Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Copyright

“What Do You Think Of The Sheriff’s Office?”

Hunter asked as he showed Gaylynn around.

“Tack a few girlie posters on the wall and it would look just like your old tree house.”

Hunter grinned at her tart comment. This was the Gaylynn he knew and loved.

Whoa there, he ordered his runaway thoughts.

Love? Where had that come from? Falling for Gaylynn would be like eating gunpowder—you know it’s going to detonate sooner or later.

But damn, she looked good in those jeans!

“Want to see my extra-heavy-duty handcuffs?” He tugged open the top drawer and dangled them in front of her.

“Can I use them on you?” she inquired.

Not trusting that fiendish gleam in her eye—was it caused by passion or anticipation of revenge for that gum in her hair all those years ago?—he heard himself promising, “Only if we’re in bed.”

“Cathie Linz’s fun and lively romances are guaranteed to win readers’ hearts! A shining star of the romance genre!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Dear Reader,

This month, we begin HOLIDAY HONEYMOONS, a wonderful new cross-line continuity series written by two of your favorites—Merline Lovelace and Carole Buck. The series begins in October with Merline’s Halloween Honeymoon. Then, once a month right through February, look for holiday love stories by Merline and Carole—in Desire for November, Intimate Moments for December, back to Desire in January and concluding in Intimate Moments for Valentine’s Day. Sound confusing? It’s not—we’ll keep you posted as the series continues.and I personally guarantee that these books are keepers!

And there are other goodies in store for you. Don’t miss the fun as Cathie Linz’s delightful series THREE WEDDINGS AND A GIFT continues with Seducing Hunter. And Lass Small’s MAN OF THE MONTH, The Texas Blue Norther, is simply scrumptious.

Those of you who want an ultrasensuous love story need look no further than The Sex Test by Patty Salier. She’s part of our WOMEN TO WATCH program highlighting brand-new writers. Warning: this book is HOT! Readers who can’t get enough of cowboys shouldn’t miss Anne Marie Winston’s Rancher’s Baby. And if you’re partial to a classic amnesia story (as I certainly am!), be sure to read Barbara McCauley’s delectable Midnight Bride. And, as always, I’m here to listen to you—so don’t be afraid to write and tell me your thoughts about Desire!

Until next month,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Port Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Seducing Hunter
Cathie Linz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHIE LINZ

left her career in a university law library to become a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romances. She is the recipient of the highly coveted Storyteller of the Year Award given by Romantic Times, and was recently nominated for a Love and Laughter Career Achievement Award for the delightful humor in her books.

While Cathie often uses comic mishaps from her own trips as inspiration for her stories, she found the idea for this trilogy in her very own home—from an heirloom that has been in her family for generations. After traveling, Cathie is always glad to get back home to her family, her two cats, her trusty word processor and her hidden cache of Oreo cookies!

Special thanks to fellow crew members

Elainibonz and Ooopsie

for being at the other end of the modem

whenever I needed them!

One

“No!” Gaylynn Janos screamed. “No.don’t!”

Sitting straight up in bed, Gaylynn blinked away the tears and dragged in ragged lungfuls of air. Her breathing remained unsteady as she tried to shake off the shrouds of the vivid nightmare she’d just had—a nightmare that was based on reality. She’d lived it all again—the reflective shimmer of the switchblade, the stark terror.

“It’s okay,” she whispered to herself, the sound of her shaking voice penetrating the silence in the otherwise empty cabin. “You’re safe now.”

Still trembling, Gaylynn reached out to check the time on her travel alarm resting on the bedside table. It was three o’clock. The muted daylight sneaking through the crack in the drapes told her it was afternoon. She’d been so tired after the fourteen-hour drive from Chicago to North Carolina that she’d fallen asleep on the bed while still fully dressed.

It probably would have been smarter to have overnighted along the way, but once she’d made the decision to come to her big brother Michael’s secluded Blue Ridge Mountain cabin she hadn’t wanted to stop until she’d reached its comforting safety. She’d hoped to leave the nightmares behind.

“No such luck,” she muttered, scooting over to the edge of the bed and planting her feet firmly on the pine floor. The sound of her stomach growling reminded her of the fact that she’d gone to bed without eating.

She’d just finished making herself a quick salami sandwich from the food she’d brought with her when she caught sight of the cardboard carton Michael and his wife, Brett, had given her right before Gaylynn had left their wedding reception in Chicago the night before.

Balancing her lunch on top of the cardboard carton, Gaylynn carried everything outside to carefully plunk herself down on the large wooden rocking chair. Located on the sunny side of the covered front porch, the old-fashioned rocking chair was just begging for someone to occupy it. This was the kind of chair one could wile away the hours in, Gaylynn decided as she set aside the mystery package from her brother in favor of taking a bite out of her sandwich.

Spring came sooner this far south. At home the trees were still bare, but here they were proudly budding new leaves, creating a green tracery against the sky. A slight rustling in the underbrush got her attention. The noise was caused by a cat. A few seconds later two kittens skittered out. The feline family looked scared and hungry, very hungry.

Talking softly, Gaylynn removed some of the salami from her sandwich and, slowly going down the steps, offered it to the mama cat and her two kittens. Despite her careful movement, the animals were spooked and scurried back into the woods.

Gaylynn felt the sting of unexpected tears. She could empathize and how. She knew the feeling well. She was as spooked as those wild cats were. Scared to the bone. So frightened that the first thing you did was run, and ask questions later.

To her relief, she saw that the mother cat and her two kittens hadn’t gone far into the woods. They were warily peering out at her. Kneeling down, Gaylynn quickly shredded the salami into bite-size pieces for them before leaving the meat in a spot where the cats could see and smell it.

Moving back to the front porch, she was glad to see the feline family eventually dash out and gulp down the food. The little calico kitten was the runt, and barely got a bite or two. The mother was very thin and appeared to be a Siamese. The other kitten was cream colored.

Once the food was gone, they all dashed back into the safety of the woods. They clearly felt safer away from people. At the moment, Gaylynn felt exactly the same way.

Sitting in the rocking chair, she absently picked up the cardboard carton her brother had given her, claiming it held “a little something from the Old Country to bring you luck.”

Her big brother had never been one to believe in luck before, despite their shared Rom heritage. Her father, a Hungarian Rom, was another story, however. Konrad Janos had taught her many good-luck charms over the years. He’d even insisted she take his special rabbit’s foot with her for this trip.

