you told me about your ability.”
“So you believe that I believe what I said. Which isn’t the same as you believing it. Doesn’t it support the theory that I’m not sane?”
“I don’t think anyone is. It’s like trying to define normal. There are degrees of crazy, and everything is relative.” He shrugged and scooted closer. “And no matter what I do or don’t believe, I can’t deny something extraordinary occurs each time we touch.”
“The finger thing, at dinner a couple weeks ago, was that an experiment?”
“Of a sort.” He shifted his weight. “I’m attracted to you, Henley. You haven’t asked, but I’m not currently seeing anyone else. And you haven’t exactly turned me down. Or said you’re not interested in me, too.”
She bit her lip, which drew his attention to her mouth. On her first day as dispatcher he’d asked her what would happen if they kissed. He wanted to test the theory. Damn it, he wanted to kiss her. Carter leaned in, his eyes on hers. Henley’s eyes widened in awareness as she released the lip she held between her teeth on a tiny gasp of what he thought might be surprise, perhaps desire. But then those big, brown eyes that he thought might swallow him whole narrowed. She stood, abruptly, her body tense but with what—anger, frustration, indignation—he couldn’t guess.
“It occurs to me that we had a deal, Sheriff. I tell you mine, you tell me yours. At this point, the balance of power is greatly unbalanced. I’m not counting the story of how Dublin saved your life.” He started. “Yeah, wasn’t that hard to conclude. Trained psychiatrist, remember? Call it a professional byproduct, if you like. Regardless, it’s getting late. I’m going home.”
He jumped to his feet as she walked toward his door. “You’re forgetting your cookies.”
“Those are for you. I have more at home.” She paused with her hand on the knob and nodded decisively. “Home. I like that. Thanks for giving me a shoulder.”
After the door closed, he handed Dublin a cookie and took a bite of his own. “She’s a smart one, Dubs.”
After sitting for a couple of minutes, considering, Carter realized he hadn’t heard her car door close or her engine start. He pictured her standing outside in the gloom, debating whether she should come back. She thought a lot. He wanted to take her out of her head. Wanted to see her in the throes of a response more powerful than her intellect. With a cocky grin spread across his face and more than a little aroused, he strode to the door. She was where she’d been a few hours earlier, standing on his stoop, her hand raised to knock. His greeting died on his tongue. Her face was pale, as though she’d seen a ghost.
“My tires have been slashed.”
CHAPTER NINE
The entire town talked about it. Henley didn’t need to be a native of the Cove to interpret the looks she received. She hated the whispered attention. She could imagine people at the diner, their faces gleeful over a plate of meatloaf special, gossiping about how the new dispatcher was out at the sheriff’s place late Sunday evening and, as if that wasn’t scandalous enough, an unknown person slit her tires.
She felt her muscles tense the further down Main Street she walked. She regretted not asking Maggie to drop her off at the sheriff’s office. An unfamiliar internal voice accused her of overreacting. Henley scanned the immediate area. More than one person averted their eyes. Instead of the expected rush of vindication, her instincts were to lower her head and walk faster, as though she had something to hide. Thankfully, her pride wouldn’t allow that. She kept her head up and her pace even until she entered the sheriff’s office. When the door closed, she rested against the wall, closed her lids, and loosed a gusty sigh.
“Are you okay?”
Doug’s hesitant question made Henley’s eyes pop open. She’d thought she was alone. The blessed anonymity she had enjoyed in this
“So you believe that I believe what I said. Which isn’t the same as you believing it. Doesn’t it support the theory that I’m not sane?”
“I don’t think anyone is. It’s like trying to define normal. There are degrees of crazy, and everything is relative.” He shrugged and scooted closer. “And no matter what I do or don’t believe, I can’t deny something extraordinary occurs each time we touch.”
“The finger thing, at dinner a couple weeks ago, was that an experiment?”
“Of a sort.” He shifted his weight. “I’m attracted to you, Henley. You haven’t asked, but I’m not currently seeing anyone else. And you haven’t exactly turned me down. Or said you’re not interested in me, too.”
She bit her lip, which drew his attention to her mouth. On her first day as dispatcher he’d asked her what would happen if they kissed. He wanted to test the theory. Damn it, he wanted to kiss her. Carter leaned in, his eyes on hers. Henley’s eyes widened in awareness as she released the lip she held between her teeth on a tiny gasp of what he thought might be surprise, perhaps desire. But then those big, brown eyes that he thought might swallow him whole narrowed. She stood, abruptly, her body tense but with what—anger, frustration, indignation—he couldn’t guess.
“It occurs to me that we had a deal, Sheriff. I tell you mine, you tell me yours. At this point, the balance of power is greatly unbalanced. I’m not counting the story of how Dublin saved your life.” He started. “Yeah, wasn’t that hard to conclude. Trained psychiatrist, remember? Call it a professional byproduct, if you like. Regardless, it’s getting late. I’m going home.”
He jumped to his feet as she walked toward his door. “You’re forgetting your cookies.”
“Those are for you. I have more at home.” She paused with her hand on the knob and nodded decisively. “Home. I like that. Thanks for giving me a shoulder.”
After the door closed, he handed Dublin a cookie and took a bite of his own. “She’s a smart one, Dubs.”
After sitting for a couple of minutes, considering, Carter realized he hadn’t heard her car door close or her engine start. He pictured her standing outside in the gloom, debating whether she should come back. She thought a lot. He wanted to take her out of her head. Wanted to see her in the throes of a response more powerful than her intellect. With a cocky grin spread across his face and more than a little aroused, he strode to the door. She was where she’d been a few hours earlier, standing on his stoop, her hand raised to knock. His greeting died on his tongue. Her face was pale, as though she’d seen a ghost.
“My tires have been slashed.”
CHAPTER NINE
The entire town talked about it. Henley didn’t need to be a native of the Cove to interpret the looks she received. She hated the whispered attention. She could imagine people at the diner, their faces gleeful over a plate of meatloaf special, gossiping about how the new dispatcher was out at the sheriff’s place late Sunday evening and, as if that wasn’t scandalous enough, an unknown person slit her tires.
She felt her muscles tense the further down Main Street she walked. She regretted not asking Maggie to drop her off at the sheriff’s office. An unfamiliar internal voice accused her of overreacting. Henley scanned the immediate area. More than one person averted their eyes. Instead of the expected rush of vindication, her instincts were to lower her head and walk faster, as though she had something to hide. Thankfully, her pride wouldn’t allow that. She kept her head up and her pace even until she entered the sheriff’s office. When the door closed, she rested against the wall, closed her lids, and loosed a gusty sigh.
“Are you okay?”
Doug’s hesitant question made Henley’s eyes pop open. She’d thought she was alone. The blessed anonymity she had enjoyed in this
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