Deep in the Heart by Sharon Sala Page B

at the old Earl house in Rusk. Then he felt like an idiot for involving himself in the drama.
    But when Claudia turned and gave him a smile that made him drop his fork into his tea glass, he decided that maybe he’d done the proper thing after all. Besides, he was an officer of the law, sworn to uphold justice and protect the innocent. And this Claudia person sure looked as if she needed protection.
    “Come on, girl,” Marylee said. “I’ll make the call. I know the realtor. Maybe he’ll let you rent on a week to week basis.”
    “Is it far from here?” Claudia asked, as Marylee ushered her into her tiny, makeshift office off the kitchen area. “I don’t mind walking a bit, but if it’s too far…”
    Marylee then heard herself offering the use of her old, black pickup—just until Claudia earned her bus money—and reminded her that it was a piece of junk.
    “I haven’t used it for anything more than hauling off trash for years. You can’t be driving it far,” Marylee warned.
    Claudia’s pale, green eyes shimmered through the mascara tracks on her face as she clasped her hands over her breasts and praised Marylee as a wonderful savior.
    Embarrassed by the stranger’s fuss, Marylee hastened her toward the kitchen of the café. In no time, Claudia found herself in possession of a new home, an old pickup truck, and ten dollars advanced on her first paycheck.
    By the time Montgomery was through with blackberry cobbler, the dessert of the evening, a place had been made for Claudia on the floor, and the waitresses on duty had gladly offered to share the first night of tips with the newcomer.
    On the way home later that evening, Montgomery remembered that he would probably be seeing more of Claudia than just at the café. How strange fate was, he thought, as he drove back to the outskirts of Rusk. All he’d intended was to go to supper. What he’d done was inadvertently get himself involved in a strange woman’s plight. He wasn’t sure whether he’d done the right thing or not, but it was too late to worry. What was done was done. Besides, he had his own set of worries, and they had nothing to do with stranded women and sorry-ass truckers.

    John Thomas rolled over and sat straight up in bed, listening again for the sound that had pulled him from a deep, dreamless sleep. There! He heard it again and this time recognized it for what it was. The floorboards in his living room were squeaking, just as they always did when someone walked across them.
    “Sam.”
    He knew the moment he said her name that this time he would follow the sounds to the woman who made them. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard her walking the floor when she should have been sleeping. She didn’t rest easy, even at night. With him in the same house—in the next room—it had become impossible for both of them.
    He crawled out of bed and into a pair of blue jeans, leaving the top two buttons undone in his haste to get to her. He hurried down the hallway to the living room. There he stopped, staring into the shadows at the silhouette of the woman standing at his window, looking out into the night.
    “What’s wrong?”
    His voice made Samantha gasp. She turned in fright, and then leaned against the window with relief as she recognized the familiar figure in the doorway.
    Her answer was a shrug.
    A faint glow of moonlight filtered through the trees around the house, past the thin, transparent curtains at the windows. He saw the slight movement of her shoulders, and the way her head tilted downward in a weary gesture of defeat. In seconds he was across the room and pulling her into his arms.
    “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. Then she let him hold her. There was no fight left in her tonight. She needed what he had, what he was willing to give, his strength and his protection.
    “You haven’t slept good in days,” John Thomas whispered, splaying his hand across the back of her hair and pulling her close so that his chin rested on