mind. Had he done this? She turned in a small circle, scanning the back lot of the diner as if she would find him out there.
Nothing. He wasn’t around. She didn’t see him … didn’t feel him. And for some reason she was beginning to suspect she had the ability to sense him—whoever, whatever he was. He was no ordinary man. Ironic, considering she was no ordinary woman. And he knew that. He’d asked her what she was last night like he knew she was something else. She hadn’t forgotten the strangeness of that question.
Shaking her head, she turned back around and unlocked her apartment. Once inside, she was struck by how warm it was. Very warm. She glanced around and stopped cold at the sight of the brand-new heater. Holding out a hand, she wiggled her fingers in front of it, letting the gust of warm air blow over her chilled flesh.
He did this. She knew it. A deep smile curved her mouth.
He might have torn himself away from her last night and practically run away … but he’d come back and done this for her. She shook her head, still bewildered as to why.
Moving to the window, she stared outside again. She knew she wouldn’t see him there, but that didn’t stop the hope from springing in her heart. Wrong or right, she wanted to see him again. Even if it was only for one night. One more kiss.
Face it, Darby. You want more than another kiss from the man … from whatever he was.
She sucked in a bracing breath and reminded herself that nothing had changed. She was still a woman who couldn’t stay anywhere too long, still couldn’t get involved with anyone. She was too unpredictable, too dangerous.
The fact that he might be just as dangerous, maybe even more dangerous, didn’t make it okay for her to be around him.
THE DINER WAS PACKED later that evening, the usual crowd of loggers and locals all talking about the body found down by the river—Jeremiah Hollis, a foreman for one of the camps who hadn’t gone on strike and had stayed behind.
Darby dropped a plate in front of a little girl, a welcome change from the burly men packing the place tonight. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the grilled cheese and golden french fries. She was maybe seven years old, sweet-faced with a cloud of brown hair that seemed to float around her shoulders. A small beauty mark dotted the skin just below her left eye, drawing attention to the green-blue of her eyes.
Darby watched as the girl scooted her little fort of carefully arranged sugar packets to the side, her tiny fingers precise and cautious as she maneuvered the pink and blue packets to make room for her plate.
Darby cocked her head, watching in bemusement, feeling a flash of memory of herself somewhere else doing the same thing. Another time and place. She remembered sitting beside her mother as they ordered breakfast at their favorite neighborhood diner.
Her mother wasn’t much of a cook. They ate at that diner several nights a week. Maybe that’s why Darby gravitated to diners. They were a familiar comfort. Home in many ways.
Her gaze drifted to the woman in the booth, the girl’s mother. Looking at her, it was like seeing her mother again—the sunken eyes, shadowed and dim from lack of sleep, from constant worry and fear. Here sat another soul beaten and battered from life.
It was as though she had been given a glimpse into her past and a chord of empathy struck deep inside her.
Shaking off the troubling musings, she complimented the little girl, “Aren’t you pretty?”
The girl ducked her head coyly against her mother’s shoulder and played with a fry.
“What do you say, Aimee?”
The girl’s “Thank you” was barely audible, lost in the thick cowl of her purple sweater.
Darby glanced to the mother. Close to Darby’s own age, she was pale with tired and beaten eyes. The tabletop in front of her was empty.
“Are you sure you don’t want to order something?” Darby asked gently.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” Her eyes dipped, avoiding Darby’s gaze, as if afraid to let Darby see the truth there. That she wasn’t fine. That she was hungry but could only pay for one meal.
“From out of town?” By now Darby recognized most of the locals.
“Yes. We’re waiting on the bus. Got some time to kill.”
“I’m going to see my grandma!” the little girl piped up, bouncing in the red