Novels: The Law is a Lady by Nora Roberts

the notion, Merle strode out again.
    "Sheriff"—Tory turned back to the cell as Lou came out—"my client tells me you also serve as justice of the peace?"
    "That's right, Mr. Sherman."
    "In that case, I'd like to plead temporary insanity on the part of my client."
    "You're cute, Lou," Phil muttered from the cell door. "Can I take that shower now?" he demanded, indicating his suitcase.
    "In the back," Tory told him. "You need a shave," she added sweetly.
    He picked up the case, giving her a long look. "Sheriff, when this is all over, you and I have some personal business."
    Tory lifted her half-finished coffee. "Don't cut your throat, Kincaid."
    Lou waited until Phil had disappeared into the back room. "He's a good boy," he said with a paternal sigh.
    Tory burst out laughing.
    "Oh, no," she said definitely, "he's not."
    "Well, it was worth a try." He shrugged it off and settled his enormous bulk into a chair. "About the charge of resisting arrest," he began. "I'd really hate for it to go on his record. A night in jail was quite a culture shock for our Phillip. Victoria."
    "Agreed." She smiled. "I believe that charge could be dropped if Mr. Kincaid pays the speeding fine."
    "I've advised him to do so," Lou told her, pulling out a thick cigar. "He doesn't like it, but I'm..." He studied the cigar like a lover, "...persuasive," he decided. He shot her an admiring look. "So are you. What kind of a gun?"
    Tory folded her hands primly. "A .45."
    Lou laughed heartily as he lit his cigar. "Now, tell me about the Dunbarton case, Victoria."
    The horse kicked up a cloud of brown dust. Responding to Tory's command, he broke into an easy gallop.
    Air, as dry as the land around them, whipped by them in a warm rush. The hat Tory had worn to shield herself from the sun lay on the back of her neck, forgotten. Her movements were so attuned to the horse, she was barely conscious of his movements beneath her. Tory wanted to think, but first she wanted to clear her mind. Since childhood, riding had been her one sure way of doing so.
    Sports had no appeal for her. She saw no sense in hitting or chasing a ball around some court or course. It took too much energy. She might swim a few laps now and again, but found it much more agreeable to float on a raft. Sweating in a gym was laughable. But riding was a different category. Tory didn't consider it exercise or effort. She used it now, as she had over the years, as a way to escape from her thoughts for a short time.
    For thirty minutes she rode without any thought of destination. Gradually she slowed the horse to a walk, letting her hands relax on the reins. He would turn, she knew, and head back to the ranch.
    Phillip Kincaid. He shot back into her brain. A nuisance, Tory decided. One that should be over. At the moment he should already be back on his way to L.A. Tory dearly hoped so. She didn't like to admit that he had gotten to her. It was unfortunate that despite their clash, despite his undeniable arrogance, she had liked him. He was interesting and funny and sharp. It was difficult to dislike someone who could laugh at himself. There would be no problem if it ended there.
    Feeling the insistent beat of the sun on her head, Tory absently replaced her hat. It hadn't ended there because there had been that persistent attraction. That was strictly man to woman, and she hadn't counted on it when she had tossed him in jail. He'd outmaneuvered her once. That was annoying, but the result had been much deeper. When was the last time she had completely forgotten herself in a man's arms? When was the last time she had spent most of the night thinking about a man? Had she ever? Tory let out a deep breath, then frowned at the barren, stone-colored landscape.
    No, her reaction had been too strong for comfort—and the fact that she was still thinking about him disturbed her. A woman her age didn't dwell on one kiss that way. Yet, she could still remember exactly how his mouth had molded to hers, how the