marriage to Kitty so he could be free for someone with a pedigree like Honor Witherspoon. The woman's father had taken his old money and invested it in new technology, along the way making his daughter, Honor, one of the filthy-richest heiresses in the world. It was said her bedroom was papered in stock certificates and her platinum card was, well, platinum.
Kitty felt strangely ... something.
"Dear? Kitty?"
She looked over at Aunt Cat. "What?"
"Dylan just asked you a question."
She didn't want to look at him. "What question?"
Aunt Cat frowned. "He asked you out to dinner."
"No." It was stupid to feel ... betrayed, but there it was. "I don't want to."
Aunt Cat blinked at her rude tone. "Kitty..."
That sense of betrayal, of hurt, put fire in her voice. "I bet he can handle it, Aunt Cat. I'm sure women must have said no and even 'I don't' to Dylan before."
"As a matter of fact, it's the 'I dos' that have been causing me trouble lately," he murmured.
Kitty narrowed her eyes, but forced herself to keep it polite for Aunt Cat. "Maybe some other time, okay?" she said, pasting on a smile.
His nostrils flared. "I'm afraid to let you out of my sight. You can't keep running from it, Kitty. From me."
She winced. Wilder Women Don't Wed And They Don't Run. "Cut me some slack, will you? I've had a really rough day."
Aunt Cat's puzzled expression was suddenly wiped clean with sympathy. "Oh, dear," she said. "I didn't know about your day. What's the trouble?"
Kitty's heart, still stinging from that irrational feeling of betrayal, was soothed by her aunt's genuine concern. "Men," she mumbled.
Aunt Cat leaned forward. "What did you say?" Dylan leaned back, crossing his arms over his wide chest. "She said, I believe, 'Men.'"
Kitty slid him a quelling glance. "I had to let the sheriff go."
One of Dylan's dark eyebrows rose in casual inquiry. "Would that happen to be the naked sheriff?" he asked.
Kitty glanced at him again. "Yes, the naked sheriff. So I'm going to be busy tonight making phone calls or juggling schedules or something. We need a replacement."
Aunt Cat made a sympathetic noise. "We certainly do. Old Town won't be the same on the weekends if the sheriff doesn't drag you down the street and lock you up."
"What?" Dylan straightened, his dark eyes focused on Aunt Cat.
She looked at Dylan in surprise. "Oh, that's right. You wouldn't know." She sipped from her tea. "About five years ago Kitty concocted an idea to liven up our living history with a little playacting."
He blinked. "I see. I think."
Sighing, Aunt Cat shook her head. "The tourists are going to be very disappointed if we can't provide some exciting Old Town melodrama. We definitely need a sheriff." She glanced down at her glass, then up, then let her gaze travel first to Dylan and then to Kitty.
Oh, no. Kitty saw the idea dawning in her great-aunt's busy brain.
The elderly woman opened her mouth. "How about - "
"No," Kitty blurted out.
"But it would be perfect," Aunt Cat protested. She turned toward Dylan. "Right?"
"Right, what?" he asked warily. "What are you talking about?"
Aunt Cat smiled, the Wilder smile that had enchanted men for generations ... until Kitty's. "I'm thinking you could be our sheriff," Aunt Cat said triumphantly.
Kitty took in Dylan's stunned expression and her panic subsided. Surely he wouldn't agree. Immediately he wouldn't agree.
Instead, after that initial moment of shock, he ran both hands over his head to smooth his long dark hair. Then he looked at Kitty, speculation, amusement, and - oh, no - satisfaction in his eyes.
A smile tugged at the corners of his full, sexy mouth. "What was that you mentioned?" he said to Aunt Cat, though his gaze never left Kitty's face. "Something about dragging Kitty down the street and locking her up?"
* * *
Planning to return and put Kitty out of her misery after she'd had a chance to stew for awhile, Dylan left his motorcycle at Cat Wilder's house. On foot, he wandered aimlessly through the residential streets, glad for the camouflage of the deepening dusk. After leaving the brothel that afternoon, he'd visited the judge at the courthouse. His father had grabbed him by the arm and paraded him past dozens of old friends and acquaintances. Dylan had shaken hands with men he'd known his entire life. He'd been peppered with old-lady kisses.
But despite - because of? - their welcomes, the homecoming pained him. It was still Hot Water, with the people who had witnessed all