Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1) by Martha Shields Page B

were sturdier than any other shoe she’d ever owned. She could probably kick the tar out of anything... including nosy bosses.
    That thought made her look at Hank, who waited patiently for his change. She didn’t know what to think about all the attention he’d been lavishing on her.
    On the one hand, there were times when he looked at her like he wanted to rip off her clothes and devour her raw. She shivered as she remembered one particular look just that morning. She’d stood up to walk a few steps in the fourth pair of boots. She’d have been happy with the first pair—he was the one who insisted she try on several different styles. She’d studied herself from several angles in the boot-high mirror, then turned to find his eyes on her, hot enough to melt stone. She’d stood mesmerized, until he finally looked away.
    But on the other hand, there was no real evidence Hank had any sexual interest in her. Just those looks making the air between them sizzle like a pan of fajitas. He didn’t make passes, didn’t try to kiss her. He treated her like he treated everyone else—and he was driving her crazy.
    Hank unwittingly proved that by holding the door to the café open for her, then for a group of five women who were on their way in. He placed his hand on the small of her back as he walked her to the truck, but she’d seen him do the same with Claire.
    As Alex climbed into the cab of the truck, she felt so frustrated by the unacknowledged tension that she wanted to scream, “Look if you want to sleep with me, let me know so I can leave now.”
    But she didn’t say anything. Not only did she owe him for fixing her car, but if she were wrong, she’d feel like an idiot. So she just waited to see what his next move would be.
    He drove straight to a supermarket three times as big as the one in Dubois and pulled up to the front door. “I need to check on a couple of things at the courthouse. Will you be okay for about an hour?”
    “Sure. I’ve got a list a mile long.”
    “Add some gingersnaps to it.”
    “You like gingersnaps?”
    “Yep.” He leaned across to open the door for her. “Haven’t had any in a while. Get me some, will you?”
    “No.” Alex hopped from the truck and turned to see his frown. “I’ll buy ginger and make you some gingersnaps, but I won’t buy stale cookies that cost three times as much.”
    There was that look again. Blue lasers.
    Her body reacted the same way it always did—invisible shivers rippling across her skin. She grabbed the door to close it. “Anything else?”
    He shook his head. “I’ll catch up with you in an hour.”
    “Okay. I’ll save the frozen stuff for last, since you’ll have the ice chests. Do I need to ask about getting the dry ice now, or when we pay?”
    “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “They know me here.”
    “Okay.” Alex closed the door of the truck, then stepped back as he pulled away. It struck her that they interacted like a married couple.
    She shook her head as she turned into the market. Married? Where had that notion come from? She was not in the market for a husband, lover or friend. She wanted to finish out her month, then head for San Francisco. Period. End of discussion. She was not listening to anything else her libido had to say on the subject.
     
    Alex stood back as Hank and a young grocery clerk named Mike loaded the supplies into the bed of the truck. The more fragile supplies were packed in boxes, the sturdier ones in sacks, the frozen ones bedded down in the ice chests with dry ice. They’d spent an enormous amount of money, but Alex knew these supplies would feed six people for at least two months—if the right person was preparing it. She felt a twinge of guilt when she realized that person wouldn’t be her, then rationalized that she would leave a well-stocked pantry for the next cook.
    So the amount of money they’d spent didn’t really bother her. The reason her mouth had gone dry was knowing what Hank