Page 6 of Dusty
Dusty wanted answers. More than that, though, he needed them. Not just because it was his job, but because—against all logic—he wanted to know her.
He shut his laptop, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. One way or another, he was going to find out who Sharon Elliott really was and if she was bringing trouble to his town.
Ms. Patti turneddown a tree-lined lane and pulled up to a charming blue cottage with white trim. A wreath hung on the front door, and solar lights lined the walkway. The place had country charm, yet appeared well-kept and cozy. The warmth of its appearance tugged at her, begging her to head inside and make herself comfortable.
“Here we are,” Ms. Patti announced. “Camilla’s pride and joy. Or what we’ve always called it, the Old Johnson Place. Old Mr. Johnson finally agreed to sell us this place because he got tired of the upkeep of a rental property. Our family uses it mostly for visiting family and friends when they need a place to stay. Or when my boys finally get their heads on straight, and their fiancées live here until the weddings.”
Inside, the cottage was as warm and inviting as the outside promised—comfortable furnishings, tasteful decorations, and the lingering scent of cinnamon and cloves. It was everything Sharon’s life hadn’t been lately: safe, stable, and secure. It made her homesick, and she wondered if her family missed her at all, though they’d never been the kind of family you’d see on television, she’d still expected them to trust her.
Ms. Patti pointed toward the hallway, which was down the center of the cottage. “Two bedrooms down this hall. Firstbedroom is set up as an office. Camilla is my future daughter-in-law. She’s a writer, so she’s using the smaller bedroom as her work space. It’s a bit of a mess, as she just got in a shipment of books for a signing in Houston later in the month. I swear, I never realized how hectic and chaotic the life of a professional writer was until I met her.” Ms. Patti shook her head before continuing with the tour. “She’s in New York for the next couple of weeks, having meetings with her agent, and talking about a book tour for her upcoming release. You’re doing me a big favor, because she didn’t want to leave the place unoccupied while she was gone. I promise, she’ll be thrilled you’re staying here.”
“Are you sure?” Sharon looked around, unable to believe how much she liked the cottage. It was…perfect.
“You’ve got my word. Shiloh Springs doesn’t have a lot of crime, there’s still some. Anyway, the larger bedroom’s down at the end of the hall. Kitchen should be well stocked—Camilla always keeps things well-supplied, because my son, Heath, spends more time here than he does at home, and he eats a lot.” She grinned. “My number’s on the fridge if you need anything at all.” Ms. Patti handed Sharon a paper bag she’d brought from the car. “Just some essentials. Toothbrush, pajamas—might be a bit big, but they’ll do in a pinch.”
Sharon clutched the bag, overwhelmed by the kindness the woman showed, though she wondered how often Ms. Patti found it necessary to have a kit of on-hand supplies ready for wayward strangers like herself.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Relax. Get some rest. That’s thanks enough.” Ms. Patti headed for the door, then paused. “Whatever you’re running from, Sharon—and don’t bother denying it, I recognize the signs—you’re safe here.”
After Ms. Patti left, Sharon locked the door and methodically checked every window, drawing the curtains tight. Funny howshe’d developed the habit quickly after being on the road for the past weeks. Finally ending up in the main bedroom, she indulged in a long, hot shower—the first in days—and changed into the borrowed pajamas. Having clean clothes to put on, especially something as simple as pajamas, was a luxury she hadn’t had in weeks.
Though it was early, Sharon knew her body was on the verge of collapse and needed sleep. The bed looked comfortable, with what looked like a handmade quilt covering it. It beckoned to her, looking like heaven to her exhausted body. Sharon sat on the edge, running her fingers over the intricate stitching of the quilt, and allowed herself to breathe deeply for the first time in weeks.
This reprieve felt like a godsend. She was still one step ahead of Cooper’s hired guns, at least for now. Tomorrow, she would plan her next move, figure out how to stay alive and somehow expose what Cooper had done. But today, in this unexpected sanctuary in Shiloh Springs, she would rest.
As Sharon slipped between the clean sheets, she couldn’t shake the feeling Patricia Boudreau knew more than she let on. Why had this woman reached out to her, taken her under her wing, without knowing anything about her?
Or did she know something?
The questions swirled in her mind as exhaustion dragged her toward sleep. Just before consciousness slipped away, a new, unsettling thought surfaced: What if Cooper’s men found her here? What if she’d brought danger not just to herself, but to the kind woman who had helped her?
But even that worry couldn’t keep sleep at bay. For the first time in weeks, Sharon slept deeply, unaware of the pickup truck that slowly cruised past the cottage in the late morning light, its driver watching the house with keen interest before continuing down the lane.
CHAPTER FOUR
The rich aromaof cinnamon and cloves filled the cottage, the smell lingering from the scented candles she’d lit earlier. It was a welcoming scent that had lulled Sharon into the deepest sleep she’d had since racing away from Chicago with only the clothes on her back. Stretching beneath the quilt, she was momentarily disoriented until memories of the morning flooded back—Ms. Patti’s kindness, and the deputy sheriff with eyes that seemed to see right through her.
Deputy Dusty Warner.
His name sent an unexpected flutter through her chest. Sharon glanced at the antique clock on the bedside table. Four-thirty. She’d slept for nearly six hours, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion now that she felt somewhat safe.
The sharp knock at the door jolted her fully awake, her heart instantly hammering against her ribs. Cooper couldn’t have found her already, could he? The thought sent ice through her veins. She’d been so careful. But he was smart, and his reach was long. Staying one step ahead of his paid men still gave her nightmares. Then realizing Cooper wouldn’t bother knocking, she shook her head at her own foolishness.
Moving silently across the wooden floor, she approached the door, her fingers trembling as she reached for the curtain covering the window by the front door. She pulled it aside just enough to peek out, expecting the worst. Instead, she saw an auburn-haired woman about her age, arms laden with grocery bags, a bright green scarf wrapped around her neck againstthe December chill. The deep red in her hair caught the late afternoon sun, creating a halo effect that seemed almost too perfect for coincidence. She shifted her weight, glancing around the porch as she waited.
Not Cooper. Not one of his men. Just a woman with brown paper sacks filled with groceries.
Sharon exhaled slowly, then unlatched the chain and opened the door a few cautious inches.
“Hi there!” The woman’s smile was immediate and genuine. “You must be Sharon. I’m Tessa. Ms. Patti asked me to stop by. I drove past earlier, but decided to come by later because I figured you probably needed the rest. Anyway, Ms. Patti said you’d need some fresh stuff to go with the staples Camilla has on hand.”
Her voice matched her appearance—warm and bright. Sharon hesitated then pulled the door open wider, her gaze darting past Tessa to scan the empty driveway and the street in front of the house. She exhaled slowly when she didn’t see anybody nearby.
“May I come in? These bags are getting heavy,” Tessa said with a small laugh.
“Of course, sorry.” Sharon stepped aside, quickly closing and locking the door behind her.
