There was one box of Frosted Flakes on the shelf.
Which shouldn’t have mattered in the least to Sierra Hart, because she already had cereal in her cart.
The spoon-size shredded wheat (tucked between the loaf of twelve-grain bread and a package of low-fat, low-sodium crackers) was undoubtedly a healthier choice, and she was trying to make healthier choices. Over the past few weeks, she’d willingly reduced her intake of sodium and fat (goodbye convenient microwavable meals) and completely cut out alcohol (au revoir cabernet sauvignon), but her sweet tooth continued to protest the lack of brownies and cookies and ice cream.
And now, apparently sugary cereals that reminded her of her childhood, too.
Frosted Flakes had been her breakfast of choice while she was growing up in Summerlin South, a suburb of Las Vegas—or at least after her fourteenth birthday. Prior to that, her favorite morning meal had been homemade breakfast burritos: scrambled eggs and crumbled bacon wrapped up with shredded cheese and tangy salsa inside a warm tortilla. Whenever Sierra had a test at school or a basketball game after, her mom insisted that she start her day with a home-cooked breakfast to fuel her brain and her body.
She shrugged off the memories. It wasn’t so easy to shrug off the ache in her heart that, sixteen years later, had faded but not disappeared.
It was when her brother had come home that she’d started eating cold cereal in the mornings before rushing out of the house to catch the bus for school. Weekends usually meant toaster waffles, and sometimes Nick sat at the table with her, always with a textbook of some kind at his elbow despite having taken a hiatus from college.
He’d grumbled only a little about buying the sugary cereal for her when she was a teen, but she imagined he’d have a lot more to say if he knew she still craved it now.
But why should she feel guilty about the occasional indulgence when the other items in her cart were healthy?
When she’d lived in Las Vegas—and been on a partnership track at Bane & Associates—she hadn’t had the time to cook. And with countless takeout options available, there had been little incentive to bother. But her new job in the Haven District Attorney’s Office had, so far, afforded her a more regular schedule, and so she’d started to prepare her own meals.
At first, she’d been more resigned than enthused about tackling that particular chore, but she didn’t really have much of a choice as dining options in town were severely limited. There was the Sunnyside Diner, famous for its all-day breakfast and not much else; Jo’s Pizza, which offered wings and some simple pasta dishes alongside its namesake specialty; Diggers’ Bar & Grill, a popular choice for those wanting standard roadhouse fare; and The Home Station, whose menu boasted creative and upscale cuisine.
Of course, even in Vegas there had been times when she wasn’t in the mood for takeout and opted to pour herself a bowl of cereal instead. And quite often it was Frosted Flakes.
She started to reach for the box—
“Never go shopping on an empty stomach.”
She drew her hand back and turned to the shopper who’d drawn her cart up alongside Sierra’s. The other woman had long dark hair tied in a ponytail, pretty blue-gray eyes and a warm smile.
“That’s what my sister tells me, anyway,” the stranger confided. “But since I got pregnant, I’m constantly hungry, which makes it impossible to follow her advice.”
“Um...congratulations?” Sierra finally ventured.
The expectant mother laughed. “And now you’re wondering why you ever decided to move to this town where people overshare personal information in the breakfast foods aisle at the local grocery store,” she guessed.
“I don’t think it’s just the breakfast foods aisle,” Sierra said. “The guy working behind the deli counter told me all about his upcoming knee replacement surgery while he was slicing my oven-roasted turkey.”
“That would’ve been Dustin Hobbs,” the other woman said, reaching for a container of steel-cut oats and dropping it into her cart. “He’s been grumbling about his bad knee for years.”
“Since 2010—the year he carried three passes over the goal line for the state champion football team?” Sierra guessed.
“Sounds about right.” A box of Corn Pops joined the oats. “You’re Sierra Hart, aren’t you?”
“Have we met?” Sierra was certain they hadn’t, though the other woman did look vaguely familiar to her.
“Not formally, but our paths sort of crossed at April’s House last weekend. I’m Sky Gilmore—Sky Kelly,” she quickly amended, offering a smile along with her hand.
