Page 3 of Silver Spoon Falls, Vol. I

THREE

JULES

"Before you shoot the messenger," Mariah says, rushing into the stockroom where I'm trying to figure out how we have eight thousand boxes of alcohol swabs but no Band-Aids. "I told him you were busy."

I spin around to face her so fast I knock an entire row of nitrile gloves off a shelf. "He's back?"

She bobs her head in an excited nod, her expression caught between a smile of delight and a grimace of sympathy. "I tried to kick him out, but he refused to go."

"He can't just refuse to go," I mutter, my blood pressure spiking.

"He's the sheriff."

I huff out a breath and stomp from the stockroom, ready to go to war.

Five minutes ago, I felt bad for turning him down two nights in a row.

I didn't even have a good excuse yesterday.

It was just a long day, and our new patient really pulled at my heartstrings.

I wanted to go home and cry alone. But then I got home and felt…

lonely. I regretted turning Sheriff Armstrong down.

The crazy man cannot keep harassing me every day though! I have things to do. Important things! Besides, he's the sheriff. He should have important things to do, too. Surely, even Silver Spoon Falls has some sort of crime to fight?

I stomp out into the waiting room, ready to give him a tongue lashing.

And then I catch sight of him leaning against the wall in his uniform, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, his booted feet planted shoulder-width apart.

His dark hair is messy, his eyes crawling all over the room like he expects an ambush at any second from the three moms eyeing him in appreciation.

It's hard not to appreciate the way he looks in that uniform. He's freaking gorgeous.

"Sheriff Armstrong," I say, not sure if I'm going to rescue him yet or let them fight over him.

His head snaps up, those dark eyes locking on my face.

As soon as they do, my core heats to the nth degree.

"Jules," he says, relief coloring his tone. "Finally."

"Hasn't anyone told you that stalking is illegal?" I ask, planting my hands on my hips.

"Is it?" His lips twitch.

The mothers in the waiting room look between us like they're watching a tennis match.

"I'm certain it is," I say.

"Good to know," he murmurs, taking a step toward me. "I'll make sure to pass that on to my deputies. Where's Tate?"

"Busy. Like you should be."

"Funny you should mention it," he growls, taking another step toward me. "I happen to be quite busy today."

"Doing what?"

"Important stakeout," he says. "Can you move slightly to the left, please?"

Without thinking, I immediately move to the left.

He sails right past me into the patient area, leaving me gaping after him. I stand there with my mouth hanging open for a full five count before my brain finally catches up and I realize he just tricked me into letting him deeper into the office.

"Oh, I'm strangling him!" I growl under my breath… which obviously isn't quietly enough because all three of the moms in the waiting room hear me and crack up laughing. This will be all over town by the end of the day.

I chase after the sheriff in time to see him disappearing around the corner.

"Sheriff Armstrong! You can't just invite yourself in!" I yell.

"I didn't," he calls back to me. "Tate invited me."

Oh, I am killing my boss.

"He's in Houston," I huff, watching his fine ass stroll down the hall.

"Yep," he agrees, amusement in his voice. "Won't be back for hours."

I finally catch up to him outside of Tate's office. Though catch up to is a relative term. It's more like he stops walking and I run straight into him. He turns around and grabs me before I faceplant on the floor. And Lord, he smells incredible. He feels incredible.

Did I just whimper? Surely not.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" I ask, striving for calm.

"Staking out Tate’s office, little firecracker."

"You're insane." Or I am. Either way, one of us has lost it because he's being completely ridiculous, and I don't entirely hate it.

In fact, part of me finds his behavior entirely too endearing.

He's relentless and bossy, and I can't remember the last time anyone has tried this hard to get my attention.

"That's your fault," he murmurs, giving me a crooked grin. "I haven't been sleeping because of you. I'd appreciate if you'd put me out of my misery and do me the honor of going to dinner with me tonight, Jules. I'm not leaving here until you say yes."

