Page 84 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
She didn’t know why he was so bothered. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen tits before. Hell, half of Bay County had seen hers. Once upon a time, she might’ve found his politeness endearing. Chivalrous, even. But she’d long since stopped believing men were capable of either.
When she came back into the kitchen, Inglis’s gaze flicked to the hoodie. She expected relief, but his face betrayed nothing. She wondered if he played poker because boy, he’d be good.
“You hungry?” he asked.
She nodded. She hadn’t eaten since last night, but given their limited menu, she regretted not grabbing something at that diner back in Alabama.
“We should eat now,” he said. “While we got light. And power.”
He held up two cans. “Beef stew or chicken noodle?” Then he picked up the mystery can. “Or are you feeling lucky?”
She pulled out a chair at the Formica table. “Not particularly.”
“Chicken noodle it is, then.”
She watched as he rattled through drawers for a can opener, rinsed out a pot in the sink, and dumped the soup into it. His shirt was still damp, clinging to his arms, the fabric stretching tight across lean muscle.
To break the silence, she asked, “Where are you from?”
“East Tennessee, ma’am.”
There was a pause.
“How long have you been a marshal?”
“Twelve years.”
“Bet you’ve seen a lot.”
He didn’t answer. The conversation died.
She tried again. “You live in Tennessee?”
He nodded. “Memphis. When I’m there.”
“So, you travel often?”
He glanced at her, wary now. “It’s kinda in the job description.”
“Right. Hunting down bad guys. And occasionally babysitting nosy witnesses, too, huh?” She flashed a smile, but he didn’t return it.
Jeez. Tough crowd.
She gave up on conversation, figuring it for a lost cause.
Inglis poured the soup into two bowls and turned to bring them to the table—but he froze when he spotted the revolver in her right hand.
His eyes went from the gun to her face. Then back to the gun.
“Well,” he said, setting the bowls down slowly. “That escalated quickly.”
“I lied,” she admitted. “About knowing how to use it. I’ve never even fired it.”
His hands slid to his hips, his gaze locked on the gun.
“And I was thinking you could show me.”
His voice stayed even. “You said that thing’s loaded, right?”
