Sheriff Boston Donovan knuckled up the brim of his worn Stetson until his view was unrestricted. And what a view it was. The woman currently sharing his table – the fine-looking woman – was as nervous as a field mouse hole up beneath a tree of night owls. Boston had been too long with a badge pinned to his chest not to recognize a first class dodge when he heard it. He planned to find out why. No, more than that. It was his job to find out why. Then make certain that trouble hadn’t chased her into town.
“So you’re visiting this stretch of Texas because you’re . . .” he probed gently.
“Doesn’t anyone ever pass through this one-stoplight town? Headed onto somewhere else?” She snapped at him, apparently not the slightest bit impressed with his persuasive tone.
“Sure, people do. All the time.”
“Then why the Johnny Justice interrogation? ” she countered.
Between one breath and another, Boston leaned in, close enough to shadow her with his size. Instantly she’d countered his action, straightening in her chair, shoving her hands against the table’s edge to gain distance.
His whisper barely caught the air between them. “Because women who jump out of their skin when a man gets too close always have a reason. What’s yours?”