Chapter Three
Dusty prided himself on being a man of reason and logic. His badge demanded it, and years of serving the people of Shiloh Springs had ingrained a deep sense of responsibility in him. He wasn’t one to chase shadows or let personal feelings cloud his judgment.
But there was something about Sharon Elliott—if that was even her real name—that refused to leave his mind.
And that was dangerous.
Sitting at his desk, staring at the blank search results on his screen, he felt the unmistakable tug of intrigue—and attraction. He had no business feeling that way. If she was running, there was a reason. If she was lying, there was a reason. And reasons had consequences.
Dusty dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled, recalling the way she had looked at him that morning: wide-eyed, hesitant, with slightly parted lips, like she wasn’t sure whether to thank him or run.
Run.
He had the feeling that’s exactly what she had done before he had found her. And now he wanted to know if she was running from something or someone, and if they were dangerous—because he wanted to help her. Why couldn’t he shake the feeling he was meant to help her?
The sheriff’s office was quiet, save for the occasional crackle from the radio.
Sally Anne had come in for about an hour and Rafe had sent her home.
Between her coughing fits and glassy-eyed stares, there was no way she would have lasted the day anyway.
Jeb was coming in to man the desks and the radio, take any 911 calls, and make sure that emergencies were handled.
His shift had ended hours ago, but he was still here, chasing the ghost of a woman who shouldn’t have this kind of hold on him.
Reaching for the legal pad beside his keyboard, he read the first bullet point he’d written.
Did she lie about the car?
Maybe she hadn’t wanted him checking up on her, which meant she probably had something to hide. But if her car wasn’t really broken down—or didn’t exist—then how had she gotten here?
That was the problem with secrets. They rarely stayed buried. Especially if somebody was looking to dig them up.
Is she running from an abuser?
He hadn’t noticed any signs of physical abuse, no evidence of bruising or scratches, but those were easily hidden under clothing, and she’d been bundled up beneath that threadbare coat. Which meant he couldn’t rule out that possibility.
Shiloh Springs was a town built on familiarity and families. Strangers stood out. And Sharon wasn’t just a stranger—she was an enigma.
He should let it go, but he knew he couldn’t.
If she was a victim, she was off-limits.
And yet, his gut told him she was more than just someone in need of rescue.
Closing his eyes, he could still see her huddled in the passenger seat of his cruiser, her gaze guarded.
Her blonde hair had been tucked inside the collar of her coat, and he’d been unable to tell how long it was.
Even when they’d stopped at the bakery, and he’d managed to get her to eat one of Jill’s famous cinnamon rolls, she’d kept her coat draped over her shoulders, so he’d been unable to get a good look at her, but he could tell that she was painfully thin.
She was beautiful, true, but he’d been around beautiful women before, and none of them pulled at him the way this woman did.
Dusty wanted answers. More than that, though, he needed them. Not just because it was his job, but because—against all logic—he wanted to know her.
He shut his laptop, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. One way or another, he was going to find out who Sharon Elliott really was and if she was bringing trouble to his town.
Ms. Patti turned down a tree-lined lane and pulled up to a charming blue cottage with white trim.
A wreath hung on the front door, and solar lights lined the walkway.
The place had country charm, yet appeared well-kept and cozy.
The warmth of its appearance tugged at her, begging her to head inside and make herself comfortable.
“Here we are,” Ms. Patti announced. “Camilla’s pride and joy.
Or what we’ve always called it, the Old Johnson Place.
Old Mr. Johnson finally agreed to sell us this place because he got tired of the upkeep of a rental property.
Our family uses it mostly for visiting family and friends when they need a place to stay.
Or when my boys finally get their heads on straight, and their fiancées live here until the weddings. ”
Inside, the cottage was as warm and inviting as the outside promised—comfortable furnishings, tasteful decorations, and the lingering scent of cinnamon and cloves.
It was everything Sharon’s life hadn’t been lately: safe, stable, and secure.
It made her homesick, and she wondered if her family missed her at all, though they’d never been the kind of family you’d see on television, she’d still expected them to trust her.
Ms. Patti pointed toward the hallway, which was down the center of the cottage.
“Two bedrooms down this hall. First bedroom is set up as an office. Camilla is my future daughter-in-law. She’s a writer, so she’s using the smaller bedroom as her work space.
It’s a bit of a mess, as she just got in a shipment of books for a signing in Houston later in the month.
I swear, I never realized how hectic and chaotic the life of a professional writer was until I met her.
” Ms. Patti shook her head before continuing with the tour.
“She’s in New York for the next couple of weeks, having meetings with her agent, and talking about a book tour for her upcoming release.
You’re doing me a big favor, because she didn’t want to leave the place unoccupied while she was gone.
I promise, she’ll be thrilled you’re staying here. ”
“Are you sure?” Sharon looked around, unable to believe how much she liked the cottage. It was…perfect.
“You’ve got my word. Shiloh Springs doesn’t have a lot of crime, there’s still some.
Anyway, the larger bedroom’s down at the end of the hall.
Kitchen should be well stocked—Camilla always keeps things well-supplied, because my son, Heath, spends more time here than he does at home, and he eats a lot.
” She grinned. “My number’s on the fridge if you need anything at all.
” Ms. Patti handed Sharon a paper bag she’d brought from the car.
“Just some essentials. Toothbrush, pajamas—might be a bit big, but they’ll do in a pinch. ”
Sharon clutched the bag, overwhelmed by the kindness the woman showed, though she wondered how often Ms. Patti found it necessary to have a kit of on-hand supplies ready for wayward strangers like herself.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Relax. Get some rest. That’s thanks enough.” Ms. Patti headed for the door, then paused. “Whatever you’re running from, Sharon—and don’t bother denying it, I recognize the signs—you’re safe here.”
After Ms. Patti left, Sharon locked the door and methodically checked every window, drawing the curtains tight.
Funny how she’d developed the habit quickly after being on the road for the past weeks.
Finally ending up in the main bedroom, she indulged in a long, hot shower—the first in days—and changed into the borrowed pajamas.
Having clean clothes to put on, especially something as simple as pajamas, was a luxury she hadn’t had in weeks.
Though it was early, Sharon knew her body was on the verge of collapse and needed sleep.
The bed looked comfortable, with what looked like a handmade quilt covering it.
It beckoned to her, looking like heaven to her exhausted body.
Sharon sat on the edge, running her fingers over the intricate stitching of the quilt, and allowed herself to breathe deeply for the first time in weeks.
This reprieve felt like a godsend. She was still one step ahead of Cooper’s hired guns, at least for now. Tomorrow, she would plan her next move, figure out how to stay alive and somehow expose what Cooper had done. But today, in this unexpected sanctuary in Shiloh Springs, she would rest.
As Sharon slipped between the clean sheets, she couldn’t shake the feeling Patricia Boudreau knew more than she let on. Why had this woman reached out to her, taken her under her wing, without knowing anything about her?
Or did she know something?
The questions swirled in her mind as exhaustion dragged her toward sleep. Just before consciousness slipped away, a new, unsettling thought surfaced: What if Cooper’s men found her here? What if she’d brought danger not just to herself, but to the kind woman who had helped her?
But even that worry couldn’t keep sleep at bay. For the first time in weeks, Sharon slept deeply, unaware of the pickup truck that slowly cruised past the cottage in the late morning light, its driver watching the house with keen interest before continuing down the lane.