Her father couldn’t know that there was no protection against the blind fear that welled up inside of Gaylynn. She hadn’t told either of her parents what had really happened to her the month before. She’d just said she’d needed some time off from teaching in the inner city in Chicago. Since they’d never really approved of her working in such a rough neighborhood to begin with, they’d been too relieved at her decision to question her reasons for leaving.

Despite the warm sunshine, Gaylynn shivered as the mental images insistently flashed through her mind, the same images that had haunted her nightmare—the switchblade, the terror, the suddenness of it all. She’d had no warning of danger. No premonition of what was coming.

Sure there had been trouble at the school before, but she’d been known for her determination and toughness. She’d never had anything bad happen to her. She was well-liked and respected by her students. Even so, she’d never been foolish. She knew the dangers and had taken steps to avoid trouble. Until that day.

She’d stayed late at school. She’d been alone. Her mind had been on the school talent show when she’d felt arms grabbing her as she walked out of her fourthgrade classroom into the deserted hallway. Then the knife had been at her throat. No chance to scream. No chance to protect herself. She’d felt helpless. It wasn’t a feeling she’d really ever experienced before. She’d always been the fearless one in her family.

Her assailant hadn’t been much taller than she was, and at a little over five feet, she was no giant. But he’d been incredibly strong—due no doubt to the drugs he was high on, drugs that had made him dangerously unpredictable, drugs that had turned a fourteen-yearold boy into a lethal stranger.

He’d wanted money. She’d given him what little she’d had. His hands shook. So had the long, shiny blade, pricking the smoothness of her skin and drawing blood. Gaylynn raised her hand to her throat, fingering the tiny scar that remained as she recalled the high-pitched desperation of his words.

Then it was over as suddenly as it had begun. He’d shoved her against the row of metal lockers and taken off. But for one brief moment she’d seen his face. Her assailant was Duane Washington. He’d been one of her students five years ago, one of the more promising ones. She’d had high hopes for him. Those were gone now. And so was he.

Twenty-four hours after she’d been held at knifepoint, Gaylynn had gone home and turned on the fiveo’clock news to see the grizzly footage, the cameraman zooming in on the blood still darkening the street while the News team anchor’s voice-over said, “The suspect, Duane Washington, was wanted by the police on a mugging charge. He was fleeing, avoiding arrest, when he ran right into the path of an oncoming bus. Witnesses say that he died instantly.” Another close-up, this time of a covered body being carried away. Duane’s body.

The images still haunted her nightmares. The knife. The blood on the street. Duane’s white-sheeted body.

Although the attack had happened almost a month ago, Gaylynn didn’t feel she was recovering the way she should. She was still at the mercy of her emotions-primarily guilt and fear. Perhaps she’d done the wrong thing in calling the police and identifying Duane as her attacker. If she hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have been fleeing and wouldn’t have run right in front of that bus.

Then again, maybe if she’d been a better teacher, she would have seen signs much earlier that Duane was getting into trouble and she’d have been able to intervene before things had reached such a desperate point.

But there was no changing the past. The bottom line was that now Gaylynn, who had never feared traveling around the entire world on her own, was afraid to close her eyes in her own bed at night. She was paralyzed by fear—fear that she’d done the wrong thing, fear that she’d been in part to blame for Duane’s death, fear that she’d been unable to protect herself, fear that she was so vulnerable to attack, fear that she’d be attacked again.

The counselor she’d seen had told her she was suffering from post-traumatic stress. Gaylynn expected it to go away, like the flu did. But her symptoms had remained. Unable to teach as she once had, she’d left, taken a leave of absence.until she was “her old self” again, as her principal had jovially put it.

The trembling overcame her as it did whenever she thought too long about what had happened. The rocking chair moved forward and the cardboard box on her lap almost slid off. Grabbing it, she moved the package closer to her body.

“You’re safe now,” she whispered, as she had every day since the attack. She had yet to learn how to believe it.

Taking a few deep breaths, she shoved her dark thoughts aside and instead focused on undoing the cardboard flaps to finally see what her brother had packed for her. Inside she saw an intricately engraved metal box along with a letter in a spidery handwriting.

Oldest Janos son, It is time for you to know the secret of our family and bahtali—this is magic that is good. But powerful. I am sending to you this box telling you for the legend. I am getting old and have no time or language for story’s beginning, you must speak to parents for such. But know only this charmed box has powerful Rom magic to find love where you look for it. Use carefully and you will have much happiness. Use unwell and you will have trouble.

At the bottom of the letter was a yellow sticky note her brother had added. On it was written: “Thought you might find this interesting. Brett swears it worked in our case. Judge for yourself.”

It was “the box,” the one Gaylynn had heard so much about but had never seen before, the one Greataunt Magda in Hungary had sent Michael. Three weeks later, he’d married Brett.

Gaylynn clearly remembered the first time she’d heard about the love-charmed box. It had been right before Christmas when her father had told the family legend of a beautiful young Gypsy girl who’d fallen in love with a nobleman who did not return her feelings. Gaylynn had promptly dubbed him the “no-account count.”

The story was that the girl had paid to have a love spell cast on her behalf, but the old Gypsy woman who was in charge of such things had messed up the spell so that every second generation of Janos children would find love “where they looked for it”—which was taken literally! In remorse at her error, the old Gypsy had insisted the girl keep the engraved box she’d brought along, the only thing of value she had. Legend had it that the slightly out-of-whack love spell worked to this very day.

Leaning forward, Gaylynn tried to get a better look at the supposedly magical box—only to have the rocking chair shift forward, thereby tilting the box so that the lid opened.

Knowing the family legend that you’d find love with the first person of the opposite sex you saw after opening the box, Gaylynn automatically looked up-to see an old man dressed as a bum shuffling along the edge of the woods that surrounded the cabin.

Startled, she stood. The man disappeared back into the woods and the box lid flipped shut again.

“Great,” she muttered. “When Michael looks up he sees beautiful Brett. When I look up I see a derelict moonshiner! Maybe this box is a curse instead of good magic.” Having said that, Gaylynn carefully returned the box and the letter to the cardboard container. As she closed the cardboard flaps, she couldn’t help wishing she could bundle up her own ragged emotions just as easily.

By that evening, Gaylynn had already named the family of stray cats. The mama was Cleo, short for Cleopatra. The cream-colored kitten turned out to be a cream-colored Siamese, complete with crossed eyes in a vivid blue color. She was dubbed Blue. The little calico kitten had the temporary nickname of Spook.

