Page 11 of Dusty
This is dangerous, she thought as sleep began to claim her. Dangerous to stay. Dangerous to trust. Dangerous to hope.
But as she drifted off, Sharon couldn’t deny that maybe another day in Shiloh Springs might be worth the risk.
CHAPTER FIVE
The grandfather clockin the corner of the Boudreau ranch’s living room chimed twice, each resonant note seeming to echo Dusty’s growing impatience. His eyes darted to the ornate timepiece, then back to the front door, his fingers tapping an unconscious rhythm against his uniform pants. Being off-duty didn’t mean he left the badge at home—not in Shiloh Springs, and especially not with a situation like Sharon Elliott on his mind.
“You’re gonna wear a hole in my wife’s hardwood if you keep that foot tapping,” Douglas Boudreau remarked, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. The former Special Forces soldier lounged against the stone fireplace, nursing a glass of sweet tea as though it was fine whiskey. “Woman’s got you wound tighter than barbed wire, Deputy.”
Dusty forced his foot to stop its nervous movement. “Just been a long week,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “That stupid stray has half the town up in arms. Mrs. Whitaker swore it was possessed by the devil himself after it tore through her prize flower beds.”
A chorus of laughter rippled through the room. The Boudreau clan had a way of filling every corner with their presence—Rafe, the sheriff and Douglas’s oldest son, sat with his wife Tessa on the overstuffed sofa. Destiny and Dane had claimed the loveseat, his hand resting protectively on her still-flat stomach. The news of their pregnancy was still fresh,bringing warmth to the household that only the promise of new life could.
“Dusty,” Rafe said, leaning forward, “you know that dog is just scared. You can’t blame an animal for running when it’s been hurt or hungry.”
The deputy shifted uncomfortably under his boss’s perceptive gaze. They both knew Rafe wasn’t just talking about the stray.
The sound of tires on gravel cut through the conversation, and Dusty’s head snapped toward the window. Ms. Patti’s Cadillac Escalade pulled up, and he could see two silhouettes inside. His heart did a quick double-beat that had nothing to do with professional concern.
“Well now,” Douglas drawled, a knowing smile spreading across his weathered face. “I believe our final lunch guest has arrived.”
Dusty stood, then caught himself and sat back down, not wanting to appear too eager. But his eyes never left the front entrance.
The door swung open, and Ms. Patti bustled in first, a covered dish in her hands and a wide smile on her face. “Sorry we’re late,” she announced, “but someone insisted on bringing something, and it took a few minutes longer than expected.”
Sharon stepped in behind the older woman, and Dusty felt his breath catch. She wore a simple blue shift dress that hung gracefully on her slender frame, her long hair pulled back with a few tendrils framing her face. Most noticeably, though they hadn’t disappeared completely, the dark circles under her eyes had faded, and some color had returned to her cheeks. She looked…alive. Beautiful.
And still terrified, he noted, seeing the way her eyes quickly scanned the room, cataloging exits, people, potential threats. It was subtle—most wouldn’t notice—but Dusty had spent yearsreading people’s body language, a leftover training tool from his years as a child actor. Whatever she was running from had trained her to always expect the worst.
Sharon’s gaze finally landed on him, and for a moment, something flickered in her expression—relief, maybe? Recognition? It vanished so quickly he couldn’t be sure.
“Sharon, honey,” Ms. Patti guided her forward, “you already know Dusty, of course. And this handsome devil is Douglas Boudreau, my husband.”
Douglas stepped forward, offering his hand with a gentleness that belied his intimidating size. “Ms. Elliott. Heard you make a mean cup of coffee over at the diner. Daisy’s been singing your praises.”
Sharon’s smile seemed genuine, if cautious. “I’m enjoying working at the diner, and Daisy’s been great. Thank you for having me in your home,” she said, her voice soft but steady. Introductions continued around the room, and Dusty watched as Sharon navigated the social waters with practiced grace. Too practiced, perhaps. The woman claiming to be a simple drifter, homeless and having been in shelters, had the social poise of someone who moved in refined circles. Another incongruity to add to his mental file.
“Deputy,” she said when she finally made her way to him, “good to see you again.”
“You too, Sharon,” he replied, standing this time. “You’re looking well.”
“Ms. Patti is a miracle worker,” she said, her eyes darting briefly to the older woman with genuine affection. “She’s been very kind.”
“That’s what Shiloh Springs is known for,” Dusty replied, “taking care of our own.”
Something flashed in her eyes—sadness, longing, fear—before she looked away. “Even strays?” she asked softly.
“Especially strays,” he answered, and meant it.
The conversation was interrupted by Beth announcing dinner was ready. As they moved toward the dining room, Dusty felt a presence beside him.
“Talk with me a minute, Deputy?” Douglas asked quietly.
They hung back as the others filed into the dining room, stepping out the front door and onto the wraparound porch that offered a view of the sprawling ranch lands bathed in the golden light of afternoon.
“So,” Douglas said without preamble, “what exactly do you need me to find out about our mysterious dinner guest?”
Dusty wasn’t surprised. Douglas had always been perceptive. “I need to know who she really is. And who might be looking for her. She’s been here forty-eight hours, and I haven’t been able to find anything. She’s definitely evasive when I’ve tried to ask questions, another thing that makes me suspicious. I can tell you Elliott isn’t her real name, at least I can’t find anybody with that name matching her in any database. Honestly, I think she’s running scared. I just wish she would trust us to help her.”
