His Arch Enemy's Daughter

She said, “You’ve been living for this moment your whole life, haven’t you, Sheriff? You’ve just been chomping at the bit to arrest a Spencer.”

Darkness traveled his face, drawing down the edges of his lips, eclipsing the moonlight.

Ashlyn knew she’d opened her mouth one too many times.

Spencer.

The name ripped through his body with razor-blade agony. Seven years ago Sam’s father had died in the Spenco Toy Factory under mysterious circumstances. That death had killed his mother, too, from stress and heartbreak. And it’d changed Sam’s life. For the worse.

He watched Ashlyn Spencer, assessing the daughter of his worst enemy. She was surrounded by a bleak sky of looming clouds, a drab field of grass. The palette of his life. Even the road running past Emma Trainor’s home was empty and desolate.

But Ashlyn herself was a splash of colors—from her bright red sweater to the green and purple string of party beads dancing around her wrist.

Sam tried to feel unaffected as a cloud passed over the moon, almost as if the darkness wanted to hold on to her light for a minute more. She crossed her arms over her chest, her jaunty sweater bellying her obvious agitation.

He decided that the best course of action would be to ignore her comment about arresting a Spencer. “Why’re you still in Kane’s Crossing, Miss Spencer?”

“Why did you come back to Kane’s Crossing?” she asked, dodging his question.

He knew they were at a verbal stalemate, so he decided to get this business over and done with. After a moment of heavy silence, he reached out a hand to her. “Let’s go.”

“To the sheriff’s office?”

“It’s a hell of a lot warmer than keeping the ghosts company.” He allowed his hand to remain, hovering in the air, more of a command than a request.

Maybe he shouldn’t even be hauling her in like this, but he’d heard about Ashlyn’s propensity for trouble. Better to let her know that the new sheriff meant business. Better to put the fear of the law into her now than later. He could explain himself at the station, where he had the persuasive image of jail cells to back up his warning lecture.

Ashlyn scanned his body again. The first time she’d done it, Sam had merely chalked up the action to curiosity. This time his pulse pounded, awakening feelings he’d packed away over a year ago. Feelings his dead wife had numbed.

He gave Ashlyn Spencer a moment to hesitate, not wanting to make this more serious than it was. She’d been giving money to Emma Trainor, by God. Not only was it an act of someone with a soft heart, but this call was a joke next to the blood and chaos he’d seen as a cop in Washington, D.C.

Wiping away his memories, Sam concentrated on his current problem. Ashlyn took a step forward, the moonlight covering her pixie-featured face with a veil of silver, producing a glimmer in her eye, in her slight smile.

Her forced gaiety made him feel sorry for her, this young woman who’d been called on the carpet for trying to help Emma’s family. But the Trainors, like many other people in Kane’s Crossing, had been hurt by Ashlyn’s kin. Had been stung by their greed time and again.

Her reputation didn’t stop him from thinking that Emma had treated Ashlyn unfairly. Had judged her for the company she kept, rather than her actions.

Hell, he could use some of his own advice. Nobody could accuse him of liking the Spencers, especially since they’d been responsible for his father’s death.

Sam watched her again as they resumed walking. She’d cut her hair, from what he remembered, which wasn’t much. It’d gone from a long waterfall in her younger years to a sandy, short cut, tufts sticking out from her head as if she was a woodland version of Tinker Bell from a book he’d bought for…

Never mind who he’d bought it for. He’d come to Kane’s Crossing to forget about it.

They headed toward the patrol car, a gas-guzzling white Chevy behemoth that had seen better years.

“Lovely. Do I get the back seat,” she asked, a hint of laughter in her voice, “where all the criminals languish?”

He held open the passenger’s side front door in answer. She slid in, all grace and smooth curves. Years ago, she would’ve filled the definition of “coltish,” but now, the term seemed outgrown.

Sam took his place behind the steering wheel. The occasional beep and burst of static from the police radio was the only sound as he tamped down his urge to look at her again. Another glance at Ashlyn Spencer would frustrate him, make him want things he didn’t have a prayer of finding.

