Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire by Justine Davis, Rachel Lee Page A

familiarity.
    Beauregard had it all going for him, Craig thought as he followed the two of them to the kitchen. He was a good-looking white man in his late thirties with a steady, respectable job.
    Not that it mattered. There was no possible way it could matter. Esther Jackson plainly wasn’t looking for a man, and Craig Nighthawk knew for certain that he wasn’t looking to get hitched, only to get laid, and Esther wasn’t that kind of woman.
    Esther poured iced tea for all of them while Craig rinsed the melted ice cream out of the carton and tossed it. “Never ceases to amaze me how fast that stuff melts to nothing,” he remarked.
    “It was already a little soft by the time you got here.” She gave him a smile. “I’ve been considering getting an ice-cream freezer.”
    “I’ve got a really good one,” Beau volunteered. “My mother gave it to me for my birthday a couple of years ago, and I don’t think I’ve used it but twice. You’re welcome to borrow it, if you like. I mean, it makes sense to try it out before you buy one. Make sure you like it.”
    “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
    He shrugged and colored faintly. “I’m glad to do it.”
    Well, Craig thought with sour humor, he supposed he could offer to lend “Miss Esther” a pair of sheepshearing scissors. Or some wire cutters, or some of the paper twine he used to bale wool.
    Conversation languished for a few minutes, as if nobody really had much of anything to say. Finally Beau rose and carried his glass to the sink.
    “I need to get back on patrol,” he said. “Thanks for the tea, Miss Esther.”
    “My pleasure, Beau.”
    He smiled down at her. “I’ll be back by a couple of times tonight, so rest easy.” Then he nodded to Craig. “Good night.”
    Esther walked Beau to the door and watched him drive away into the night. It was good to know the sheriff was beefing up the patrols, good to know that men like Virgil Beauregard were watching over her.
    Not that they would be able to do much good if Richard Jackson showed up. Her first instinct had been to turn to the police when she learned that he knew where she was, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized how useless police protection would be.
    “Are you okay?”
    Craig had come up beside her, and was looking down at her with concern.
    “They’ll drive by here five or six times a day, maybe more, but it won’t do any good.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because they can’t watch me every minute. Because it never did any good in the past. They were never able to keep him away, or keep him from hurting us. He always came in the dark and—” She broke off sharply. “It doesn’t matter. If he’s made up his mind to get me, he’ll get me.”
    She said it in a bleak way that ripped at his heart.
    “No, he won’t,” Craig said flatly, his mind made up before he even knew it.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Just that you’re not going to be alone at night. I can sleep on your porch as well as I can sleep out in the pasture or at home. If you can handle the daytime, I’ll handle the nighttime.”
    She looked at him with an almost painful swelling of emotion. Her breathing accelerated and her heart seemed to squeeze with yearning—yearning for the safety and caring she had never had. “I—I’m…I can’t ask that of you.”
    “You didn’t. I offered. Like I said, I can spread my bedroll as easily here as anywhere. Now you just trot yourself inside and go to bed. Don’t worry about a thing. Anybody comes near this place, I’ll hear him long before he gets here.”
    “Guin will bark.”
    The dog, recognizing her name, whined through the screen door.
    “Sure she will. But you won’t have to face it alone.”
    She looked down for a few seconds, as if she might find an answer to the puzzle written on the planks at her feet. Then she nodded, giving him a shy smile, and reached out to touch his arm lightly. “Thank you. I feel awful about letting you do this