Chapter 4

Nick observed the interaction between his new boss and Miss Eaton unnoticed.

The gut-punch reaction he had seeing her for the first time moments ago was screaming at him to take heed. Ever since the accident-he almost laughed out loud at his word choice-he'd been empty. Colors weren't vivid, if he even saw them at all. The world seemed to float between black and white and that hazy sepia tone. Scent was non-existent. He hadn't smelled so much as a pine needle in months. And sleep? At best, he got two hours at night, sometimes three during daylight. Mostly though, he felt empty. Uncaring. Useless.

Like a robot without a functioning chip.

The oxygen left his lungs when he laid eyes on her, however. For a moment, just a split fraction of a second, color came back. Like a blink it faded, making him wonder if he'd imagined the experience or if the shrinks in Milwaukee were right.

Her long, reddish brown hair, the color of chestnuts on a winter night, was tied up in a ponytail, showing an oval face with big brown eyes. Eyes bordering on hazel in this light. Some wisps of curly tendrils had broken free from her ponytail, brushing her neck, long and elegant. Regal almost. Her mouth was lush and cherry and irritated with him. That was about all he caught before his sight shifted back to colorless.

Maybe it was a sexual pull? She was quite pretty. And feisty.

Screw that. He sure wasn't going to start being attracted to tomboys who wore flannels and played in the dirt. Besides, by the sound of it, she was married anyway.

No ring, though.

He rolled her name around in his head. For what, he didn't know. Trisha Eatonspirited and affectionate, with everyone in the room but him. He could have abated that by shaking her hand in greeting, but his limbs seemingly forgot how to operate. Something had niggled at the back of his brain telling him not to touch her, something dangerously close to lust. He usually liked blondes. Leggy ones. Not brunettes with curves and attitude.

She peered over at him then, those eyes ready for battle, impatience written all over her face. He adjusted his stance to match the same in defense. Had she said something else?

She looked back at Wayne. "Why do we have a new deputy anyway?"

Wayne's grin widened. "I have to retire sometime."

Miss Eaton apparently didn't like that explanation. "He's replacing you? What about Steve?"

"Don't want to," Steve said.

She appeared to be mulling that over. "And you picked this guy? He can't talk. He's rude." When no one commented, or objected, she went on to ask, "When are you retiring?"

"Don't know, apple. A year, a few months."

She glanced back at Nick and made a point to size him up from head to toe. He wondered what she saw. "In that case, you can come to dinner at my house on Friday night, too. It requires minimal conversation. But you I'll subject to my cooking."

Apparently, that was a big threat. He'd have to remember that.

Steve burst out in a hoot from behind the counter and slapped his hand down on his knee. "Trish could poison somebody just by boiling water."

She infused him with a droll look. "Let me go heat you some water now."

Steve's grin widened, demonstrating his affection for her. "Aw, you love me."

Nick cleared his throat and trained his voice neutral. "I'll check my schedule."

She leveled him a long look through impossibly thick lashes. "See that you do. This is a small community. It would be nice to get to know who's protecting us." Apparently appalled by her statement, she shook her head and all exasperation left her features.

Nick suppressed a grin. Odd, since he hadn't been able to smile in months either.

Miss Eaton leaned over the counter and pecked a goodbye kiss on Steve's cheek while the deputy was still rubbing his eyes from laughter. Nick skilled his gaze away from her ass. She hugged Wayne and wove around Nick to the door, her arm brushing his. Her soft, pale skin contrasted his darker tone.

"See you at six on Friday," she said.

"Yep." Wayne watched her walk out before commenting. "Got on her bad side, you did."

Nick shrugged his shoulders.

"Not many people get on her bad side," Steve uttered from behind the desk. "She lives by the Drake house-dom, dom, dom." He chimed in gloomy drones.

Wayne whipped him a dirty scowl. "Knock it off."

"What's the Drake house?" Nick asked.

"You can't just say the Drake house," Steve answered. "You have to say it with the doms after it."

"Never mind that." Wayne bore a warning glance at Steve. "Trisha's a good woman who has nothing to do with the place. The county owns the house and land, and no one goes near it. Occasionally, the teenagers are caught snooping around there, so keep your eye out for that. It's private property."

"Very private," Steve muttered.

Hmm, interesting. First week on the job and already a town secret and a dinner invitation from a beautiful, yet untouchable woman. Nick suppressed a frown. Small towns were funny places.