, including Natalie and me when we were fifteen. We’d thought it would be really cool for twins to marry twins, had even planned our double wedding to them. Savannah had managed to catch Adam, then had broken his heart when she’d left him to go find fame and fortune in New York.

Dylan launched into a manly discussion with the twins, one that involved the cost of lumber and land prices and the best kind of roof to put on a cabin. I pretty much zoned out of the conversation, happy to do nothing more than observe Dylan. He was amazing the way he fit in. I fished my camera out of my purse and shot some pictures of him and the twins.

After leaving Adam and Connor, we checked out the cars. We oohed and awed, both of us agreeing that the 1966, perfectly restored, white-with-red-upholstery Mustang convertible should win the Classic Car Class. I wasn’t at all surprised to learn that the Hunter brothers owned that one. Last year their entry had been a ’69 Dodge Charger that I would have almost given up my world tour to own. I said almost. I loved cars, but I wasn’t that far gone.

“Let’s have pulled pork barbeque sandwiches.” At Dylan’s raised brow, I said, “When in North Carolina…” Someone needed to teach the man about good southern food. Who better than me?

We got our paper bowls filled with the sandwiches and fat, soft fries, taking them to one of the picnic tables. I rolled my eyes when he scraped the cabbage off his bun. “At least try it that way,” I said.

He eyed the cabbage, shifted his gaze to me, opened his mouth, and then shut it. The cabbage went back on his bun.

Have I said how much I liked this man? “It’s not going to kill you.”

“Not so sure about that, Red. Anything else I should do before I eat it?”

“Just this.” I picked up the red sauce and slathered it over his pork, then added a dash of hot. “Now have at it.” I tossed a handful of paper napkins his way. “Oh, and you’ll need these.”

I scored it a victory when he deemed the pulled pork with cabbage on the top good. We’d just gotten a funnel cake—my festival weakness—to top off our lunch when there was a commotion near the stage where a band was setting up. Of course Dylan’s attention zeroed in on the crowd gathering around what appeared to be a fight. I couldn’t see over the heads, but I could hear the yelling. Dylan headed that way, and holding on to my funnel cake, I followed him. Two cops, Sarah Griffin and Tommy Evans, were already pushing through the crowd when we got there.

“Stay here,” Dylan said, then elbowed his way past the people egging on the combatants.

I didn’t try to follow him because that would mean I’d probably get my funnel cake dumped on the ground. That wouldn’t have made me happy. Dylan let his officers do their job while he forced the crowd back by putting his arms out and backing up. When one man tried to push back, Dylan said something and the guy shut his mouth as he stepped away.

Sarah and Tommy got the two men wrestling each other on the ground apart. Dylan still did nothing more than maintain crowd control with brute strength and words I couldn’t hear. I’d expected him to jump in and, if nothing else, help Sarah because she was a female, but he didn’t. It reminded me of how he’d stayed out of my confrontation the other night, yet had stood behind me, letting me know with the touch of his hand on my back that he was there if I needed him.

Was the man for real? As I munched on my powdered sugar–coated cake, I ran a critical eye over him. Tall—at least six feet—whiskey-brown eyes that I’d noticed had gold flecks in them, and muscled—but not overly so—in appearance, he was a man who would catch the eye of any red-blooded woman.

Of course, I thought he was hot, but it was his personality that intrigued me. No one was perfect, and I knew me. I’d be obsessed now with finding his flaws. I also thought there had to be a story behind him leaving a big city like Chicago for a small mountain town like Blue Ridge Valley. Maybe he’d been married and there had been a nasty divorce. Or had there been some kind of on-the-job scandal?

The crowd had dispersed, leaving him standing with the two men who’d been fighting and his two cops. It figured that it was the Emery brothers. Those two practically had a cell at the jail with their names on it. Now that the yelling had stopped, I could hear their conversation. Apparently Dick had knocked over Ted’s beer. Good grief, just go get another one, guys.

Dylan glanced over at me and winked, sending my stomach into a somersault. Don’t you dare go and fall for the man, Jenn. No, I wouldn’t do that because I had a world to see and a promise to keep. So what if he made my heart flutter when he looked at me with that crooked smile? It was lust I was feeling, nothing more.