Rustler's Moon by Jodi Thomas

He kept his voice low.
    “No,” she said. “I have no family. My mother died a few years ago and my father passed last month.” Tears floated in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
    “I’m sorry.” If he hadn’t been cramped in a booth, he would have hugged her.
    She blinked away tears. “I’ll be all right.”
    He fought to keep from pulling her closer. They weren’t friends, maybe never would be, but this woman made him feel more alive than he had in a long time.
    Wilkes wished she’d share more, but he could put the pieces together. Her dad died, she broke up with her fiancé. There must have been nothing left to keep her there. She was a woman on the run from her life.
    “Where did you say you came from?”
    Her sadness turned to alarm. “I didn’t.”
    Wilkes swore silently. So much for casual conversation.
    “None of my business,” he said as he mentally moved away even if he couldn’t leave physically.
    “Right. I just don’t want to talk about me.”
    This woman’s emotions were wired with so many land mines he’d be lucky to survive long enough to understand her.
    “Keep it professional. No personal questions.”
    “I agree.”
    Something about the way she straightened and nodded made him want to kiss her senseless, but every brain cell shouted that kissing her might not be a good idea.
    “How about we start as friends?”
    She finally seemed to relax. “I can handle that.”
    When Yancy turned back to them, he seemed totally unaware that they’d been talking while he’d been flirting with the waitress.
    They continued in casual conversation like old friends. Wilkes was still confused why he liked being near her and, worse, why he didn’t want Yancy flirting with her. Yancy flirted with every woman in town under fifty.
    Then, probably just to mess with his brain, Angie acted as if she didn’t notice he was sitting two inches away from her. If he touched her any more often, she’d think he had a twitch.
    She’d spent most of the meal ignoring him and asking questions about the old house. Yancy didn’t know much, and Wilkes handed over all he knew. When he went for more coffee, he came back to find Yancy and Angie staring into each other’s eyes.
    “You’re right,” she said. “One of your eyes is gray and the other green.”
    “I told you. Someone said that means I could have Gypsy blood in me. Maybe that is why the house calls me. It knows I’m blood.”
    Angie laughed. “How exciting.”
    Wilkes didn’t want to look in Yancy’s eyes and he wished he could think of something about his Wagner ancestors that was interesting.
    By the time he paid the bill, Wilkes was frustrated. He was used to women playing up to him but Angie made no attempt. It was as though she didn’t care if he was there or not. He told himself he would turn her down gently anyway, but it was a shot to his pride that she didn’t even try.
    Several times during the meal she’d glanced out the window. He had the feeling she was watching for something. But what? She hadn’t lived in town long enough to make an enemy.
    The wind had turned cold by the time they left the café. Wilkes pulled his hat low as the first hint of rain splashed across the windshield of his Tahoe.
    Yancy waved goodbye and darted across the street to his apartment in the front of the retirement community.
    Wilkes walked close to Angie and opened the door for her.
    “I told you, you don’t have to do that.”
    “Do what?” he asked innocently.
    “Open doors for me. No one does that anymore.”
    “We do here,” he said. “Where did you say you came from?”
    “I didn’t, but I...I was born in New York, and I grew up in Florida. If everyone stopped to open doors in New York, the whole city would come to a standstill.”
    “So, you liked living in New York?” He was finally making progress. She’d told him something about her background.
    “S-sure.”
    She had hesitated just long enough to make him wonder if she were