"I…" I narrow my eyes at him. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"As a?—"

"Don't you dare say heart attack, Dillon Armstrong."

"Shit." He grimaces. "Sorry. I forgot what kind of patients you see here." His gaze drifts across my face, his expression somber. "Are you okay, baby girl?"

"You're asking if I'm okay?" I blink at him, caught off guard.

"You said you had a bad day yesterday. This is a hard job," he says as if putting the two together. "I just figured maybe it was one of those kinds of bad days."

My heart flutters at his response, my resolve wavering. "We didn't lose anyone," I whisper. "It was just a rough day. We have a newborn in bad shape. It made me sad."

He runs his hand down my back in a soothing gesture. "Then you definitely have to go out with me tonight so I can make you happy again."

"Will you go away if I agree?"

"Will you agree if I agree to go away?" he retorts.

"Fine," I concede, fighting a smile. "But just so you know, I'm only agreeing so you'll stop bugging me. And, also, because I skipped lunch and I'm starving."

He tugs my body close to his, leaning down over me. "I'll let you keep telling yourself that for now," he growls, pressing his lips to mine in a hard kiss. "But we both know you're full of shit, Jules Montgomery."

By the time dinner rolls around, I'm a nervous mess.

I don't date much… or at all, really. Growing up with older brothers, I didn't get that chance, and I just haven't had the time or desire since.

But I can't deny the attraction to Dillon.

He's charming, gorgeous, clever, relentless…

and the fact that he cared enough to check in on me today really got me.

He's trying. That's more than most guys do. He may be a little over-the-top about it, but I kind of like that about him. I love that he wants me enough to put in the effort. That's sexy as hell to me. What woman doesn't want a total hunk willing to make a fool of himself over her?

He chooses Broadway Steakhouse, an upscale restaurant on Broadway, situated between The Apothecary and The Runway Boutique.

The hostess leads us to a private table in the back, and then Dillon holds my chair out before sliding me up to the table.

He runs his hand down my arm, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

"You look ravishing, little firecracker," he murmurs, staring at me from across the table once he's seated. "You look beautiful in your scrubs, but that damn dress is doing a number on my cock."

"Dillon," I protest, blushing bright red. He's so direct, so honest.

"It's the truth," he says with a shrug, not caring where we are or who else is around. "I can't get you out of my head, Jules. You're driving me crazy."

"You've been driving me crazy, too," I admit in a whisper. I'm not shy, but this man makes me feel things I've never felt before now. I'm a virgin, but he makes me want to change that. It's overwhelming. He's overwhelming in the best way possible.

I think… No, I know I want to get to know him.

He grins like he's pleased with himself for that.

"That doesn't mean you get to keep annoying me at work," I say, narrowing my eyes at him. "I actually have a job to do, Dillon."

"I like watching you work."

"I think what you mean is you like avoiding your work by interrupting my work," I say, huffing out a laugh. He is so full of it. It shouldn't be nearly as cute as it is.

He winks at me as the waiter approaches with a big, plastic smile on his face.

"What can I get you to drink?" he asks… except he doesn't ask me, and he doesn't ask Dillon. He asks my boobs. Ugh.

Dillion growls, "How about a bottle of get your eyes off her fucking tits?"

"Oh, I wasn't…" the waiter stutters, yanking his gaze up to meet Dillon's.

"Yeah, you were," he says, his voice firm. He holds the waiter's gaze, not backing down. The younger man reluctantly looks away. "We'll take a bottle of Riesling."

I wait for him to walk away to look at Dillon.

"Don't look at me like that," he says, his voice soft. "It's rude as hell to stare at another man's woman right in front of him."

"Another man's woman?" I gape at him, my stomach turning flips.

"Yeah," he says, holding my gaze. His is scorching hot, kicking up fires inside my veins. "You're mine and I don't share, little firecracker. He needs to keep his fucking eyes off you if he wants to keep them."

Oh. Oh, my.