Gaylynn wandered down to the edge of the woods and fed them all the salami she had in the house, as well as a sampling of other fare—cheese crackers, skim milk, a can of tuna. Tomorrow she’d have to get some dried cat food from the little gas station/food store at the base of the mountain. And some more food for herself.

Looking up, she only now realized that night had fallen while she’d been engrossed with the feline family. Not long ago, she’d enjoyed darkness. Now the woods that had seemed so peaceful became ominous, with the stark shapes of the foliage and trees taking on the outline of someone ready to strike.

Gaylynn jumped to her feet, her sudden movement scaring away little cross-eyed Blue, the only one who’d let her get within a foot. Now the kitten bolted, bringing tears to Gaylynn’s eyes. Damn, she’d never been the weepy type before. She hadn’t even cried when she’d broken her arm in two places at fourteen.

Biting her bottom lip to keep her unruly emotions at bay, Gaylynn quickly made her way back toward the cabin. Halfway there, a floodlight flickered on, illuminating her way. She remembered Michael telling her he’d installed a light-activated light.

She’d no sooner gotten inside the cabin when the sound of gravel crunching in the stillness of the night made her freeze in her tracks. Someone was outside!

Gaylynn couldn’t help it. Fear washed over her.

The twin beams of a car’s headlights pierced the shadowy darkness of the living room. The cabin was far enough off the beaten track to ensure that no one would just be passing by. That was one of the reasons Gaylynn liked it so much. Perched on the top of a hillside, it was just her, the kitties and the other wildlife, none of it human—other than the brief glimpse of that old moonshiner.

She was not expecting company. Only her family knew she was here. Yet a car was definitely making its way up the long and narrow gravel driveway—a driveway that was private and so secluded no one could stumble upon it by accident.

Silently thanking her brother’s foresight in installing the large floodlight on the outside corner of the cabin, Gaylynn tiptoed to the front door and peeked out the curtained window. The driveway was brightly lit. There was a car all right. A dark-colored sedan. She didn’t recognize it.

The car door opened and she saw a man step out. The floodlight shone down on his head. He had dark hair. As he turned toward the cabin she saw his face clearly for the first time.

An instant later, her fear was replaced by anger. Yanking the door open, Gaylynn confronted the man climbing the wooden steps leading up to the front porch.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Now is that any way to greet an old friend?” Hunter Davis returned with a slow smile.

Two

Gaylynn hadn’t seen Hunter Davis in ten years, but in many ways it was as if she’d only seen him yesterday. His dark hair was longer than she remembered and had a touch of silver at the temples. His deep-set eyes were exactly as she remembered, a vivid shade of green—the color of backlit spring leaves.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Red?” he drawled.

She’d hated the nickname as a kid, and she intensely disliked it now. Hunter had given her the nickname when, as an awestruck thirteen-year-old, Gaylynn had used henna on her hair to impress the “only man in the universe” for her. Hunter hadn’t known that he was that man. He’d been eighteen, five years older than her. In her idolizing eyes, he’d seemed like the perfect man.

Seeing Hunter now, she realized how wrong she’d been. Now he was a man. Not perfect perhaps, but definitely rather awesome. The years had honed him to a sharp edge, as was illustrated by the fine lines at the outer edge of his green eyes. His level brows intensified his elemental attractiveness. His face was too powerful to be handsome, yet it held a woman’s attention longer than any surface good looks would.

When, at age thirteen, Gaylynn’s plain brown hair had turned a vivid red as a result of her henna experiment, Hunter had started calling her Red. She’d tagged after him and her brother, anyway. She’d fallen in love—with capital letters and all the fervor of a teenager.

And when Hunter had gotten married at twenty-five, she’d shed a tear or two. It was the last time she’d cried. Until last month.

“What are you doing here, Hunter?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he eyed her with a frown. “What’s-wrong?” he said bluntly. “You look awful.”

Her cheeks burned. She knew her clothes were rumpled, and her jeans had dirt marks at the knees where she’d bent down to feed the stray cats. She’d planned on taking a shower after she’d eaten her late lunch, but had gotten distracted. Her hair hadn’t been brushed in hours and probably had a twig or two sticking out of it from her exploratory walk along the edge of the woods. “I wasn’t expecting company right now. Go away,” she muttered with self-conscious irritability, trying to move him toward the front door.” Come back later.”

She might as well have tried to move Mount McKinley. “I’m not going anyplace until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m on vacation, okay? This is the way I look when I’m on vacation. If you don’t like it you can leave!” Her famous Hungarian temper flared as she stomped off to the bathroom and slammed the door. Looking in the mirror, she saw that he was right. She did look awful. After washing her face and brushing her hair, she put on some lipstick before opening the door.

Of course, Hunter was waiting right outside, just as she’d known he would.

“There, is that better?” she asked, complete with a mocking pirouette.

“I wasn’t talking about your hair. I was talking about your eyes.”

“I didn’t get a lot of sleep…”

“That’s not it,” he interrupted her. Taking her chin between his fingers, he tilted her face up. “There’s something about the expression in your eyes.”

She closed them. Tight. But that only made the feel of his warm fingers on her skin all the more powerful. In an instant it was as if she were thirteen and in the throes of her ardent crush on him all over again. Her world became centered on the point of contact between them. Heat traveled from his fingertips to her skin, racing to her heart. Her senses were in a turmoil as he practiced his black magic on her with nothing more than the merest brush of his hand.

Disconcerted, she snapped her eyes open and stepped back from. him. “Did Michael send you over here to check up on me?”

“He told me you were coming.”

“I’ll shoot him.”

“Now hold on.”

She wanted to hold on, all right. She wanted to hold on to Hunter’s broad shoulders, wrap her arms around him and never let go. Great. This was not the time for her to remember the stupid crush she’d had on him. This was the time to get rid of him. Before she said or did something foolish.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to waste any more time checking up on your friend’s nuisance sister.”

“You’re not a nuisance.”

“That’s not what you used to say.”

“You were five years old then.”

“Nine,” she corrected him, remembering the very day his family had moved in next door. At first she’d hero-worshipped him.then she’d fallen for him. “What exactly did my brother say when he called you to come check up on me?”

“It wasn’t like that. He was just warning me that someone—you—would be using the cabin for a while. I’ve kind of been looking after the place.”

“You don’t mean you’ve been staying here, do you?” she asked, horrified by the image of sharing the compact cabin with him.

“No, of course not.”

“Good.”

“I’ve got my own place a stone’s throw away.”

