Lone Star Winter by Diana Palmer

dog.”
    â€œHe didn’t know he had one, either, until it got run over week before last,” he remarked. “He picked it up and took it to the vet. It was a stray that somebody had put out, half-starved, full of fleas, almost dead from lack of care. Amazing what some dog shampoo, flea medicine, regular meals and attention can do for a mangy old cur.” He shook his head. “For a hard-nosed man, he sure has some soft spots. He’d never make a soldier, let me tell you.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. “Don’t tell him I said that,” he added. “He pays me a good salary and he’s a fine man to work for. He can’t help it if he isn’t exactly G.I. Joe. Considering what he’s been through, I guess he’s got some grit in him somewhere.”
    She almost bit her tongue through trying not to tell Harley what she knew about his soft-centered employer. But that was Cy’s business, and she didn’t want to get on his bad side when she’d only arrived.
    â€œI rode over to your place with the boss and drove your little VW back with me. It’s in the garage. None of my business, but are you staying awhile?” he asked curiously.
    â€œI guess so,” she sighed. She poured coffee into a cup. “A man broke into my house last night. Cy let me come over here.”
    â€œBroke into your house? Why?”
    She grew pensive. “My husband was an undercover DEA agent,” she told him. “He was infiltrating a drug lord’s organization when he was exposed and executed. Apparently the drug lord likes to set examples, like wiping out whole families of people who oppose him. I’m on his list.”
    â€œThen you sure came to the right place,” Harley said with a beaming grin. “As it happens, you’ll be safer here than anywhere else in the county, except maybe with Ebenezer Scott.” He seemed to stand two feet taller. “I was in the Army Rangers for two years and I’ve had commando training. Nobody can slip by me.”
    â€œI can’t tell you how much better I feel, knowing that,” she said, smiling pleasantly.
    He almost blushed. “Good. Well, I’ll get back to my chores. Glad you’re okay, Miss…Mrs. Monroe,” he corrected, tipping his hat on his way out.
    â€œThanks for bringing my car,” she said.
    â€œNo problem.” He shot a grin back at her as he left.
    She sat down at the kitchen table beside the eggs and shook her head. He didn’t have a clue what was going on. His life was apparently so dull that he couldn’t live without the illusion of bravery. She wondered how he would respond to a real threat, and hoped she never had to find out. He seemed a nice sort of man, but shehad a feeling that he wasn’t quite as formidable as he made out.
    Â 
    Cy came in for lunch, helping himself to bread, mayonnaise and luncheon meat while Lisa poured iced tea into tall glasses.
    â€œI can make sandwiches,” she offered.
    He gave her a grin. “I’m used to doing it myself. Want a couple?”
    â€œJust one, thanks,” she agreed and sat down at her place beside his at the small table. “I’m sorry about Puppy Dog messing up your truck.”
    His eyebrows lifted under disheveled black hair. “Who told you?”
    â€œHarley.” She gave him a gamine look. “He said that he’d be glad to protect me from potential attackers, seeing as how he’s a trained commando.”
    Cy chuckled softly. “I was his age once. Seems like fifty years ago, now.”
    She put her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands, watching him make sandwiches. “Did you swagger, too?”
    â€œProbably. At least, I did until I saw combat for the first time. Nobody tells you that people scream when they get shot. On television they just grunt or groanand hold the part that’s been shot.” He shook his head.