But even so, Judge had a type.
He knew it.
And that woman who’d strolled up to the shoe displays?
She was his type.
Multiplied by a thousand.
Christ, she was beautiful.
And bad news.
He could tell that last by the outfit, including her ridiculous, high-heeled booties.
He’d worked at River Rain Outdoor stores for nine years—starting as a sales associate when he was still going to college and advancing to director of the Kids and Trails program.
In all that time, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman walk into any of their stores wearing shoes like hers.
And when he came down again a half an hour later to hit Rix’s office to make some copies because the copier in the corporate offices at the top level was busted, he noticed she was still there.
He also noticed he had further evidence she was bad news.
That evidence?
The sheer number of boxes of boots that she was trying on scattered around her.
She looked like she’d not set foot on a hiking trail in her life.
And she looked like she was there because she’d already trolled through all the boutiques around the square, but this hadn’t assuaged her shopping fix, because nothing really did.
Therefore, there was a possibility, after making a member of staff bring her fifteen pairs of shoes, she’d walk out not buying anything.
She’d do this not thinking a thing of it.
However, he noted some of the boots she was trying on were riding boots, and Judge could see that round ass of hers in the saddle on top of a horse.
Wearing a riding habit.
Even if she was trouble, and he had not the slightest interest (or he was telling himself that), he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Because he was a moron.
That said, she caught his gaze every time.
So he was looking.
But so was she.
His instincts proved true when he came down for the third time with more to copy, and he again walked through the shoe section to get to the office in the back. Doing this close to where she was seated, still trying on boots, because, yes, in the fifteen minutes between then and now, he had not stopped being a moron.
And again, she caught his gaze.
He had no clue why, but as her gorgeous hickory brown eyes hit his, he muttered, “Nice booties.”
Her back shot straight, and she demanded, “What did you just say?”
Yup.
Moron.
He shook his head in an effort to shake some sense into it, then dipped his chin to her and kept walking.
“Excuse me,” she snapped, and Judge continued on his way, but looked over his shoulder at her. “What did you just say to me?” she repeated when she caught his eyes.
“Nothing, miss, have a nice day,” he replied.
“Do you work here?” she asked.
He drew breath into his nose, stopped and turned to face her.
She’d been sitting.
She was now standing.
Fucking fuck.
Straight on and standing close to her?
She wasn’t beautiful.
She was stunning.
Facing her, not for the first time, Judge wished Prescott was a good two hours further from Scottsdale. Being an easy drive away, it was one of the weekend playgrounds for people like her.
Now, it was September, when temperatures around Phoenix were gearing down, so things would peter off with folks from down south coming up to get away from the heat.
Coming up to play weekend warrior, do stupid shit at campsites, bring up their guns and shoot things when they had no clue how, or any intention of field dressing a deer, not to mention eating its meat.
Tossing their water bottles during a hike, and not doing that in trash receptacles.
Having disposable water bottles at all.
Looking down on the townies.
But there she was.
Tall. Shiny, chocolate brown hair. Slender but curvy.
But for Judge (outside the hair, and those long-ass legs), it was her neck.
Her neck was long and graceful, which made her seem almost…
Vulnerable.
When he knew she was probably not.
And her hands.
Those hands were insanely beautiful.
Because of the man he was and the life he liked to live, even though it made him stupid, and this was part of the reason he was a moron (and all the other parts surrounded his taste in women as well), he got off on the way she dressed.
Judge had always liked a woman who looked after herself in that way (and others, and those others didn’t revolve around her hiking or climbing or doing something to keep fit, but instead things like giving herself facials and having polished nails—like he hadn’t learned the hard way, repeatedly, that opposites did not attract).
Her way of dressing was overtly expensive. Smart. Lowkey dramatic (and yeah, she made those opposing concepts work together). And she had a definite personal style she was completely confident in.
She also had a significant attitude, if the flash in those eyes was anything to go by.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.