A Little Country Christmas - Carolyn Brown Page 0,35

on the inside. The roof leaked when it rained. Maybe that wasn’t often, but still. And the power seemed to go out whenever the wind picked up. Plus, one of their two cells was so badly rusted that if you actually locked someone in it, it might never open up again. Not that Meadow Valley was overrun with crime. In fact, since most of the county was farm- and ranchland, and everyone in town knew everyone in town, she doubted Sheriff Thompson or any sheriff before him ever actually had occupants in both cells at the same time.

Still. The place could use an upgrade, and Mayor Grady kept promising that the sheriff’s office would be on the top of his list for allocation of town funds in the New Year. He just hadn’t had a chance to follow through before dying. Peacefully, of course. In his sleep. He was eighty-three.

“And now we have to deal with Mayor Grinch and boosting the economy and bringing in more tourists and blah, blah, blah,” she muttered as she slowed her pace, giving the stink eye to the town hall.

If his platform had been cutting the lights parade from his budget, Peyton Cooper never would have won the emergency election. He threw that little nugget into his acceptance speech. “The parade can still happen,” he’d said, “but preparation cannot take place during working hours. Tourism is growing in this town, thanks to the Meadow Valley Ranch joining our ranks. But we need to concentrate on serving our public the best we can, which means actually working during daylight hours.”

“Actually working during daylight hours,” she mimicked. “Because I’m too good for small-town shenanigans.” The hypocrite of a mayor seemed to have forgotten he’d grown up in Meadow Valley. And once upon a time Dani could have sworn he’d even participated in a small-town shenanigan or two.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and gasped, then pivoted toward her possible assailant and grabbed him by the wrist, quickly wrenching his arm behind his back and using her chin to pause her playlist from her watch as her other hand cupped the man behind the neck.

“Deputy?” His deep voice was calm and assured. “While I do admire your reflexes and have no doubt the street—empty as it might be—is safer with you patrolling it, is this really how you want to greet your elected official, especially after just calling him a grinch and—dare I say—parroting his mayoral acceptance speech in that awful voice? I don’t really sound like that, do I?”

Dani winced.

Shit.

She’d just apprehended Mayor Grinch—er Cooper. At least, that was what she called him to his face.

She released her grip and took a step back while the mayor shook out his arm and straightened to his full height, which she estimated to be about six foot three—quite a bit taller than her five-seven frame. But let the record show that she’d still subdued him. The corner of her mouth twitched, but she fought the urge to grin.

She cleared her throat. “Mayor Cooper,” she said, thinking before speaking so as not to risk the whole grinch thing again. “My, um, apologies. Guess I’m still not over Mr. Big-City Politician practically canceling the Meadow Valley Holiday Lights Parade.”

She smirked.

He gritted his teeth, and a muscle in his jaw pulsed. Once upon a time she might have noticed that said jaw was chiseled and maybe even a little sexy. But Deputy Daniela Garcia was no longer a high school sophomore crushing on the senior boy who never even noticed her. Besides, sexy wasn’t a man who turned his nose up at small-town traditions. Sexy wasn’t a man who cared more about the bottom line than the community who helped him become the big-city hotshot he was today. And sexy certainly was not a man who basically wanted to cancel Christmas.

“I didn’t cancel anything,” he said coolly. “I just thought it might be more fiscally responsible for the whole town to scale back on all festival activities. Do you know most businesses have to hire extra help so the decorating can get done during daylight hours and shops can stay open? If folks want to do the whole light thing on off-hours and weekends, that’s fine by me.”

“It’s winter,” she said. “Off-hours don’t include any daylight hours.”

“Folks do get days off around here, don’t they? No one’s working a seven-day week.” He scratched the back of his neck, and in the glow of the streetlight, she could see the ends