Page 33 of Long Arm of the Cowboy

It just sat there, looking the same as it had before, only the timer had rolled over a few more hours since he’d slipped out here in the middle of the night.

Seeing nothing to do on that front, he returned to the kitchen. After rummaging in the fridge, freezer and a few cupboards, he realized not every safehouse was as well stocked as some. There was hardly any food, and what there was Lark had set out on the counter.

Looking at the supplies made his heart squeeze painfully. She lived a hard life, one he couldn’t begin to fathom. How many times had she suffered from hunger?

Yet she still exuded sunshine like a summer’s day.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and chose the box of biscuit mix off the table. The candles had burned down into puddles of wax in the holders and the batteries died in the lanterns. Later, he’d have to clear it all away, but in the meantime, he was making…whatever recipe he could find on the back of the box.

Biscuits, shortcake…and pancakes.

Those he could manage.

Of course there was no milk, so he substituted it with water. Luckily, there was a single egg in the refrigerator. How fresh it might be was a risk he had to take. Before long, he had a pan sizzling.

Lark would want syrup for her pancakes, he just knew it. He dug around for some but couldn’t find any.

He stepped up to the end of the hall. “Lark?” he called.

“Uh…yeah?”

“When you searched the kitchen did you see any syrup?”

A beat of silence. “Yeah, bottom cupboard in the back,” she called back.

“Bottom back,” he repeated and went to find the item.

He stopped.

Her voice sounded…strained.

He shut off the burner and rushed to the bedroom.

Lark was still swathed in the sheet, sitting on the side of the bed, staring at her phone with tears streaming down her beautiful face.

* * * * *

“What the hell happened?” Clay’s hard voice brought Lark’s head up from the phone in her hand.

“My Quick Bunny score hasplummeted!”

In a few long strides he crossed the room and dropped to a crouch in front of her. “That’s what you’re crying about? Your score?”

She shook her head, sending a curl into her eye. She didn’t bother brushing it away. A tear dripped off her chin.

“Suddenly a bunch of mygoodreviews changed to one star. How does that even happen?” she practically wailed.

“Lark. Think about what you’re saying. It’s a job, and a bad one at that. You have to see the bigger picture here.” Clay spoke in a soothing but matter-of-fact tone.

She huffed. “Like the fact that I live above a car garage and the owner left me several calls and texts to say that he’s worried about me?”

Clay gave her a long look. “Are you involved with him?”

“Now you sound like me! Accusing you of not being free to hop in bed with me.”

His eyes seemed to darken in warning.

“But no,” she rushed on. “He told me that my apartment’s been ransacked!”

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