The driver’s door opened. His dog, Domino, leaped out and raced toward Erin. A beautiful border collie mix, he had long, silky black fur splashed with white.

“Hello, sweet boy.” Erin didn’t want to pet him with greasy hands, but Domino reared up, planted his paws on her chest, and bathed her chin with doggy kisses, which gave her no choice. “Yes, I’m glad to see you, too.”

She wished she could say the same for his owner, who strode toward her with a well-oiled shift of his narrow hips. She had just seen Wyatt a few minutes ago at the reception, and there was no reason for her to drink in every detail of his appearance again, but he’d changed out of a Western-cut suit into work clothes, and he looked as sexy as a guy could get. Tall, well-muscled, and lean, he had the broad shoulders and deep chest of a man who pitted his strength against the elements every day. Beneath his tan Stetson, hair the color of an August wheat field fell as straight as a bullet to the yoke of his red shirt. His eyes, as blue as laser beams, struck a startling contrast to his sun-burnished face.

She forced her attention back to the dog before Wyatt could chastise him for jumping up and said, “It’s been at least twenty minutes since we saw each other, which is seven times longer for a dog than it is for people, so I understand his excitement. Please don’t scold him.”

* * *

The last person Wyatt Fitzgerald wanted to see was Erin De Laney. For a man like him, she meant nothing but trouble. For starters, she was pretty, with her wealth of dark hair, dainty features, and expressive blue eyes. And she obviously felt as attracted to him as he was to her. Not happening. He’d sworn off women six years ago, and that was one promise to himself that he meant to keep. He’d be especially cautious with Erin, a county deputy. If he messed up with her, she wouldn’t have to call the law on him; she was the law.

“Most people try to coast over to the side of the road when their cars break down,” he called out. “When I came around that curve, I had to lock up the brakes to keep from turning that car into a Honda pancake.”

She continued to pet his ill-mannered dog. “You’re assuming that all cars continue to roll after the engine dies. My Honda did a three-count burp and stopped dead in its tracks.”

“You should have recognized trouble with the first burp and steered toward the ditch on burps two and three. A stalled car in the middle of a curvy road is a hazard.”

She gave him a syrupy-sweet smile that didn’t reach her beautiful blue eyes. “How remiss of me. I’m sure you would have kept a much clearer head if you’d been behind the wheel. Unfortunately, not all of us are superior beings.”