Though Sierra had only been in town two weeks, that was long enough to have heard about the Gilmores. In addition to being one of the founding families of Haven, they were owners and operators of the Circle G, one of the most successful cattle ranches in all of Nevada.
She’d also heard about the historic feud between the Gilmores and the Blakes, the gist of which was that both families had come to Nevada to settle the same parcel of land more than a hundred and fifty years earlier. Rather than admit that they’d been duped, they agreed to split the property. Everett Gilmore, having arrived first, took the prime grazing land for his cattle, leaving Samuel Blake with the less hospitable terrain. As a result, Crooked Creek Ranch—and the Blakes—struggled for a lot of years before gold and silver were discovered in their hills.
Although both families had ended up ridiculously wealthy, the animosity between them had remained for a long time. It was only in recent years—and as a result of a handful of reunions and romances—that the Gilmores and Blakes had finally managed to bury the hatchet.
“Do you work at April’s House?” Sierra asked, shaking the woman’s proffered hand.
“I’m a volunteer counselor,” Sky responded.
“Tough job,” she noted. And because Sierra had some experience of her own working with abused women and their children, she felt an immediate kinship with—and a lot of respect for—the other woman.
“I’m sure being an ADA isn’t a walk in the park.”
“It’s just a temporary gig,” Sierra told her.
“And your stay in Haven?”
“Also temporary.”
Sky’s smile was knowing. “That’s what my husband said, too, when he came to Haven. Three years ago.”
“What did I say?” a masculine voice asked from behind her.
Sky’s smile was quick and warm as she turned her head. “That your stay in Haven was only temporary.”
Obviously this was the aforementioned husband, and Sierra couldn’t help but think that the counselor had lucked out when she fell in love with the six-foot-tall, dark-haired, hazel-eyed man standing beside her now.
“How was I to know that I would fall in love—with Haven almost as much as you?” he said.
Spoken by another guy, the response might have made Sierra want to gag, but not only did Sky’s husband sound absolutely sincere, the way he looked at his wife when he said the words made her heart sigh.
“Well, I have no intention of falling in love with the town—or with you,” Sierra said lightly.
Sky laughed. “Jake, this is Sierra Hart—the new ADA. Sierra, my husband—Jake Kelly.”
“Temporary ADA,” Sierra clarified.
Now Jake grinned. “And what do you think of Haven so far?”
“It has its charms,” she noted.
“But being able to make a quick stop at the grocery store isn’t one of them,” he warned.
“So I’ve discovered.”
“For the first few months that Jake was in town, he went to Battle Mountain to buy his groceries so that he wouldn’t have to make small talk with the locals,” Sky told her.
“Something to consider,” Sierra said, only half joking.
“Which completely backfired on him,” the other woman continued. “Because that’s how he happened upon me, stranded on the side of the road one day.”
“And while I don’t mind strolling down memory lane now and again, I’m sure the ADA is more interested in finishing her grocery shopping,” Jake said.
“You’re right,” his wife acknowledged. Then to Sierra she said, “I’ll bore you with the story over coffee sometime.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Sierra said, a little surprised to realize that she meant it.
“It was nice to meet you,” Jake said, nudging his wife along.
“And both of you.”
Sierra watched them make their way down the aisle, walking side by side, so close that their shoulders were almost touching. They seemed completely in sync with one another, like her brother and sister-in-law, and Sierra’s heart sighed again, more than a little wistfully, as they disappeared from sight.
Maybe one day she’d be lucky enough to meet someone who looked at her the way Jake looked at Sky and Nick looked at Whitney, but that was a dream she’d put on the back burner for at least the next seven and a half months. The move, the job and swearing off romantic entanglements had all been her choices, and while she didn’t have any regrets, she couldn’t deny that she yearned for something more.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice said, at the same time an arm reached past Sierra to pluck a box of cereal from the shelf.
Not just any box but the last box of Frosted Flakes.
The very same one that she’d been eyeing.
“Hey,” she protested.
The cereal-stealer turned his head. His dark blue gaze locked with hers, and Sierra felt a frisson of awareness shiver down her spine.