“Stone’s throw?”

He nodded. “You can’t see it from here, but it’s just over the ridge there. About a two-minute walk from here.”

“Great.” A two-minute walk from temptation. Wonderful.

“Michael didn’t tell you that we went in together right after our academy days to buy this property and the two cabins on it?”

“No, he didn’t tell me.” The rat.

“So how about you? Are you going to tell me what’s happened?”

“Nothing has happened. Well, that’s not exactly true. Michael and Brett got married yesterday. Actually, it was the second time they got married, it’s kind of a complicated story,” she noted dryly. Made more so by a Gypsy love-charmed box, which was sitting in a cardboard container next to the couch at this very minute.

Too bad Hunter couldn’t have been the first man she’d seen when she’d opened that box. Unlike Michael, who’d been the practical one in the family, Gaylynn liked to think there was some magic in the world.

At least, she always had in the past. Now she wasn’t so sure. About anything.

“Yeah, I know about the wedding,” Hunter was saying. “I was sorry I couldn’t make it, but I was working.”

Gaylynn nodded. She knew he worked as a police officer. In fact, Hunter and Michael had gone to the police academy together. Her brother hadn’t finished the program, preferring to work on his own in the world of corporate security. But Hunter had graduated near the top of his class and been hired as one of Chicago’s finest. He’d looked dashing in his uniform and had been considered the ultimate bachelor, dating a number of women over the next few years. Then he’d up and gotten married the month Gaylynn had started college.

“So how’s your wife doing?” she asked with forced cheerfulness.

“I haven’t got the faintest idea. We were divorced almost five years ago.”

The news took her by complete surprise. “Michael never told me you were divorced.”

Hunter shrugged. The action focused her attention on his broad shoulders. He wore a denim shirt with jeans that were a shade darker. Both had seen their share of washings, making them soft enough to conform to every line of his body—molding his shoulders and narrow hips.

“Down girl,” she muttered to herself under her breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

“That comes from spending too much time alone.”

“No, you don’t understand. I came up here to do just that. To be alone. It’s what I need right now.”

Hunter watched the nervous slide of her fingers through her straight hair. Gaylynn had never been the fidgety type, even as a kid. She’d been the gutsy type. Fearless. Hell, he still remembered the time she’d invaded the tree house he and Michael had built in the only tree in the Janos’s postage-stamp backyard. Gaylynn had only been nine or so at the time, a mere baby compared to his advanced age of fourteen. But she’d climbed the dangling rope that supplied the only entry to their tree house, this despite the fact that she wasn’t wild about heights. She’d ended up with bloody hands from the rope burn she’d gotten. He knew she still had the scar between her thumb and index finger—her badge of courage, she liked to call it in the old days.

She’d changed from those days. Somehow he’d always pictured her in his mind as she’d been as a coltish teenager. Now he was confronted with a woman, a very attractive albeit untidy woman. He got the strangest feeling when he looked at her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Gaylynn demanded uneasily.

“I was just thinking about that time you invited yourself to our secret tree house. Do you remember?”

“Yes.” Gaylynn stared down at her hand, the one with the tiny scar, the one with her badge of courage. It was still there, mocking her fear. Now she had another scar, the tiny one at the base of her throat from the knife, as well as the jagged one on her soul.

She’d lost more than the thirteen dollars and twentyone cents she’d had in her wallet that day she’d been attacked. She’d lost her nerve.

It hadn’t happened instantly. At the time, one of her first concerns had been making sure that no one in the police department blabbed to her brother, who still had a few police connections from his academy days. Driving home that night after the attack, she’d resolutely blocked the entire thing out of her mind. At first, she thought she’d succeeded.

Then she’d seen the TV news. The horror had gripped her by the throat and the tears had started. She’d gritted her teeth and gone back to work the next morning only to have the terror creep up on her the moment she’d entered her classroom. She hadn’t been able to speak, hadn’t been able to move. For the first time in her life, Gaylynn had experienced the paralyzing effects of blinding fear.

Unaware of her thoughts, Hunter was saying, “You weren’t afraid of anything in those days.” The approval in his drawl was clear.

She knew he valued courage. She just wished she had some. But she did have her pride. She didn’t want him seeing how scared she was; she didn’t want his sympathy or pity. She had to get rid of him. “While I’d love to talk over old times with you, I was just getting ready to make dinner…”

“Great. I haven’t eaten yet.”

“I don’t have enough food for two.”

“Then we can go to my place. I’ve got plenty of food.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want to go out.”

“Fine. I’ll bring the food over here. I haven’t seen you in years. It’ll be fun to catch up on things.”

Kissing him would be fun. The rebel thought chased through her mind. She chased it out just as fast. What was wrong with her? She didn’t have enough problems already with all her nightmares and no backbone? Now she had to go and get sentimental about a man she had a crush on years ago? A man who had always treated her like a sister.

“I make a mean spaghetti sauce,” Hunter declared, his Southern drawl seductively sliding down her spine.

“I’ll bet you do. But-”

“I’ll be right back with all the fixings.”

Hunter was gone before she could voice a protest.

The good news was that he’d left before she’d made too big a fool of herself. The bad news was that he’d be back and shed better be ready for him. The problem was that Gaylynn had her doubts that there was any way for her to get ready for a man who represented even more danger to her already shattered peace of mind.

Hunter had only planned on doing a quick check on Gaylynn and then going on his way. He didn’t know what had made him insist on sharing his dinner with her. Maybe it had been the shadows in her big brown eyes—root-beer-colored eyes that he’d remembered as always sparkling with life. Of course, a lot of time had gone by since then.

She had to be what. nearing thirty by now. He’d just turned thirty-five himself. Hunter didn’t know where the time went. He’d meant to keep in better touch with Michael up in Chicago, but all he’d been able to manage was a Christmas card most years. He really regretted not being able to attend the wedding.

He also regretted blurting out his concern so awkwardly, telling Gaylynn she looked awful. That wasn’t like him. He didn’t blame her for almost biting his head off. But he’d seen the shuttered pain and had wanted to help.

What could have caused this change in Gaylynn? Why had she left her brother’s wedding reception last night to head for a remote cabin in the mountains? Michael, too wrapped up in his newfound happiness, hadn’t had any answers. But Hunter planned on getting answers, because he couldn’t help her until he did.

And I suppose the fact that she’s an attractive woman has nothing to do with your Good Samaritan routine, an inner voice mocked him.

“She wasn’t that attractive,” he muttered under his breath as he entered his own cabin.

