Page 15 of Dusty
The night air was cool as they stepped outside, stars emerging across the vast Texas sky. The evenings were downright frigid the last couple of nights, and Sharon bundled up in the threadbare coat she’d found at the women’s shelter in South Texas and climbed into the cab of Dusty’s pickup. She pulled the coat tight across her body and put her hands out toward the heater vents when he cranked on the engine.
Dusty’s truck rumbled down the long driveway, and Sharon found herself stealing glances at his profile, illuminated by the dashboard lights.
“They like you,” Dusty glanced in her direction, his voice quiet in the darkness. “Even Antonio, and he doesn’t warm up to people easily.”
Sharon looked out the window, hoping Dusty couldn’t see her expression. “He seems…intense.”
Dusty chuckled. “Intense. Yeah, that works. The FBI does that to a person, I guess. But he’s a good man. One of the bestmen I know.” He paused for a moment, adding, “You can trust him.”
The drive to her cottage was too short. When they arrived, Sharon hesitated before opening her door. “Thank you for the ride.”
Something flickered across Dusty’s face—concern and something else, gone too fast for her to read. “Let me walk you in, make sure everything’s okay.”
She didn’t dare show how much it meant that he cared enough to check the cottage, make sure she was safe. When was the last time anybody cared enough? Even when she’d lived in Chicago, her family hadn’t bothered or even cared about her welfare. Yet this man made sure she felt secure in the place where she was staying.
He moved with a practiced efficiency through the small cottage, checking closets, the bathroom, behind doors. Sharon followed him, watching his broad shoulders, the confidence in his movements. When he’d confirmed the cottage was empty, they found themselves standing in the narrow entryway by the front door, close enough she could smell his cologne—something woodsy and subtle.
“All clear,” he said, the timber of his voice lower than before.
Sharon looked up, meeting his gaze. The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Dusty’s eyes dropped to her lips for just a moment, and she found herself leaning forward infinitesimally.
His hand moved as if to touch her face, hesitating right before he touched her cheek. The moment stretched between them, filled with possibility and danger in equal measure. Then Dusty took a step back, breaking the spell.
“I should go.”
Sharon nodded, both relieved and disappointed. “Thank you again. For everything.”
At the door, he turned back to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow? At the diner? I’m usually there pretty early.”
“I’ll be there,” she promised, though a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that staying was dangerous—for them both.
After he left, Sharon double-checked the locks and drew the curtains. She sat on the edge of her bed, her hand going automatically for the envelope before remembering she’d given it to Antonio Boudreau. She prayed she hadn’t made a mistake in trusting him. If that note disappeared, she only had the evidence she’d hidden in San Antonio. If that vanished, she was as good as dead.
She thought of Dusty’s almost-kiss, the way his presence made her feel simultaneously safe and terrified. Getting close to him was a mistake, a luxury she couldn’t afford. But as she drifted off to sleep, her dreams were filled with warm eyes and the promise of a future that didn’t include running for her life.
CHAPTER SIX
The lunch crowdat Daisy’s Diner had thinned to just a handful of regulars nursing coffee and picking at slices of pecan pie with Daisy’s homemade vanilla ice cream. Sharon wiped down the counter with practiced efficiency, her movements automatic while her mind drifted to the Christmas decorations adorning downtown Shiloh Springs. The town looked like it had been lifted straight from a Hallmark movie—twinkling lights strung across Main Street, wreaths on every lamppost, and a magnificent tree standing in the town square. It was the kind of Christmas scene she’d always dreamed about. Certainly not anything like what she was used to in Chicago. While they could boast gorgeous holiday decorations, she never got the warm glow, the feeling like the holiday was more than some glorified marketing scheme to get her to spend money she didn’t have.
“You’re getting pretty good at this,” Daisy called from the kitchen, her Texas drawl warm and comforting. Sharon found Daisy to be a perfect boss, willing to take on a stranger who’d never worked a day in her life as a server, and give her a job, simply because somebody asked her to. “Ms. Patti sure knew what she was doing when she sent you my way.”
Sharon managed a smile, thinking about the Boudreau matriarch, another woman who’d taken a chance on her. “Thanks for giving me the opportunity.”
“Honey, in this town, a Boudreau recommendation is better than a background check.”
The bell above the door jingled, and Sharon’s gaze automatically shifted toward the entrance. The smile froze on her face and the bottom of her world seemed to collapse. It was that same gut feeling, the one she’d had the first time she’d realized Cooper had sent people after her. People with questionable morals, ones who were willing to do anything if the price was right.
Two men and a woman entered through the front door, wiping the slush from the sidewalks on the mat. While she couldn’t discount they might be locals, since she’d only been in town for a few days, they didn’t give off the small-town vibe she associated with the people living in and around the area. They were dressed too well for Shiloh Springs—designer clothes that stood out among the flannel shirts and worn jeans the locals normally wore. The woman wore sunglasses despite the overcast December day, and both men scanned the diner with the measured precision of predators.
Sharon’s hands grew clammy. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she recognized the way the men were scanning the diner. It was the same look she’d seen on the faces of the hired goons Cooper sent. Same look—different men. It happened in every city, every town she’d landed in since she left Chicago. St. Louis, Oklahoma City, San Antonio—each time she’d thought she’d finally escaped. Every time she’d been wrong.
They found me. Again.
She dropped the cloth and ducked behind the counter, pretending to sort silverware while her heart hammered against her ribs. The trio took a booth by the front window, the perfect vantage point to watch both the diner and the street outside. Fear clenched her insides, and she found it hard to breathe. What was she supposed to do now?
“Sugar, are you okay?” Daisy asked, coming up beside her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Sharon couldn’t speak. Her throat had closed, panic stealing her voice. Finally, she cleared her throat and managed to utter a few words. “Table six needs more coffee.” Her voice was raspy, and she did her best to avoid Daisy’s concerned gaze. She filled the carafe with shaking hands, trying to steady her breathing.
