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.His hair spilled rakishly forward, as if he’d been running a hand through it.She couldn’t deny a flash of tenderness when she drew close enough to see the worry in his eyes, nor a ripple of lust that made her mouth go suddenly dry.Her gaze fell to the sensual curve of his lips, the broad chest, the hard line of his freshly laundered jeans.She wiped her damp palms across the seat of her own jeans.She couldn’t deny the feelings, maybe, but she could damn well resist them.Mud trotted down the walk to nuzzle her hand, then padded quickly back to Dann’s side.Where he belonged, she reminded herself.Where she’d told him he better by-god stay.He kept glancing up, as if taking a cue from Dann on how to act.The cussed dog was forgetting who rescued him from mongrel heaven and raised him from a stumble-footed pup nobody would look at twice.She wanted to smack him on the nose.On the other hand, anybody Mud liked couldn’t be all bad.“’You’re home, then,” Dann said as she climbed the steps.“Is it over?”An electric drill and bit case lay on the porch.“Where did that come from?” Dixie said.“Found the tools going to rust in the utility room.Thought I’d fix that wobbly porch rail, but…” He shrugged.Dixie saw the toolbox and an oily rag he’d used to clean the bits.The stripped-out hole had been filled with wood putty, and a new screw gleamed in the porch light.But the rail felt just as wobbly when she pushed against it.“Tomorrow, I’ll replace the strut and look around for some touch-up paint.” He scooped the drill and bits into the toolbox.Dixie didn’t think replacing the strut would help, but at least it’d keep him busy and out of trouble.When she opened the door, the smell of apples and cinnamon drifted on warm air.“You baked, too?”“Just a pie.” He carried the tools to the utility room and took her overalls and vest to hang in the kitchen closet.She saw him glance in the pocket where they’d tucked the ammunition.“No, I didn’t have to shoot anybody tonight,” Dixie said.He looked at her.“Sorry.Where I’m from, taking a gun out means you expect to use it.Hunting deer, elk, moose.Never people.” He hung up the vest and shut the closet door.“Ever shot anybody?”“No.That coffee looks good.”The dripolator gurgled and sputtered.Dann must have started it brewing the instant her headlights hit the gate.He filled two mugs, then splashed a few ounces in the bottom of a cereal bowl, cut it with water, and put it down for Mud.“You’re giving him coffee?” Dixie said.“A little won’t hurt him.Who else am I supposed to drink with when you’re not here?” He set two slabs of pie on the table.“Hope you didn’t have dessert.”Actually, she had.Fruitcake off the grocery-store shelf, which she’d nibbled to be polite.“You made this from those apples we bought?”“I only know one recipe for apple pie that’s not made from apples, and it tastes like soggy crackers.”“A frozen pie would’ve been easier.”“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”She took a bite.“It’s great.” She had never grasped how anyone could start with a sack of flour and a few apples and end up with something edible.“Tastes like you’ve had more practice cooking than fixing porch rails.”He grinned, cut another pie sliver, and placed it in Mud’s bowl.“When I was about eight, I got a notion to drive my dad’s tractor.” He unbuttoned the cuffs of the flannel shirt, releasing the strain across his broad shoulders.“Mason, my older brother, had been driving it three years already.Pop says, ‘Okay, Mase, take Parker out in the field and teach him.’ We hadn’t been in the field ten minutes before we started fighting over that tractor seat.Mason wanted to lord it over me.I was bratty enough to figure I knew everything.In the heat of battle, I ended up under the tractor.”That must be how he got the limp.Dixie had noticed it only on a few occasions, most significantly after the long drive to Houston.“I was housebound for six months.Soon as I could hobble, Ma put me to work in the kitchen.” He shrugged it off.“Guess you don’t forget the basics.”Dixie carefully mashed the last few crumbs onto her fork and licked them off.Tasted a hell of a lot better than basic.“So,” Dann said, carrying their plates to the sink.“Tomorrow you see Jonathan Keyes.Then what?” He peeled off the flannel overshirt, tossed it on a chair back, and rolled up his sleeves to rinse the dishes.Dixie liked the way the dark hair on his arms curled against the light blue chambray.She flashed on that first morning in North Dakota, that same dark hair curling across his bare chest.She looked down at her coffee.“First I’ll try to get a look at the police file.Then maybe I’ll talk to the camp counselor who was on duty when Courtney drowned.”There was a moment of heavy silence.“Think the deaths are connected?”The flannel shirt slid to the floor.Dixie picked it up.“Possibly.I try to avoid making assumptions, until the whole picture shapes up
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