Right, now you’re talking to yourself, just like Gaylynn was. And if she isn’t that attractive, then why did you feel such a zip of excitement when you looked at her?

“That was hunger,” he said as he grabbed the fixings for a great spaghetti sauce from his cupboards and fridge.

Gaylynn was just the sister of an old friend, and his reasons for wanting to make sure she was okay were strictly altruistic. That was his story and he was sticking to it, as he and Michael used to say.

Gaylynn spent the first ten minutes after Hunter had left getting cleaned up. A quick shower and change of clothing helped. There wasn’t time to wash her hair, but a vigorous brushing had improved things somewhat. Her baby-fine brown hair was straight as a board and had a definite mind of its own. The blunt-cut tips ended just past her shoulders. It was getting too long; she should have gotten it cut.

Hunter’s hair had been long, too. Like he’d been too busy to have it cut lately. She hadn’t been too busy, she’d been too freaked out.

Biting her bottom lip, she took a deep breath and reapplied her makeup. “You’re a good actress,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “So put on a good act tonight.”

Granted, she’d been able to sidestep Hunter’s questions so far, but he wasn’t liable to let her off the hook so easily next time. Like a dog with a bone, Hunter would just nag at her until he found out what was wrong. He was like her brother that way.

Luckily for Gaylynn, Michael had been distracted by events in his own life at the time of the attack on her. He’d been fighting to keep custody of little Hope, who’d been abandoned and left with Brett before she and Michael had gotten married. Yes, her brother had had his hands full, which was the only reason he hadn’t given her his customary third degree about her wanting to use his cabin. Instead, he’d just let her do her thing.

That wouldn’t be the case with Hunter. So she’d better have her story down pat by the time he came back because he could sniff out a mystery a mile away.

“Okay, I admit it, you do make a mean spaghetti sauce,” Gaylynn admitted as she licked a stray bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth.

Hunter watched her with the eyes of a hawk. She’d noticed the way he’d been watching her all evening, but she was unable to discern the thoughts going through his head. For her part, she’d been deliberately cheerful, talking about some of the people from their old neighborhood.

“I can’t believe little Joey del Greco is a priest now,” Hunter said with a rueful shake of his head.

Gaylynn grinned. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Last time I saw him, he was what we call down here ‘knee-high to a grasshopper’ and was stealing apples from the Jablonskis’ apple tree.”

“The apple tree is gone, and so are the Jablonskis.”

“Funny how you picture things staying the way they were when you saw them last. Like you. I pictured you with that White Sox cap on your head.”

“I still wear it on bad hair days,” she declared dryly. “How about your folks? How are they doing?”

“Fine. They’ve retired down to Florida now. Have a nice condo in Sarasota.”

“Does your dad still claim the Cubs are gonna win the World Series before the year 2000?”

“He sure does,” Hunter confirmed with a slow smile. “Although I’ve got to say that he’s starting to get a little nervous about that prediction. And how about your folks? Your dad still making those Gypsy weather forecasts that amazed the entire neighborhood?”

“You bet. He’s more accurate than any of the weathermen on TV.”

“I remember one time he took Michael and me fishing up in Wisconsin and tried to teach us how to ‘tickle’ trout. Neither one of us managed to catch on, though.”

Groaning at his obvious pun, Gaylynn crumpled up her paper napkin and tossed it at him.

Hunter merely grinned and ducked before continuing his story. “Your dad caught something like half a dozen trout. And I’ll never forget the way he left one hanging in the tree nearby before we left.”

“To bring good luck and ensure there would be good fishing at that site the next time,” Gaylynn explained.

“That’s right. You know, I’ve got to tell you, I was always envious of the way you guys got to open your Christmas presents early on Christmas Eve. And if I remember right, you got extra presents even earlier than that.”

Gaylynn nodded. “Left in our shoes on Saint Nicholas’s Day.”

“We had some good times in those days.”

“Yeah, we did,” she agreed softly. When she’d been a child, the world had been her oyster. She’d been the only girl in her family, with one older and one younger brother. Their protective presence had seen her through life’s rough spots. Until now. This was one rough patch she was going to have to make it through on her own. She didn’t want them knowing how weak she was; she didn’t want to disappoint them.

If Hunter saw how spooked she was, he’d tell them.

Spooked. That reminded her to ask Hunter about the feline family. “Listen, I meant to ask you before if you know someone who might have lost a Siamese cat and her two kittens. I saw them in the woods earlier today and gave them some food.”

Hunter shook his head. “Haven’t heard of anyone in this area missing their cat. Chances are they are strays.”

“They need looking after.”

So do you, Hunter wanted to say. Gaylynn had shoved more pasta around her dish than she’d actually eaten. Did she think he wouldn’t notice? Did she think he was buying her restless cheerfulness as the real thing? If so, she had a lot to learn.

“You never did tell me why you decided to come to Michael’s cabin,” he prompted her.

“I already told you, I needed a vacation.”

“So you’re on spring break from school?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what exactly?”

“You’re nosy, you know that?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that my interrogation techniques have been honed to a fine art. You might as well tell me all your secrets now,” he stated with a lazy grin as he helped her stack the dirty dishes on the table. “I’ll get them out of you sooner or later.”

“Oh, no, Officer Davis.” She gasped mockingly, putting one hand to her heart. “Not your dreaded tickling routine!” Hunter might not have learned how to tickle trout but he’d excelled at tickling her in their childhood days. “Anything but that!”

“So you’re willing to confess now?”

“You’ve got me.” She sighed, putting a dramatic hand to her forehead. “I’m an escaped felon, wanted by the city of Chicago for two overdue parking notices. I’ll give myself up peaceably,” she added, holding both her hands out to him. “Cuff me now and take me away.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, disturbed by the sudden sexy image of her wearing handcuffs and little else. What was wrong with him? She was Michael’s kid sister, for heaven’s sake!

“Then stop making such a big deal about this,” she said in exasperation. “I needed some time off from my teaching position so I took a vacation. End of story.”

“How long are you staying?”

“I’m not sure.”

“When is your vacation up? Wait a minute, now that I think about it, teachers can’t just up and take vacation during the school term.”

“Bravo, Sherlock.”

“Which means you’re what.on some kind of leave or something?”

“That’s right.”

“A medical leave?”

His persistence was irritating her. “That’s none of your business,” she said, taking the dishes from him and transferring them to the stainless-steel sink.

Hunter followed her into the open L-shaped kitchen to say, “Meaning I’m right.”