After he guided the car onto the silent country road, he saw Ashlyn lean her head back against the headrest.

Suddenly he was much too aware of her scent, a combination of innocence—almonds, honey and cream. Something in his chest tightened, almost sputtered to life then died.

“So, do you want to explain this lionhearted quest of yours?” he asked, filling in the blank spaces of their conversation.

She hesitated, then lifted up her hands in a what-the-heck movement. “It’s all pretty complicated, but…” She turned to face him, still resting her head. “Do you remember, years ago, when my family owned just about everything in town?”

He remembered with sharp clarity. “Yeah. I don’t think your brother ever let my family forget.”

Especially after the way Chad Spencer had treated Nick’s wife, Meg, like a pleasure toy. Rumor had it that Chad had gotten Meg pregnant after making her think he loved her. That’s when Nick had stepped in, claiming the resulting twins as his own children.

“Obviously you’ve talked with Nick,” said Ashlyn, a faint smile lighting her face. “He really gave it to Chad good by buying those businesses and turning them over to those families in need. And my brother deserved it, even if I ended up feeling pretty sorry for him in the end. It’s not easy having everything that matters taken away from you.”

Everything that mattered: his parents, his wife…

“Go on.” He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, relieving the tight white of his knuckles, wondering why Ashlyn was still smiling. Could it be that she disagreed with how the Spencers had ruled over Kane’s Crossing? Even when Sam had lived here, the town gossips had whispered that she ran around town, causing mischief, just to get back at her family for their zealous ways.

Sam didn’t understand the concept, but it sure intrigued him.

Ashlyn continued. “To make a long story short, my family aims to get back all that they’ve lost. And I don’t care to return to those days when the Spencers ruled.”

Puzzlement shaped Sam’s frown. “Why do you cause so much trouble for that family of yours?”

She clipped a laugh. “If you’d talked to Sheriff Carson before he died, he would’ve told you that I make mischief a habit. Simple as that.”

Sam knew there was something more to it, but he doubted she’d reveal her intentions to him.

“At any rate,” she said, “I can’t stand the way some people in this town treat the Spencers like the second coming. And I don’t like how my family feels the need to own people in return.” She sat up, emphasizing the gravity of her explanation. “I’ll do almost anything to discourage this football-hero worship, this money-god thrall that my brother and father have encouraged.”

Sam wondered how her family felt about her protests. Funny, but he’d never looked at Ashlyn the way he had at Chad or her father Horatio Spencer. She’d always seemed to isolate herself. He’d never realized it until now, probably because he hadn’t cared enough to bother.

Ashlyn asked, “You know that we own the toy factory again?”

That razor sting assaulted his soul once more. “I’d heard about it.” Even if he’d moved back to Kane’s Crossing merely two months ago, folks had made sure he was caught up on all the gossip he’d missed—old and new.

“I have a bad feeling that my father’s not down for the count. He’ll take over everything again, and then Kane’s Crossing is back to the dark ages.”

Sam shook his head. “What about the citizens who own the properties now? I don’t think they’ll let that happen.”

He could feel Ashlyn’s appraisal of him, and he wondered if she knew why he’d come back to town after slinking away seven years ago, following his parents’ deaths.

“It doesn’t matter if the ‘new regime’ wants it or not. My father will be back in the game, Sheriff, buying all the properties he lost. He can’t stand the lack of power.” She clipped a laugh. “I wonder what my ancient granddad would say about all this. Founder of the town, the great Kane Spencer. You know he wanted Kane’s Crossing to be a communal area, right?”

“I didn’t know.” Sam leaned one elbow on the armrest, using the other to palm the steering wheel around a sharp corner. Casual. Be casual about this Spencer talk. “Then I guess I’ll be out of a job when your dad stretches his mighty muscles again.”

“He’d get you fired in a second flat,” she said in her colorfully blunt manner. “My family certainly holds no love for yours.”