Prairie Cowboy. Linda FordЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter One

      “Lady, what are you doing there?”

      Jessica Walker spun around and away from the handwritten Help Wanted sign she’d been reading. Standing in the shadowed light of the moon, she shrank against the window of the local diner behind her. Her heart pounding, she fought panic, and peered at the man approaching her from his car. If only she could see his face.

      Darkness shadowed the stairs, but while he climbed them, she gathered an impression. He was tall and broad-shouldered, not old, maybe in his thirties. She saw no more. A beam of light flashed in her eyes, blinding her. She squinted, then looked away from the flashlight he held. “Who are you?” she demanded back to veil fear. It skittered up her spine as he took another step closer.

      “The sheriff. Sam Dawson.”

      Almost on top of her, he lowered the flashlight. She stared hard, saw it now, the badge pinned to a pale, maybe khaki-colored shirt. He was the last person she wanted to see.

      “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing out here.”

      She drew a shaky, but calmer breath. She got an image of a good-looking man. Great-looking, she realized when he stepped into the faint light from the diner’s sign. He had a face of angles, from the sharp cheekbones and the bridge of the long, straight nose to the strongly defined jaw. Briefly her eyes stopped on his lips, on the full bottom one. “I saw the Help Wanted sign on the window when the bus drove by the diner,” she finally answered.

      “You came by bus?”

      “Yes.” She’d thought Thunder Lake, Nevada might be a good place to hide when she’d left her Ferrari in a parking lot blocks from the bus station. Earlier, while riding by, a neon sign for Herb’s Diner had caught her eye. By the time she’d gotten off the bus, the diner had closed, and darkness shielded a view of the inside.

      “Step over here,” he said, urging her out of the shadows and toward the diner’s door and the light.

      Her heart beat harder as she followed his suggestion and plastered her back to the door.

      “Where did you come from?”

      Panic rushed her again. What if he asked for identification? “West of here.”

      “West? That’s pretty vague.” A thread of annoy ance entered his voice. “West of Thunder Lake? West of Hoover Dam?” He inclined his head as if trying to see her eyes. “West of what, mystery lady?”

      “I’m not.” Her fingers tightened on her purse strap.

      “Not what?”

      “A mystery lady.” Nerves. She could hear them in the stiffness of her voice.

      “What’s your name?”

      “Scott. Jessica Scott.” Oh, please don’t ask for identification. How dumb not to have thought of this problem before she’d taken off. She’d left, deciding to use a maid’s last name. She’d reasoned that using Walker, her real name, bordered on idiotic if she didn’t want anyone to find her. But her only identification carried the name Walker. She hurried words to steer conversation her way. “I wanted to read the sign, see if there was a time on the door. I planned to get here early, be the first one applying for the job.”

      He sort of laughed. The husky soft sound whispered over her, relaxed her quicker than anything else might have. “There won’t be a crowd rushing the door for the waitress job. Don’t worry about it.”

      She needed to act normal. Not make him suspicious. “Oh, that’s good.”

      “You’ve been a waitress before?”

      She nodded. Liar, liar, pants on fire. She could have told him that she possessed a wealth of other skills. She’d charmed dignitaries during a state dinner at the Governor’s house. She’d persuaded a CEO of a major corporation to write a check for her favorite charity. She’d hobnobbed with high society. But she’d never worked a day in her life.

      “Are you visiting someone here?”

      Questions. How many questions would he ask? “No.” She’d chosen the town on a whim. She’d closed her eyes and had drawn a small imaginary circle on the Nevada map. Her well-manicured fingernail had zeroed in on Thunder Lake. She’d thought it sounded peaceful, envisioned huge pines and a deep blue-colored lake. In retrospect, she believed she should have run to a big city in another state instead of the small northern town in Nevada.

      For a long moment, his eyes fixed on her face as if memorizing it. Then he took a more relaxed stance. She assumed he’d decided she wasn’t planning to break in. “Where are you staying?”

      She had no idea. Uneasiness rushing through her again, she dodged his stare. Several hundred feet away, across the street, a sign for a motel flashed like a welcoming beacon in the night. She spotted the vacancy sign. More important were the words below it. Cheapest rates in town. “Over there,” she said, pointing.

      A breeze whipped around her, tossing her hair. No longer paralyzed by fear, as the chilly April air sliced through her, she shivered.

      “It’s cold. You should go to your room. Though this is a small town, it’s still not a good idea to be wandering around so late by yourself.”

      “Late? Nine o’clock is late?” Obviously the streets rolled up early.

      She supposed she looked as amazed by his words as she sounded because he offered an explanation. “It is in Thunder Lake. Except in summer when tourists come, it’s a quiet town. People work hard here, get up early, go to bed early.”

      She heard pride in his voice when he talked. Without knowing a thing about Sheriff Sam Dawson, she’d make a guess that he was born and raised here.

      “Sounds as if you’re used to big-city living.”

      Instinctively she tensed. Be careful, she warned herself. He was trained to read between lines. “I’ll—I should go,” she said with a wave of her hand in the direction of the motel. Leaving quickly seemed the smartest thing to do. She gave him a semblance of a smile, hoped it convinced him that she wasn’t a fugitive on the run.

      “Good night.”

      She gave up her love affair with the diner door and inched forward. He still hadn’t moved. What now? she wondered, nerves jumping as she waited for him to step aside.

      “Welcome to Thunder Lake, Jessica Scott.”

      An almost nervous giggle of relief threatened to slip out. “Thank you.” Before she did something dumb and gave herself away, she sidestepped him, then hurried toward the street. She probably wouldn’t see him again, didn’t have to worry about him.

      She passed his car, saw the emblem on the side, signifying Thunder Lake Sheriff’s Department. Great beginnings, Jessica. Less than half an hour in town, and she’d caught the eye of the local sheriff.

      Still feeling edgy, when she reached the street, she dared a look back. He was standing by his car in the shadows. His face was hidden by the darkness, but she just knew he was still watching her.