Page 19 of Dusty
Minutes later, Dusty watched from the sheriff’s office window as the three climbed into a black SUV with Illinois plates and drove away, icy rain beginning to ping their windshield.
“They’ll be back,” he said, not turning around as Rafe came to stand beside him.
“Not them specifically,” Rafe agreed. “But someone. Madison doesn’t sound like the type to give up easily.”
Dusty ran a hand through his hair, frustration coiling tight within him. “I should never have let her go back to the cottage alone. These people found her once; they’ll find her again.”
“Antonio’s helping her,” Rafe reminded him. “For the record, he believes she’s telling the truth about what she told him, and no, I don’t know anything more than you do. Antonio knows how to keep his mouth shut, even from his own brother.”
The Boudreau clan’s immediate rallying around Sharon had been something to behold. From Ms. Patti’s maternal fussing to the brothers and their significant others establishing an impromptu security rotation, they’d embraced her as one of their own with startling speed. It was what made Shiloh Springs special—and what made Dusty feel like he’d finally found home when he’d moved here.
“I’ll be heading over there myself once we’re done here,” Dusty said. “She is going to tell me everything tonight.”
Rafe gave him a considering look. “You’ve gotten invested awfully quick in Ms. Elliott’s situation.”
Dusty turned away from the window, avoiding his friend’s too-perceptive gaze. “It’s the job.”
“Uh-huh. Just like Tessa was part of the job, and I ended up married to her.” Rafe smiled, softening his words. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Just…be careful. We still don’t know her whole story.”
“I know enough,” Dusty said, more defensively than he’d intended. “I know she’s terrified. I know someone powerful enough to reach across multiple states is after her. And I know she hasn’t run again, because I asked her to stay. Which means she trusts us to help her.”
What he didn’t say—couldn’t articulate even to himself—was how his chest tightened when he saw her frightened face in the diner earlier. How his dreams the last three nights had featured her smile, rare but radiant when it appeared. How he’d found himself making excuses to drive past her cottage, just to assure himself she was safe.
Four days shouldn’t be enough time to develop feelings this intense. It made no logical sense—and Dusty had built his career on logic and evidence—not foolish flights of fancy.
“I need to pick up food,” he said abruptly, grabbing his jacket. “Daisy’s setting aside a to-go order.”
Rafe clapped him on the shoulder. “Tell Sharon we’ve got her back. All of us.” He paused a moment before continuing, “We’ve got yours, too—always.”
Dusty nodded, grateful for his friend’s understanding. “I’ll keep you posted if she shares anything actionable.”
The cold air hit him like a slap as he exited the sheriff’s office. The forecast had called for light, icy rain and sleet, butthe darkening clouds suggested Shiloh Springs might be in for their first real snowfall of the season. Perfect weather for holing up, sharing a warm meal, and getting to the bottom of whatever trouble had followed Sharon to their doorstep.
And if his heart beat a little faster at the thought of spending the evening with her—well, that was a mystery he’d examine later. Right now, she needed protection, not more complications. Even if those complications had been simmering between them from the moment their eyes first met.
Dusty climbed into his truck and headed toward Daisy’s, wondering how exactly the line between professional concern and personal interest had blurred. Four days ago, he would have said a woman on the run was the last person he should be developing feelings for.
But four days ago, he hadn’t known Sharon.
Sharon jumped atthe knock on her cottage door. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, rolling dark clouds masking the sunsets she’d come to look forward to in the vast Texas sky. The forecast had called for icy sleet later. She gave a shiver thinking about how much she’d always hated when the roads got slick. She wondered how well Texas drivers dealt with the mess. Growing up in Chicago, she was used to inclement weather, but the differences between Chicago cold and Texas cold were like day and night. She wiped her palms on her jeans, took a steadying breath, and peeked through the curtains.
Dusty stood on her porch, his broad shoulders dusted with the first icy clusters from the winter storm, a brown paper bag clutched in one hand. The relief that washed over her was immediate—and concerning. She’d grown to depend on hissteadfast presence far too quickly for someone who’d learned the hard way not to trust easily.
She opened the door, the crisp December air rushing in. “Dusty. Everything okay?”
“Thought you might be hungry.” He held up the bag, steam escaping from the top. “And figured we could talk. Really talk this time.”
Sharon hesitated only briefly before stepping aside to let him in. The cottage Ms. Patti had arranged for her was small but cozy. It felt homey and warm, and to somebody who’d been sleeping in homeless shelters and in the back seat of a car, it felt like a palace after weeks on the run.
“I was about to make tea,” she said, fidgeting with the soft sweep of bangs, brushing them aside. “But dinner sounds better. With everything that happened earlier, I kind of missed lunch.”
Dusty set the bag on the small table by the window and began unpacking containers. “Daisy’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans. And—” he pulled out a smaller container with a flourish, “—peach cobbler.”
“You’re going to spoil me.”
“That’s the plan.” His voice was gentle, but his eyes were serious as they swept the cottage, automatically checking windows and sightlines. Sharon’s lips curled up in a smile. Once a cop, always a cop.
Sharon gathered plates and silverware while Dusty shrugged off his jacket. The domestic simplicity of it felt like a dream, one she couldn’t afford to get lost in. She couldn’t risk letting her guard down all the way, not even with Dusty.
