A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7) by Ann Charles Page A

relying on his clear head. He didn’t need his scaredy-cat girlfriend screwing up his livelihood.
    “I’ll be fine.” Because that sounded weak I added, “More than fine. You’re right, you should go home and get some sleep.”
    “Violet, look at me.” When I did, he searched my face from top to bottom, returning to my eyes at the end. “I could sleep on the couch.”
    “Yes, please.” It came out in a gush of relief. Having him in the house with us would keep me from hiding under my covers when the walls and floors creaked and settled for the night. “But only if you think you can get enough rest sleeping on the couch.”
    “I’ll make do.” He toyed with one of my loose curls. “You know, Boots, all you have to do is ask and I’ll come running every time.”
    “I don’t want you to think I’m some wussy girl.”
    His chuckle was low and husky. “I’ve watched you take on some burly monsters almost twice your size. You’re no wuss.”
    “So why do I feel scared about being alone most nights?”
    “You may be an executioner, but you’re still human.”
    “Am I? Do we know that for sure?”
    “Well,” I could hear the grin in his tone, “I’ve checked out pretty much every inch of you, and from what I can tell, you’re human all right.”
    That made me laugh, easing some of the anxiety that had my guts tight about the notes, the nightmares, and the monsters still hiding out there in the shadows.
    Then I sobered, licking my lips. Even though he’d already agreed, I looked into his eyes and asked, “Doc, will you stay the night with me and my family and watch over us so that I can sleep with both eyes closed for once?”
    He caught my hand and laced his fingers through mine. “I’m your huckleberry.” With a tug he led me to the door, holding it open for me to go through first. “But it’ll cost you a breakfast.”
    “You mean you want me to actually get up early and cook food that’s edible?”
    He stepped inside after me, locking the door behind us. “I was thinking more along the lines of you spending the night with me sometime soon and letting me have you for breakfast.” He leaned back against the door, stroking his chin as he ogled me up and down. “Although I do have this fantasy.”
    I stepped closer. “Oh, yeah?” I whispered. “Do tell.”
    His voice lowered to match mine. “I wake up in the morning and find you down in my kitchen wearing nothing but your purple boots and …”
    A zing of lust gave me goosebumps. I went up on my toes and kissed him, silencing him except for the groan that came from his throat when my tongue teased his to come out and play.
    When I stepped back, I raised my brows. “You were saying something about my purple boots?”
    “Damn.” He sighed, his brown eyes dark with want. “It’s going to be a long night.”
    * * *
    Monday, November 12th
    The Old Prospector Hotel had a long-standing reputation for housing the ghosts of the prostitutes who’d once lived and worked there. This morning I was there to see the man who claimed he could hear these ghosts. I needed to set up a date with him for Paranormal Realty to film a piece inside of the building later this week. I rode the elevator up to the third floor, where I knew Cornelius Curion would be waiting for me and the protein shake I’d agreed to bring him as an entrance fee into his suite.
    Being in the elevator reminded me of the last time I’d paid a visit to the hotel, which led me to wondering how things were going for Cooper down at the station with my note, which led me to smiling about the note that Doc had left under my cell phone: You owe me breakfast, Boots.
    He’d even made coffee before he’d slipped out of Aunt Zoe’s place long before I’d started stirring.
    I’d give him his so-called breakfast and then some for helping to keep the boogeyman away last night.
    We’d stayed up too late, lying on the couch together, falling asleep to one of Layne’s favorite movies, Jaws