Well, damn. She certainly hadn’t expected that.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, sounding completely unconcerned about the possibility there might be.
She swallowed and tightened her grip on the handle of her cart. “Yes, there’s a problem,” she told him. “You took my Frosted Flakes.”
Of course, the bigger problem was that Sierra seemed to be attracted to men who inevitably ended up trampling her heart, and she already knew that this was one she should walk away from—as far and as fast as her legs could carry her.
Unfortunately, her feet seemed glued to the floor and her brain stubbornly determined to battle over a box of breakfast cereal, even as her eyes enjoyed a leisurely perusal of the hottest guy she’d crossed paths with in the fourteen days she’d been in Haven. He had slightly tousled dark blond hair and a squarish jaw covered with golden stubble that, on another man, might have looked scruffy, but definitely worked for this one. He wore a dark brown bomber-style leather jacket, unzipped, over a blue sweatshirt, faded Levi’s and brown cowboy boots. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, his legs long.
“Your Frosted Flakes?” he echoed, clearly amused by her declaration.
She yanked her errant gaze back to his mouthwateringly handsome face. “I was just about to reach for that box of cereal.”
“Were you really?” he challenged. “Because you stood in front of it for at least three minutes without making a move to pick it up.”
“I doubt it was three minutes,” she said indignantly.
“At least three minutes,” he said again.
“Which still doesn’t give you the right to elbow your way past me to take it.”
“I said excuse me,” he reminded her.
As if being polite justified his actions.
“A gentleman would give up the box of cereal,” she said, her tone both piqued and prim.
He grinned, and her knees turned to jelly. Dammit.
“You’re definitely new in town,” he decided. “No one from around here would mistake me for a gentleman.”
She could see it now, in the devilish glint in those blue eyes. He was a bad boy. The kind a mother warned her daughters about. Not just dangerous but dangerously tempting.
Sierra knew that she should walk away—it was just a box of cereal!—but she decided to give it one last shot.
“You’re really not going to give me the cereal?”
“I can’t,” he said, sounding almost regretful as he shook his head. “But I can give you some advice—add a couple tablespoons of sugar to a bowl of cornflakes.”
“Why can’t you add sugar to a bowl of cornflakes?” she challenged.
“I don’t have to.” He grinned and held up the box in his hand. “I’ve got Frosted Flakes.”
She scowled, annoyed that his smug arrogance somehow added to his appeal. “I hope your milk is sour.”
“That’s harsh,” he chided. “But the truth is, the cereal isn’t for me. I’ve got company coming tonight and they have very specific breakfast demands.”
“They?”
She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until she saw his lips twitch, as if he was fighting against a smile.
“Twins,” he said, with a wink.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Men like this one always had women clamoring for their attention, and he was obviously willing to give it—and to more than one at a time.
Rather than continue this pointless conversation, she decided to relinquish her claim to the cereal and move on.
He deliberately stepped into her path as she started to push her cart past him.
“I’d be happy to share the cereal, if you wanted to come over for breakfast. Better yet,” he said, with another wink, “you could stay for breakfast.”
Her gaze narrowed in response to the blatant innuendo even as her hormones stirred with interest. “Aren’t you going to be busy with the twins?”
“Tonight and tomorrow, yes,” he agreed. “But my schedule’s wide open next weekend.”
A not-at-all tempting offer, because as much as she had a weakness for bad boys, she had more important things to focus on while she was in Haven. “In your dreams, cowboy.”
“I’m not a cowboy,” he said, refusing to take the hint. “I’m a lawyer.”
“Let me guess—” she zeroed in on the logo emblazoned on the front of his sweatshirt “—Columbia Law?”
“That’s right.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and offered it to her.
Deacon Parrish
Attorney at Law
Katelyn Davidson & Associates
355 Page Street
Haven, NV
“In case you ever need a lawyer—” he flashed that devastating smile again “—or breakfast.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she said, ignoring the card in his outstretched hand and steering around him.
“Legal troubles or breakfast?”
He called out the question as she walked away.
Sierra forced herself not to look back.
“Neither.”