Page 67 of Haystacks and Hoaxes

She wrinkled her nose as she forced the image from hermind. Her thoughts had been way too grisly since the shootout she’d been caught in on the job six months ago. One of the bullets had lodged itself in her shoulder, a mere millimeter outside the confines of her bulletproof vest. The ensuing blood loss, shattered bone, and infection had nearly taken her from this world.

Her fiancé had been all too quick to point out her sudden increase in paranoia and negativity. Talk about kicking a dog while she was down! She’d thanked him for his non-professional assessment of her condition by breaking up with him, something he was refusing to accept. Before she’d driven to Heart Lake two nights ago, he’d doubled down on his sentiments in a text message.

I’ll give you your space for now, but it’s not over between us.

Some women would’ve considered his ongoing pursuit of her to be romantic. However, she wasn’t in the mood to be relentlessly hounded by a man who’d never called her anything besides Perkins. Not sweetie. Not honey. Not babe. From her perspective, it had been over between them long before she made their breakup official. The sooner he accepted it, the sooner they could both move on with their lives. They’d been engaged for over three years. If they were going to get married, they would’ve done it by now.

The cowboy Caroline Madison was currently flirting with was more like the tall, dark, and dashing heroes that filled Ashley’s daydreams. In her defense, her daydreams lately had been largely laced with pain meds and too much caffeine. She’d always had a bit of a weakness for men in boots and Stetsons — the opposite of her by-the-books ex in his perfectly creased trousers and dress shirts.

The most remarkable thing about this particularcowboy, though, wasn’t his windblown black hair or rugged good looks. It was that he wasn’t the least bit Caro Madison’s usual type. For starters, he wasn’t old. He didn’t appear wealthy, either, though it was impossible to tell the size of a man’s bank account at a quick glance.

What are you up to, Caroline?It was possible the woman was merely offering to do his laundry or serve as his personal chef.

Ashley edged closer to them. Though she’d recently left the Dallas Police Department to open her own PI business, she had six years of field experience under her belt as a police detective. Moving through a crowd undetected was her specialty. Her faded jeans and the Santa hat perched crookedly over her cascade of auburn hair were the perfect blend.

A flurry of barking made her jolt. For a split second, she was back on the job. The police dogs had barked up a raucous warning, right before the bullets started flying.

She instinctively lurched away from the two little balls of fur hurtling her direction, preparing to hit the ground. Instead, she slammed against an unmovable wall of rock-solid male.

Her cardboard cup of apple cider slapped against the cowboy’s leather jacket, sending an arc of steaming liquid upward. It caught him right smack in the jaw.

His wince of pain told her the scalding liquid hadn’t cooled nearly enough during its short flight through the air.

“I’m so, so, so sorry!” She used her gloved fingers to brush at the dampness on his jacket, quickly turning her fuzzy white gloves a golden brown. Her gaze latched onto the festering red welt rising on his jaw. “I’ll call an ambulance,” she offered, not sure what else to do. The guy could easily be suffering from a second-degree burn.

He snorted in derision. “I’m fine, darling.”

Darling?She stared at him, stunned. It was the first time any man had ever called her that. And all it had taken was an act of supreme klutziness on her part.

“Is that apple cider? Ugh!” Caroline Madison gave a sugary laugh, designed to yank the hunky cowboy’s attention back to her. It worked.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dreamy gave her a worried once-over. “You okay?

The woman was fine. Ashley glowered at the massive shoulder he’d rudely stuck in her face in his hurry to continue slobbering over her target. The only upside was that Caroline Madison didn’t consider a klutzy bystander to be worthy of her notice. She completely ignored Ashley’s presence while she gave him the lengthy version of how allergic she was to apples. Fortunately, not a single drop of the cider had landed on her.

“Which doesn’t change the fact that I’m on the clock.” Her announcement was accompanied by an excessive batting of eyelashes as she pressed her cup of hot chocolate back into his hands. “Duty calls.” She fluttered her fingers at him and backed away with a lingering look that was intended to stress how reluctant she was to end their encounter.

It was so coy and so fake that Ashley wanted to gag. It blew her mind how many guys failed to see through stuff like that. “I’m okay, too.” The sarcastic comment flew out of her mouth. “Thanks for asking,” she added, since he hadn’t bothered to inquire about her well-being.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Slightly Less Dreamy slowly pivoted back in her direction. “Ah. You’re still here.”

Her hackles rose. “My fiancé said something equallyrude and unfeeling after I took a bullet in the line of duty.” Her chin rose in defiance. “And now he’s my ex.”

“Sounds like he had it coming.” Instead of taking offense like she intended him to, the cowboy gave her an up-down nod of approval. “You a police officer?”

“Was.” She bit back the bitter story that flew to her lips, one that involved so many psych evaluations after being shot that she’d turned in her resignation to get off the sidelines. “I answer to no one but myself these days.” She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered telling him that. “I’m taking a nice long vacay, until I figure out what comes next.” It was sort of true and sort of not.

A wicked twinkle entered his dark-brown eyes. “Trying your hand as a wedding crasher, eh?” He pulled off one of his leather gloves and tentatively palpated the festering mark on his jaw.

It looked like it was turning into a blister. “I’m so sorry,” she mourned, digging into the pocket of her puffer jacket for the tube of petroleum jelly she always carried with her. It doubled as her lip balm and the soother of everything else — from dry elbows to you name it. “Here.” She held it out to him.

His eyebrows rose beneath the brim of his Stetson. “What’s that?”

“For the burn on your face.” She pointed at the swollen red welt. “It might keep it from blistering.”

“As a former bull rider, I’ve had far worse injuries.” He waved away her tube of petroleum jelly with a look of disdain. “Think I’ll pass.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” She irritably motioned for him to bend his head closer. “I’ll do it.” She fully expected him to turn down her offer, which would alleviate any further guilt she felt about injuring him.

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