A Lawman in Her Stocking Read Online Free

confrontation. He intended to finish it.
    “Where do you want me to sit?”
    Her eyes grew round. “You…you don’t mean you’re staying?”
    “Yep.” At her stunned reaction, he didn’t even try to hold back his satisfied smile. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
    “Oh, this is wonderful,” old Corny said, clapping her pudgy hands to gain the women’s attention. “Now that Dylan’s taking the class, we shouldn’t have any trouble convincing our men they could usea measure of culture, too. I intend to speak with Myron about it this very evening, and I encourage every one of you to do the same with your husbands.”
    Dylan’s triumphant grin evaporated, and he barely controlled the urge to squirm when several of the women bobbed their heads in eager agreement. He’d forgotten all about the guys over at Luke’s. Once they got wind he was taking an art class, he’d never hear the end of it. Now, short of humiliating himself in front of the entire room full of world-class busybodies, there wasn’t any way out.
    Every Tuesday night for no telling how long, he’d miss the poker game over at Luke’s. He’d be forced to listen to Brenna’s soft voice as she instructed the class. He’d have to watch her silky, red hair brush the top of her shapely rear—
    His body tightened noticeably, and muttering a curse, he removed his Resistol, lowered it to zipper level and took a seat. As he sat watching Brenna, his mood lightened and he fought back a grin. If any good came out of this mess, it had to be the dazed look on her face.
    Brenna Montgomery looked like she’d just sat down on a bumblebee.

Two
    D azed, Brenna turned and slowly walked to the front of the class. What had she been thinking? The sheriff had been ready to leave. And he would have, if she’d just kept her mouth shut.
    But, no. She couldn’t leave well enough alone. She’d tried to get even for this afternoon’s disagreement—tried to practice being assertive—and ended up making a mess of everything. Becoming a stronger, more self-assured woman was a balancing act. And she’d just proven she was tilting a little too far to one side.
    “Okay, ladies…and gentleman.” She purposely avoided looking at the man as she handed out the supply lists. “These are the items you’ll need for the course.”
    “What’s the difference between Folk Art andpainting a landscape or a portrait?” one of the women asked.
    Brenna perched on the edge of the desk as she tried to organize her tangled thoughts. The sheriff’s presence was playing havoc with her already jangled nerves and had her ready to kill for a Hershey bar.
    “Originally the label Folk Art was given to all forms of art created by people who knew little, if anything, about method or design. A folk artist ‘created’ without knowing how or what they’d done. Fine art requires more disciplined techniques.”
    “How did it get started?” Mildred Bruner asked.
    “You could say it evolved out of envy,” Brenna answered, trying her best to ignore the man sitting in the back of the room. He was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “In Europe, peasants wanted to simulate the expensive furnishings of the noble class, so they used Folk Art to paint their furniture, dishes and pottery. They even used it on store signs.”
    Mrs. Worthington frowned. “Store signs?”
    Brenna nodded. “Around the seventeenth and eighteenth century, the craft was used for practical, as well as decorative, purposes. Most of the common people were illiterate. But by having signs painted with bright colors and bold designs, shopkeepers could effectively advertise their product.” She paused as she searched for an example. “Let’s say Luke’s had a wooden sign with nothing more than a large beer stein with suds running down the side.” She smiled. “I don’t think any of us would be left to wonder what Luke sold, would we?”
    “Oh, how quaint,” Mrs. Worthington said, her face brightening with a wide