“No, meaning it’s none of your business,” she stated. “Look, I’ve been teaching for seven years in a stressful situation. It’s not surprising that I got burned out. End of story.”

“Someone like you doesn’t get burn out.”

“What do you mean ‘someone like me’?” she demanded.

“You’ve got too much determination to burn out. Besides, you’re too damn stubborn to give up.”

“What makes you think you know anything about me? You haven’t even seen me in ten years.”

“I’ve kept track of what you’ve been doing. Michael would brag about you in his Christmas cards, saying that you insisted on teaching where you were needed and could make the most difference, despite the fact that he and the rest of your family didn’t approve of you working in such a bad part of the city.”

Having said that, he reached around her to put a dish in the sink. She felt his body heat against her back, felt his arm brush her breast and she jumped as if hit by lightning.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused by her startled-cat routine. “Why did you jerk away from me like that?” Then, as one possible explanation hit him, his expression turned serious, bordering almost on alarmed. “Oh, my God. Were you sexually assaulted?”

Three

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was not sexually assaulted. Just because I’m a little jumpy doesn’t mean that anything like that happened to me!” Gaylynn said.

“And even if it had, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?” Hunter retorted.

“If you think that, then why ask me in the first place?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out how I can help you.”

His words were like tiny arrows piercing her pride.

Lifting her chin, Gaylynn stated, “I don’t need you to help me. I’m not one of those injured baby birds you used to take in when we were kids.”

“I’m still pretty good at mending broken wings,” he murmured, coming so close behind her that his breath stirred her hair and awakened silent yearnings.

Hunter was pretty good at plenty of things, not least of which was making Gaylynn feel like a young girl on her first date—filled with anticipation of what could be.

Curtly reminding herself that she was no young girl, Gaylynn squelched her wistful thoughts before they took further flight. “I’m sure the birds around here are glad to hear that you’re good at mending their broken wings,” she replied dryly. “But I don’t have wings and I don’t need your help.”

Gently brushing her shoulder blades with his fingertips, Hunter softly said, “Remember how Michael told you that these would grow into angel’s wings when you got older?”

“I was a gullible kid,” she admitted.

“And now? Are you still gullible now?”

“Sometimes,” she replied, stepping away from the magnetic temptation of his touch. “After all, I let you come over and badger me tonight, didn’t I?”

“You forgot to mention the delicious meal I made. Tomorrow night, you can cook.”

“Hey, I didn’t come to the mountains to cook,” she protested.

“Why did you come here?”

But she was on to his tactics now. “I’ve already answered that question several times. Maybe you need to get your hearing tested,” she mockingly suggested. “How old are you now? Almost forty?”

Hunter did not look amused. “I’m thirty-five and you damn well know it.”

His arrogant assumption that she would know his age irritated her. “Forgive me if I’ve been too busy living life to recall all the details of yours.”

“Yeah, I heard about you living life, traipsing all over the globe.”

She relaxed. This was something she felt more comfortable talking about. “That’s right. During my summer breaks I used to travel a lot,” she reminisced fondly. “I’ve been elephant-trekking in Thailand, slept on the beach in Morocco, shopped in Singapore, gotten rained on in England’s Lake District and visited the rain forest in Costa Rica.”

“You used to be a globe-trotter?”

“Yeah, well, now I stick a little closer to home.”

“Any reason for that?”

“Finances, and the fact that although I’ve seen a lot of the world there are still plenty of places right here in America that I haven’t seen yet. The Blue Ridge Mountains, for cexanmple. This is my first time down here.”

“Then you’ll have to be sure and drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway. We could do that this weekend. I’m off-duty-”

“I don’t need to go anywhere else,” she interrupted him. “I can see mountains from here.”

“There are even more spectacular views to be seen.”

“I’ll be fine right here.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re hiding away up here.”

That was exactly what she planned on doing, and she didn’t aim on having Hunter get in her way, regardss of how sexy she might still find him. His shaggy hair had just a touch of gray at the temples while his piercing green eyes reflected an interrogating intensity. She could easily picture Hunter as the embodiment of a gray wolf. He was certainly a natural born predator, trained to go after what he wanted and to get what he went after. She had to remind herself that all he wanted from her was the truth, but even that was too much for her to give him right now.

Seeing she wasn’t about to unload her innermost thoughts to him, Hunter chose a more nonthreatening topic. “So how’s the rest of your family doing?”

“Fine. Dylan flew in for the wedding.” If her rolling-stone younger brother hadn’t planned on flying out the morning after the reception, Gaylynn might have put off coming down to the mountains for a day or two. She hadn’t seen Dylan in a year.

“So what’s he been up to lately? Has he taken over your globe-trotting ways?”

“He pretty much sticks to the western United States, but he certainly doesn’t stay in one place very long. He been working the rodeo circuit out there as a saddle bronc rider. He’s even won a couple of championships. And did you hear that Michael and Brett have adopted a baby girl, Hope? She’s adorable. Smart, too. Naturally I’m her favorite aunt.”

“Naturally. Did she tell you that?”

“She’s not actually talking a lot yet. She’s a little over nine months old and is just about ready to walk on her own. I brought a picture of her.” Gaylynn retrieved a pocket-size photo album from her purse.

“You brought a photo?” Hunter said dryly. “Looks more like an entire book full to me.”

“Yes, but see how adorable she is?” Gaylynn’s expressive voice reflected her excitement as she showed him a series of pictures. “Isn’t she the cutest baby you ever saw?”

Hunter nodded accordingly. “I’m surprised you left her behind. They grow fast at that age, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do,” she agreed wistfully.

“You know, I expected you to have a family of your own by now.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Being a cop is hard on family life. I moved down here in the first place because my wife, Tricia, had a hard time with my being on the force in Chicago. I thought it would be easier on her if I worked for the county sheriffs department down here. The danger involved with the job is certainly less here in a rural area than it was in the city.”

“But there is still danger?”

He just shrugged. “Life is dangerous. But it wasn’t just the danger that torpedoed and sunk my marriage, it was the fact that my ex-wife hated living here. Said she was going crazy in this backwater hole-in-the-wall. Last I heard, she’d moved back up to Chicago and married a plumber.”

“Sounds to me like you’re well rid of her. You never did have the best taste in women,” she told him bluntly. “Remember that redheaded bimbo you went steady with in high school? Sindy spelled with an S.”

“I wasn’t dating her for her spelling skills.”

“That was obvious.”

