get control of his buttons—all his buttons. Apparently she had the ability to push them without even trying.
Zach cleared his throat and attempted to steer the conversation back to safe grounds. “If you could knock out the bag stuffing, that would be a tremendous help.”
“Fine. Lead the way.”
He pretended not to notice the insincerity in her smile as he led her into the workroom. A long table piled high with stacks of paper, folders, canvas bags, and tchotchkes stood against one wall. He gestured toward it, saying, “Everything is lined up. I need three folders made for each bag, with pages in the top row going in the red folders, those in middle row put in the yellow folders, and the ones in the bottom row in the blue folders. Each bag gets one of the giveaway items.”
Savannah crossed to the table and picked up a mini flashlight on a locking carabiner. “These things come in handy.”
“That they do.”
“All right, then. I can handle this task. Why don’t you go … clean the bathrooms?”
He hesitated, then nodded and walked toward the door. At the threshold he paused. He knew he should keep on going, one foot in front of the other, mouth zipped tight. But while he still grasped for button control, the storm broke. He turned around and asked, “You don’t like me, do you?”
She shot him a wary look. “I don’t know you.”
“No, you don’t.” He folded his arms and leaned casually against the doorjamb, though he felt anything but casual. “So why don’t you like me? I haven’t done anything to you … other than attempt to save your life.”
She picked up a carabiner and twirled it around her finger. “I wasn’t jumping off Lover’s Leap.”
“I didn’t know that.” Giving up casual, he strode forward. “I risked my life to save yours and you … you …”
“I what?”
“You called me Barney Fife!”
She went still, then dropped her head and brushed an imaginary speck of something off her skirt. Were her lips twitching? If she laughs at me out loud, I swear I’m going to blow a gasket.
Her tongue snaked out and moistened her lips. “When did you hear me say that?”
Zach had to pull his gaze away from her mouth. “You don’t know?”
“It’s possible I might have used the name more than once.”
Zach sucked air past his teeth. She went on the offensive and demanded, “Why have you been spying on me?”
“I haven’t been spying on you,” he fired back. Though he had run a make on her. Did she suspect that? Was that behind this attitude of hers?
“Obviously you have spied on me,” she continued. “I wouldn’t use a derogatory term like that in public, only in private. I admit I tend to talk to myself, so if you heard me call you Barney Fife, you obviously eavesdropped on a private moment.”
She didn’t apologize. She didn’t explain. Really, little Savannah the drug dealer shouldn’t look so superior. Zach felt the urge to cut her down a peg or two. He smiled the smile he’d learned from Cam Murphy, a shark’s grin that was all teeth. “If I’d wanted to spy, Ms. Moore, I’d have gone to work for the CIA. Instead, I investigate. I’m an excellent investigator.”
She audibly gasped, diverting Zach’s attention from her mouth to her breasts. Unfortunately, she caught him staring, and when she spoke again, though she didn’t use the words “Go to hell,” they came through loud and clear. “In that case, Sheriff Turner, perhaps you should investigate the state of the restrooms rather than my chest. I need to stuff your … bags.”
Zach couldn’t allow her to send him away. Since he’d already been caught staring and because she’d chosen to wear that short, flirty skirt, he allowed his gaze to slowly drift down to her long, shapely, sexy legs and told himself he was being insulting rather than feeding his inconvenient attraction to her.
He also had one more question he wanted to ask. “Why did you come here today?”
“I can leave.”
“No, you promised to … stuff my bags.” He looked her in the eye—not without an annoying bit of regret—and asked, “I’d like to know why you volunteered.”
“Because I’m—” She broke off abruptly and sighed, the starch draining from her spine like air from a balloon. “I don’t know. I just … did. It’s Sarah Murphy’s fault. She poked me. That woman is a terrier.”
Relating to her sentiment, this time Zach was the one who sighed. “She is. So are