THE SECRET OF CHEROKEE COVE by Paula Graves Page B

guard, for she stumbled into him, her breasts flattening against his chest. All the air seemed to leak right out of his lungs as she clutched the front of his jacket to steady herself, staring up at him with those bright green eyes.
    He made himself let her go, even though every nerve in his body was screaming for him to pull her closer. “If we go tonight, I’ll have to explain why we need the key to the file room. People will ask a lot of questions we don’t necessarily want to answer yet. If we wait until morning, when the file room will already be open for the day, I can look for the files myself without anyone but the file-room clerk having to know what I want or why.”
    Frustration darkened her eyes, but she gave a nod. “Okay. You’re right.” Her shoulders slumped a little in defeat. “But I guess you still need to go file a report?”
    “You want me to go?”
    Her gaze snapped up to his again. “No. I don’t.”
    “Then it can wait until morning, too.” He nodded toward the sofa, which was angled so that it sat right in front of the fireplace. The temperature outside had dropped with the setting sun, leaving a distinct chill in the air, even inside the heated cabin. He nodded at the dark hearth. “How about a fire?”
    “Sounds good. Do you know how to start it?”
    “You are such a city slicker.” He found logs in the wood bin next to the fireplace and got a fire going within a couple of minutes. Dana scooted closer, stretching her hands out toward the heat of the flames.
    “Nice,” she murmured.
    He looked up from his crouch and felt a flipping sensation in his chest. The glow of the fire seemed to illuminate her from the inside, transforming her into a creature of light. Her auburn hair crackled with radiance and her skin glowed like burnished gold. Flames reflected in her green eyes as she looked down at him, the hint of a smile on her lips.
    He rose slowly, testing his resistance and finding it weak. “Fire becomes you.”
    The smile spread. “What a courtly thing to say, Detective.”
    He couldn’t stop himself from touching the lock of hair dangling against her cheek. “Are you making fun of me, Marshal?”
    She shook her head. “No. I don’t mind a little courtliness.”
    “Mama raised me to be a gentleman.” And his daddy had raised him to raise hell. But he kept that part to himself.
    “Does your mother still live around here?” She eased away from his touch without being unkind about it, settling on the sofa. She patted the seat next to her, and he sat before he answered.
    “She lives not far from the church. The one where your tires were slashed.” He waited for her to ask the obvious question. When she didn’t, he continued. “She wasn’t in the crowd today.”
    “I didn’t assume she was.” Dana kept her gaze focused on the fire. He couldn’t tell if she was speaking the truth or just saying what she had for his benefit. “What about your dad?”
    “He wasn’t in the crowd, either.”
    She made a face. “Not what I meant.”
    “My dad has very little patience for superstition.” He shook his head. “How he lives with my mother, I’m not sure, but they’ve been together for nearly forty years.”
    “You must see a lot of them, living so close.” Dana sounded wistful as she turned to gaze at the fire.
    “Not as much as my mother would like,” he admitted. “But yeah. I try to go by the house once a week, at least. Mama worries about my job and Dad worries that I’m becoming a psychotic loner. You know, parents.”
    He regretted his flip remark about the same time Dana’s expression froze with pain.
    “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That was not a very courtly thing to say.”
    She managed a smile, but there was sadness at its heart. “When you’re young, all you can think about is getting out of the house and making your own way. But under all that radical independence, there’s this safety net you know is going to keep you from falling too hard