“I’m surprised you remember her.”

“A chest like that is hard to forget. I was convinced she stuffed her bras with helium balloons. That was the only memorable thing about her. But I’m sure you’ve forgotten a lot about the old days.”

“I didn’t forget you.”

“Yeah, right. I treasured all the cards and letters you sent me over the years,” she said mockingly.

This time his shrug was just a tinge self-conscious. “You know I’m no good about things like that.”

He’d been married by then, so Gaylynn hadn’t expected to hear from him. Hadn’t wanted to hear from him. She’d wanted to forget him, and she’d succeeded for the most part.

Okay, so maybe a tiny part of her had compared all the men she’d dated with Hunter, and none of the city guys had quite stacked up when compared to Hunter’s rugged strength. But she hadn’t been unhappy with her life. Far from it.

And then her life had crumbled like a butter cookie, leaving her crumbs instead of substance.

Her sudden yawn scattered her dark thoughts.

“I guess that’s my signal to go and let you get some sleep,” Hunter noted wryly.

“Sorry,” she muttered, belatedly putting one hand to her mouth. “It’s not the company. I’m just tired.”

“I can see that.”

“Thanks for stopping by tonight, but I’ll be fine. Really.”

“I know you will,” Hunter told her. What he didn’t tell her was that the reason he knew she’d be fine was because he planned on sticking around and making sure she stayed that way.

That night Gaylynn’s dreams were spun around a wolf blending into the woods surrounding the cabin. A wolf with Hunter’s leaf green eyes. She was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, complete with red cape and hood. She woke up at the part where the wolf was in bed, seductively coaxing her to join him.

“In your dreams,” she muttered as she got out of bed and headed for the shower. No way would Hunter try and coax her into bed, unless she was sick…and then his intentions wouldn’t be romantic but practical.

The shower helped to clear the cobwebs from her mind. There was a nip in the air this morning, so she tugged on an aqua-colored sweater over top of her white T-shirt. Her jeans still had dirt marks on the knees, so she opted for a pair of black denims. There was no washer in the cabin, so she’d have to see if there was a Laundromat in town.

After the kitties finished the last of her canned tuna fish, Gaylynn bit the bullet and made a long list of things to stock up on. She didn’t want to be making the twenty-minute trip down the mountain any more often than was absolutely necessary. Not because she was intimidated by the rather harrowing drive on the narrow gravel road. Even the equally narrow one-way bridge that forded what the nearby sign proclaimed to be the Bitty River didn’t bother her—despite the fact that the chipped cement on the corners attested to the fact that more than one run-in had already occurred on that bridge. No, she didn’t want to be making the trip very often because she just didn’t feel like mingling with civilization yet.

As Gaylynn pulled in front of the compact building that housed “The Pit Stop Filling Station—Flling You And Your Car,” she realized that this might not quite qualify as civilization, per se.

The building was brick and resembled the filling stations of the forties. The pumps still had round glass tops, and a sign over the door advertised the virtues of a motor product that hadn’t been made in at least a quarter of a century.

In front of and across half the open threshold lay some sort of animal—large and lumpy and an auburn color—forming an unusual oversize and bumpy welcome mat. On closer inspection, she realized the animal was a bloodhound.

“He don’t bite and neither do I,” a voice boomed from inside. “Dog’s lazier than a hibernating bear. That ain’t his name a’course. His last name’s Regard. First name is Bo. Which makes him Bo Regard. Just step on over him.”

Gaylynn did, rather gingerly. The bloodhound responded by lifting its head, all of an inch, before letting it drop again with a muffled thump. “You’ve got a big dog there.”

“Oh, he don’t belong to us. He just comes visiting every day. Must be my scintillating conversation skills. Yer a sight forsore eyes.”

Startled, Gaylynn said, “Excuse me?”

“Now, don’t you mind him none,” an older woman stated as she stepped out from behind the counter. “Floyd here says that to every woman under the age of a hundred who walks through that door. My name’s Bessie. Bessie Twitty. And that grumpy-looking, talkative man over there is my husband, Floyd. And you must be the sister of Hunter’s friend. From up north, aren’t you?”

Gaylynn nodded, not even stopping to wonder how Bessie knew who she was already. “From Chicago.”

Bessie grimaced, making her wizened face look even more wrinkled. “I hate cities.”

“You never been in one,” Floyd retorted.

“Have so. I been up to Knoxville one time. Didn’t care for it atall.” Bessie said the words together, as if they were one.

“And my eyes are sore,” Floyd declared. “That’s why I have Bessie doing my post-office chores.”

“Did you come in to get some stamps for postcards?” Bessie asked Gaylynn. “We don’t get many tourists in these parts, so I don’t have much call for postcard stamps.”

“Unless it’s Ma Battle entering one of those doggone contests of hers,” Floyd inserted.

“I do declare that woman gets more mail than everyone else in town put together,” Bessie said. “How many postcard stamps will you be needing, then? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, dear.”

“It’s Gaylynn and I don’t need any stamps.”

“You didn’t get any gas-o-leen,” Floyd said, enunciating it as if the word consisted of three separate parts.

“I came to stock up on some food,” Gaylynn stated.

“The Piggly-Wiggly over in Summerville is where most folks do their stocking up,” Floyd replied.

“How far away is that?”

“About a forty-minute drive,” Floyd said.

“An hour, if you obey the speed limits,” Bessie inserted.

“I was driving these roads before they had speed limits,” Floyd said.

“I’d rather not go that far away,” Gaylynn decided. “I’ll just get what I need here.”

“We don’t have the best selection,” Bessie had to confess.

“But we do have something of just about everything,” Floyd added.

“Just not much,” Bessie tacked on.

“And we don’t carry any of them fancy TV dinners, neither.”

“We have lots of ice cream, though.”

Gaylynn was getting a crick in her neck from turning her head back and forth between Bessie and Floyd. A conversation with the two of them was like a tennis match, short words volleying back and forth.

“What about tuna? And cat food?” Gaylynn asked.

“I reckon we can fix you up with something. You bring some kitties down from the city with you?”

“Actually, I found a family, a mama and two kittens, up in the woods. I was wondering if they belonged to anyone around here?”

“Not that I know of. Most likely they’re just strays. We get lots of those down here.”

