Page 15 of Wyoming Mountain Murder

“There’s nobody better to have on the job than Sawyer.”

“Glad to hear it.” Brian shook his hand one more time. “Thanks again.”

“No problem. I’ll show myself out.”

Once the chief deputy was gone, Charlie trudged back to the kitchen. Staring at the wide opening in her home, left by the shattered window, she took another gulp of scotch. Too bad she didn’t have any spare wood boards to put up. But she wasn’t handy and didn’t tackle home projects often.

“I’ve got some extra plywood at home that I don’t need,” Brian said, as though reading her mind, coming up alongside her.

She set her glass down with a sad chuckle. “Of course, you do.”

“Next, you’re going to tell me you don’t need it.”

Mind reader indeed. “Of course, I am.”

“Why?”

The question was so simple. A single word. Yet so hard to answer. She tipped her head back and met his curious gaze. “Force of habit.” She shrugged. “It’s safer to rely only on myself.”

That way she wouldn’t be disappointed when someone let her down. She never tested things with Rocco or his parents. They were the only family she had left. She didn’t want to risk losing them, too, if they’d failed her in some way. Instead, she accepted the love and kindness they’d given and never asked for anything else.

“Not asking for help isn’t strength, Charlie.”

There was something sexy about the way her name rolled off his tongue. She realized she was staring and had to pull her gaze from his mouth.

“It’s time to form new habits,” he continued. “As you pointed out earlier, you’re not old. You’re capable of learning some new tricks.”

At thirty, she was a far cry from old. More than capable of change, if she wanted to. She wasn’t weak either. She had called Rocco for help, hadn’t she?

But she didn’t bother to highlight that since she also saw Brian’s point.

The fact was he didn’t know her, or understand what she had witnessed as a child, what she had survived.

The walls she put up around herself did keep others from getting in, but sometimes they were the only thing holding her together. It was about self-preservation. Not isolation.

“Your brand is Captain America,” she said. “Not Dr. Philcome sit on my sofa.”

He grinned, and her pulse stuttered. “I’d love to get you on my sofa sometime,” he said, his voice smooth and deep, making that flutter inside her dip lower. Dropping his gaze, he cleared his throat. “For now, I’m going to run home, grab the plywood and patch up your window while you get started cleaning. And for the sake of clarity, I’m not doing it for you. It’s only out of a sense of obligation to Rocco. Captain America keeps his promises.” He winked again.

It was so damn sexy, she struggled to come up with a witty retort, some snide remark that usually came to her as naturally as breathing.

“Do you have a gun?” he asked.

“Locked up in my safe.” There were times when she needed one but preferred not to always carry it.

“Good. Get it. Keep it with you while I’m gone. I won’t be long.”

Brian grabbed his cowboy hat, and then he was gone.

By the time she had swept up the debris and finished tidying the living room, he was back. He really did live quite close.

Without any fuss, he rested the plywood on the nook in front of the window and hammered in nails until the boards were secured in place.

“Thank you,” she said, fatigue beginning to override adrenaline. “I know it’s late and you probably have better things to do. Like sleep.”

“No need to thank me. I’m not doing it for you. Remember? It’s all for Rocco.”

She didn’t hide the smile that surfaced. “Sorry I don’t have a beer to offer you.”

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