Chapter Five
The grandfather clock in the corner of the Boudreau ranch’s living room chimed twice, each resonant note seeming to echo Dusty’s growing impatience.
His eyes darted to the ornate timepiece, then back to the front door, his fingers tapping an unconscious rhythm against his uniform pants.
Being off-duty didn’t mean he left the badge at home—not in Shiloh Springs, and especially not with a situation like Sharon Elliott on his mind.
“You’re gonna wear a hole in my wife’s hardwood if you keep that foot tapping,” Douglas Boudreau remarked, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.
The former Special Forces soldier lounged against the stone fireplace, nursing a glass of sweet tea as though it was fine whiskey.
“Woman’s got you wound tighter than barbed wire, Deputy. ”
Dusty forced his foot to stop its nervous movement. “Just been a long week,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “That stupid stray has half the town up in arms. Mrs. Whitaker swore it was possessed by the devil himself after it tore through her prize flower beds.”
A chorus of laughter rippled through the room.
The Boudreau clan had a way of filling every corner with their presence—Rafe, the sheriff and Douglas’s oldest son, sat with his wife Tessa on the overstuffed sofa.
Destiny and Dane had claimed the loveseat, his hand resting protectively on her still-flat stomach.
The news of their pregnancy was still fresh, bringing warmth to the household that only the promise of new life could.
“Dusty,” Rafe said, leaning forward, “you know that dog is just scared. You can’t blame an animal for running when it’s been hurt or hungry.”
The deputy shifted uncomfortably under his boss’s perceptive gaze. They both knew Rafe wasn’t just talking about the stray.
The sound of tires on gravel cut through the conversation, and Dusty’s head snapped toward the window. Ms. Patti’s Cadillac Escalade pulled up, and he could see two silhouettes inside. His heart did a quick double-beat that had nothing to do with professional concern.
“Well now,” Douglas drawled, a knowing smile spreading across his weathered face. “I believe our final lunch guest has arrived.”
Dusty stood, then caught himself and sat back down, not wanting to appear too eager. But his eyes never left the front entrance.
The door swung open, and Ms. Patti bustled in first, a covered dish in her hands and a wide smile on her face. “Sorry we’re late,” she announced, “but someone insisted on bringing something, and it took a few minutes longer than expected.”
Sharon stepped in behind the older woman, and Dusty felt his breath catch.
She wore a simple blue shift dress that hung gracefully on her slender frame, her long hair pulled back with a few tendrils framing her face.
Most noticeably, though they hadn’t disappeared completely, the dark circles under her eyes had faded, and some color had returned to her cheeks. She looked…alive. Beautiful.
And still terrified, he noted, seeing the way her eyes quickly scanned the room, cataloging exits, people, potential threats.
It was subtle—most wouldn’t notice—but Dusty had spent years reading people’s body language, a leftover training tool from his years as a child actor.
Whatever she was running from had trained her to always expect the worst.
Sharon’s gaze finally landed on him, and for a moment, something flickered in her expression—relief, maybe? Recognition? It vanished so quickly he couldn’t be sure.
“Sharon, honey,” Ms. Patti guided her forward, “you already know Dusty, of course. And this handsome devil is Douglas Boudreau, my husband.”
Douglas stepped forward, offering his hand with a gentleness that belied his intimidating size. “Ms. Elliott. Heard you make a mean cup of coffee over at the diner. Daisy’s been singing your praises.”
Sharon’s smile seemed genuine, if cautious.
“I’m enjoying working at the diner, and Daisy’s been great.
Thank you for having me in your home,” she said, her voice soft but steady.
Introductions continued around the room, and Dusty watched as Sharon navigated the social waters with practiced grace.
Too practiced, perhaps. The woman claiming to be a simple drifter, homeless and having been in shelters, had the social poise of someone who moved in refined circles.
Another incongruity to add to his mental file.
“Deputy,” she said when she finally made her way to him, “good to see you again.”
“You too, Sharon,” he replied, standing this time. “You’re looking well.”
“Ms. Patti is a miracle worker,” she said, her eyes darting briefly to the older woman with genuine affection. “She’s been very kind.”
“That’s what Shiloh Springs is known for,” Dusty replied, “taking care of our own.”
