Free Sunny Chandler's Return by Sandra Brown

belt loops of his jeans. If it hadn’t been for the leather holster around his hips and the silver badge on the breast pocket of his white shirt, one would have thought he was a loafer instead of a law officer.
    Since her car was parked in the next block, she had no choice but to walk past him or go completely around the city block. It was too hot for that long a hike. Getting past him unseen was out of the question, and since she didn’t want to be put on the defensive, she was the first to speak.
    “Expecting a bank holdup?”
    He grinned, splitting his face into a visage far too handsome for his own good. He should pose for one of those macho cigarette ads, Sunny thought. He was certainly the type, having just enough character lines to make his face ruggedly appealing.
    “Never can tell,” he said, lazily pushing himself away from the wall and falling into step beside her. “It would sure liven up an otherwise sluggish Monday morning.”
    “Trust me, the bank is carefully guarding its money.”
    “Oh?”
    “Never mind. That subject is closed.”
    “Okay. Then may I say that you look as fresh as a sprig of mint this morning, Miss Sunny.” He had assumed the role of a Southern gentleman as they strolled past the storefronts.
    Taking up her cue, Sunny replied flirtatiously, “Thank you, sir, but I’m afraid I’ll soon wilt in this stiflin’ heat.”
    “Maybe you should have brought a fan.”
    “I didn’t have one to go with this outfit.”
    She wasn’t the business-suit type but had dressed in keeping with her appointment with Mr. Smithie. The crisp green linen dress, which she had accessorized with white shoes and jewelry, was tailored but cool, fashionable but not funky. Funky wouldn’t have done at all in the Latham Green National Bank. “Maybe it’ll rain soon and cool things off.”
    “Are we already reduced to talking about the weather?”
    “We don’t have to talk about anything. I’ll say goodbye here.” They were at the center of downtown, waiting at the intersection for one of the few traffic lights in town to change.
    “I’m going this way anyway,” he said casually. He took her elbow to assist her as she stepped off the uneven sidewalk onto the rutted pavement of the street, which, when wearing high heels, was treacherous. “Did you recover from our kiss last night?” She kept her eyes trained on the pavement, saying nothing. “Is that subject closed, too?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “All right. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
    “No, thank you.”
    “Cherry Coke?”
    “No, I’ve—”
    “Humor me. This Woolworth’s still makes the best cherry Cokes in the world. That’s one of Latham Green’s few claims to fame.”
    Again he took her elbow and, to avoid causing a scene that would no doubt entertain the passersby, Sunny had no choice but to go along when he pulled her through the door of the variety store.
    Entering it was like stepping back in time. The same fans circulated overhead even though the store had installed central air conditioning years ago. The wooden floors still creaked in the same places and smelled pleasantly of the lemon oil with which they were dustmopped. The shelves were stocked with merchandise one couldn’t buy anywhere else, like Tangee nail polish and Evening in Paris perfume in its trademark opaque, blue glass bottle with the silver lid. Sunny and her friends had spent hours “shopping” this store, spending their babysitting money.
    The soda fountain in the back looked the same, too. Sunny’s mouth salivated in anticipation of the fountain cherry Coke that Ty ordered for her.
    “For here or to go?” the soda jerk inquired.
    “Here.” “To go.” They answered in unison. Ty took off his hat and sunglasses and looked down at her. “If you take it outside the ice will melt. We’ll drink them here.”
    Sunny sat down on the stool he indicated and took off her own glasses. “You enjoy ordering people around, don’t you, Sheriff?”
    “I