Page 25 of Dusty
“They wouldn’t offer if it was an imposition. I bet Douglas has been planning on adding security to this place anyway, and you’re giving him an excuse to work with his boys to get it done.”
“Can I ask you something personal?” she said, wanting to return to safer conversational ground.
“Shoot.”
“Do you ever miss acting? You were good at it. If I remember right, you were nominated for an Emmy award twice.”
A small smile played on his lips. “I was decent. Had good timing, they said.” He considered her question. “But no, I don’t miss the acting itself. I miss some of the people. There was this woman, a lovely older lady who played the next-door neighbor. She’d bring me homemade cookies, listen to my problems. Real cookies, not these prop things they’d have us pretend to eat on camera.”
“No one ever recognized you here in Shiloh Springs?”
“Once or twice over the years. Mostly people passing through town.” He shrugged. “Most folks just see what they expect to see—a small-town deputy, not some washed-up former child actor. None of the Boudreaus have mentioned it, so I’m guessing they don’t know. Rafe might, but that’s about it.”
“You’re hardly washed up,” Sharon protested.
Their eyes met, and she felt a strange flutter in her stomach. Dusty’s gaze lingered on her face a moment too long before he looked away, clearing his throat.
“I don’t regret leaving Hollywood. I’ve got a good life here. When I got the chance to become a deputy sheriff in ShilohSprings, I took it,” he continued. “Left the big city behind, and I’ve been here ever since.”
Sharon found herself moved by his story—the child star who’d turned his back on fame to find something real. Something meaningful. It explained so much about him, his self-containment, his watchfulness. They all added up to a man she found herself admiring more each time she saw him.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asked. “The spotlight?”
“Not for a second.” Dusty’s answer came without hesitation. “What about you? Do you miss the big city?”
Sharon considered the question, looking around the cozy cottage with its handmade decorations and family photos. Thought about the kindness the Boudreaus had shown to her, a total stranger.
“Less and less,” she admitted. “Especially now.”
Their eyes met again, and something passed between them—understanding perhaps. Or something deeper. Sharon felt her cheeks warm and looked down at her coffee mug, suddenly aware of how easy it would be to lean toward him, to close the distance between them. But she couldn’t, not with a possible murder charge hanging over her head, and the threat of Cooper looming over her, ever present, keeping her life in constant turmoil.
The grandfather clock down the hall in the office chimed softly, marking the hour, but neither of them moved. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling a loose shutter. Sharon tried to tell herself the quickening of her pulse was just lingering anxiety about the events in the diner, not the way Dusty’s presence seemed to fill the room.
“You should get some rest,” he said finally, his voice a touch lower than before. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yes,” she agreed, though the last thing she wanted was for him to leave. “I suppose it has.”
When he stood, she did too, suddenly awkward in the small space between the couch and coffee table. He was close enough that she could smell his aftershave—something woodsy and clean. For a moment, she thought she saw something in his eyes, a flash of heat quickly suppressed.
“I’ll swing by in the morning,” he said, stepping back, creating distance. “If you need anything, dial 911. Works here same as it does in the big city.” He said the last bit with a grin.
Sharon nodded, both relieved and disappointed at his professional tone. As she walked him to the door, she wondered what would have happened if she’d been brave enough to close that gap between them. If she’d acknowledged the attraction that seemed to simmer just below the surface every time they were together.
But with danger still lurking, with her life in Shiloh Springs still temporary, it was better this way.
Safer.
Wasn’t it?
“Lock up behind me,” Dusty reminded her, his hand on the doorknob. “And promise me you’ll call if you need anything. You’ve got my number. Doesn’t matter what time.”
“I will,” she promised. “And Dusty? Thank you. For everything.”
He nodded once, his expression unreadable, then stepped out into the rainy night. Sharon watched through the window as he made a careful circuit around the cottage, checking windows and doors before getting into his truck.
Only when his taillights disappeared down the driveway did she double-check the locks herself. She wasn’t about to skip her routine, even though she’d watched him check outside. As she made her way back to the living room to collect their coffee mugs, she noticed his warm scent still lingered in the air.
She tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her chest as she turned off the Christmas tree lights. Told herself it was just the return of fear now that he was gone, not the absence of something—someone—she was quickly coming to need.