Something flashed in her eyes—sadness, longing, fear—before she looked away. “Even strays?” she asked softly.
“Especially strays,” he answered, and meant it.
The conversation was interrupted by Beth announcing dinner was ready. As they moved toward the dining room, Dusty felt a presence beside him.
“Talk with me a minute, Deputy?” Douglas asked quietly.
They hung back as the others filed into the dining room, stepping out the front door and onto the wraparound porch that offered a view of the sprawling ranch lands bathed in the golden light of afternoon.
“So,” Douglas said without preamble, “what exactly do you need me to find out about our mysterious dinner guest?”
Dusty wasn’t surprised. Douglas had always been perceptive.
“I need to know who she really is. And who might be looking for her. She’s been here forty-eight hours, and I haven’t been able to find anything.
She’s definitely evasive when I’ve tried to ask questions, another thing that makes me suspicious.
I can tell you Elliott isn’t her real name, at least I can’t find anybody with that name matching her in any database.
Honestly, I think she’s running scared. I just wish she would trust us to help her. ”
Douglas nodded slowly. “You think she’s in witness protection? Running from an abusive ex? Or something more complicated?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need to ask,” Dusty’s frustrated reply sounded terse, his eyes drifting to the dining room window where he could see Sharon helping Ms. Patti place platters loaded with food on the table.
“The fingerprints from the car came up empty in the state database. I didn’t want to run them through AFIS, only local… ”
“Because that would leave a digital footprint,” Douglas finished. “Smart. You’re thinking whoever’s after her might have access to law enforcement systems.”
“It’s a possibility.” Dusty lowered his voice further.
“The car I suspect she was driving before I picked her up outside town was stolen, but I’d swear she’s no common thief.
Let’s be honest, we don’t know she was driving the car, but simple deductive reasoning makes it a logical assumption.
She’s educated, carries herself with confidence despite being scared out of her mind, and the lack of calluses on her hands don’t match up with the kind of manual labor she claims to have done. ”
“You’ve been paying close attention,” Douglas observed with a slight smirk.
“It’s my job,” Dusty answered, perhaps too quickly.
“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with those big brown eyes and the way she looks at you like you might be her salvation.”
Dusty felt his neck grow warm. “I need to know if she’s dangerous, Douglas. To the town. To your family.”
To me.
Douglas’s expression sobered. “I’ll make some calls. Got a buddy who owes me a favor or three. He can run her prints quietly, look for any red flags without setting off alarms.”
“I appreciate it,” Dusty said, relief evident in his voice.
“But, Dusty, be careful. Not just physically. Whatever that woman is running from has her scared enough to reinvent herself. Change her name. Probably her appearance too, as much as she could without undergoing surgery. People that desperate can be unpredictable.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Douglas challenged. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like a man who’s already halfway to being compromised.”
Before Dusty could respond, the screen door creaked open, and Sharon herself stepped onto the porch. She paused when she saw them, uncertainty clear on her face.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said softly. “Ms. Patti sent me to tell you dinner’s on the table and she doesn’t want it getting cold.”
“No apology needed,” Douglas said smoothly. “We were just catching up on a couple of business issues.” He gave Dusty a pointed look before heading inside, pausing briefly to offer Sharon a reassuring smile.
Left alone on the porch, Dusty and Sharon stood in awkward silence for a moment. The sun cast soft shafts of sunlight across her features, highlighting flecks of amber in her brown eyes.
“Are you okay?” he finally asked. “Really okay?”
She seemed taken aback by the directness of the question. “I’m…better. The nightmares aren’t as frequent.”
The admission surprised him. It was the first time she’d acknowledged anything about her past, even obliquely.
“I want to help you, Sharon,” he said softly. “Whatever you’re running from—”
“Don’t. Please, just…don’t ask questions you know I can’t answer. I can’t give you the answers you want to hear.”
“What makes you think I don’t want to hear the answers?”
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt exposed under her gaze. “Because knowing puts you in danger. And I—” she paused, swallowing hard, “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. To any of you.”
The sincerity in her voice struck him. Whatever else she might be hiding, that fear was genuine.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” he promised, stepping closer. “Not to me, not to anyone in this town. And not to you. Not while I’m around.”