Yeah, and I’m one of them, Gaylynn thought to herself. She gathered up her groceries, many things she hadn’t eaten in years—including oatmeal from the round cardboard box instead of a microwaveable packet. The bread they had was fresh baked by some one in town and the strawberry jam was homemade. She bought as many cans of tuna and boxes of dry cat food as they stocked. The Pit Stop didn’t have any fancy paper bags for her purchases, which made her glad she’d brought along a cloth tote bag to lug the stuff back to her car.

But first she had to step over Bo Regard again, who this time lifted his head all of two inches before letting it drop again. He had a face only a mother could love and was actually so homely he was kind of cute—even if he did drool.

As she loaded her trunk, she heard the telltale rush and ripple of the river. When driving in early yesterday morning, she remembered noticing that the buildings in Lonesome Gap clung to the small ribbon of land between the two-lane blacktop road and the river.

Beyond that were the mountains, lush and green, rising directly beyond the narrow valley floor.

Gaylynn might have lingered longer were it not for the Twittys’ curious stares as they watched her out the Pit Stop’s front window—their noses plastered against the plate-glass right beneath the neon Gas sign. With their eyes on her, she managed to spill half the contents of the tote bag before she got everything in the car.

Gaylynn didn’t realize how uptight she was until she pulled in front of her brothe’s cabin. Only then did the tension ease from her shoulders.

She spent most of her afternoon coaxing the kittens to let her pet them after they’d gobbled down theirfood. Spook still kept her distance, so that Gaylynn couldn’t even tell if she really was a she. But Blue did let Gaylynn briefly brush her fingertips over the kitten’s back. Gaylynn was reminded of Hunter touching her own back—with a similarly soothing movement.

Once Hunter was in her thoughts, it was real tough booting him back out again. The best she could do was relegate him to a back corner of her mind as she sat on the covered front porch and watched the feline family playing with leaves left from last autumn.

At first, she didn’t even realize she’d picked up a pencil and started doodling on the back of the old-fashioned receipt from the Pit Stop. Looking down, she was amazed to discover that she’d drawn the view of the woods in front of her. Even more surprising was the fact that it wasn’t half-bad.

Funny, she’d never been able to draw worth a hoot before. Her artistic abilities were somewhere between zilch and nada. It had been something of a joke at the school, where she’d had the crookedest display boards of any class. The kids were better at art than she was.

There was a lot she missed about teaching—the feeling of making a difference, the interaction with the kids, the expression in her students’ eyes when they first grasped a new concept in reading or math. For the first time in a long time the thought of teaching didn’t fill her with blind panic. She wasn’t ready to return yet, not by any means, but she could feel the peaceful surroundings beginning to work their magic on her.

Thinking of magic naturally led her thoughts to the Rom box she still had stored inside the cabin. And from there, her thoughts roved right on to Hunter. Would he stop by tonight as he’d said he would? Tomorrow you can cook dinner, he’d told her last night. She’d told him not to bother, but she had the feeling that he took her words about as seriously as he did learning how to tickle trout.

The sun was just about setting, and from her vantage point she could see the heavenly orange glow radiating from the western horizon. Hunter should be coming home from work soon.

As it turned out, Hunter didn’t stop by that night so he couldn’t sample the tuna-and-noodle casserole she’d made. In fact, he didn’t come home at all—at least, she hadn’t heard him drive up by the time she’d fallen asleep at almost 4:00 a.m.

The next morning, she’d woken up with the birds and taken a walk, not deliberately intending to head in the direction of his cabin. Her feet just took her there on automatic pilot, even though she’d never been to his place before. The cabin’s design matched the one she was staying in, with the addition of a stone chimney on one side.

Hunter’s car wasn’t in front and there was no one home. She tried not to worry about him, reminding herself that he’d been taking care of himself just fine for years now.

But the questions came, anyway. What if something had happened to him? Had there been trouble at work? Was heall right? She knew it wasn’t logical to be worried about him. As he’d said, this wasn’t Chicago-drive-by shootings were not a fact of life in Lonesome Gap.

Her fingers trembled as she fed the kitties back near her cabin. How would she know if something had happened to Hunter? There was no phone in the cabin and she hadn’t given him the number on the cellular phone her brother insisted she bring with her. Who would know to contact her?

Stop it, she told herself. Nothing has happened to him. Geez, what a sissy you are! Talk about a nervous Nellie!

Her anxiety only served to remind Gaylynn that she was in no condition to be able to cope with the danger involved with his life, and she hated being so weak. Hunter deserved someone as strong as he was.

Gaylynn had just stepped out of the shower when there was a knock at the cabin’s front door. Her heart leapt to her throat.

“Gaylynn, it’s me,” Hunter loudly announced from the other side of the door.

Forgetting that she was still wearing her rose-colored terry-cloth robe, she rushed to the door and opened it. Hunter looked haggard and weary. “Sorry I wasn’t able to take you up on that dinner invitation last night.”

“No big deal,” she lied. “It wasn’t really an invitation, at all. In fact, you invited yourself and then I uninvited you.”

“Yeah, well, there was some trouble in town.”

“What happened—were you hurt?” She ran the two questions together.

“Some idiot in a pickup truck decided to take a joyride down the main highway. On the wrong side of the street. Playing chicken with a semi-truck filled with fertilizer. Both vehicles swerved—luckily in opposite directions—to avoid an accident. As it was, the pickup ended in a ditch and the semi-trailer tipped over. After making sure the driver of the semi was okay, my deputy approached the pickup—only to end up with a bullet through his foot.”

“He was shot!”

Hunter nodded.

“Will he be okay?”

“He’ll live,” Hunter replied as he lowered himself to the lumpy couch. “Considering where he could have been shot, he’s mighty lucky.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

“I’m not. I spent the night doing the rest of his shift and then my own.”

“It’s not his fault he was shot!”

“It sure was.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said it’s his own fault he got shot. Who else’s would it be?”

“The man who shot him.”

“Exactly.”

“So did you arrest the man who shot him?”

“Don’t think I wasn’t damn tempted to.”

“You mean you let him go?”

“He’s at the clinic over in Summerville.”

“And then he’ll be arrested?”

“Unfortunately, stupidity isn’t against the law.”

“You let the driver of that pickup go?”

“Of course not. He’s locked up awaiting transferal to the county facility.”

“But you just said—”

“Deputy Carberry shot himself,” Hunter explained. “He was approaching the pickup truck and getting ready to withdraw his weapon from his holster when he tripped over something in the grass. His finger squeezed the trigger and, presto, he shot himself in his big toe. Damn fool wasn’t wearing his regulation shoes. By the time I got to him he was bleeding a lot, but it looked worse than it was.”

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