explosive anger over such minor accidents and wondered at this man who seemed to take the same thing in stride. “Are you sure?” she asked, unable to keep the uneasiness out of her voice.
“Of course, I’m sure,” he said, his gaze intent and filled with unspoken curiosity. “Relax. I’ll be right back.”
Patsy couldn’t relax, but she did manage to stay where she was and let Justin deal with the melted ice cream. When it was cleaned up, he hefted Billy into his arms.
“Let’s get this guy home and into bed.” He glanced at her. “Can you handle Punk?”
“Sure,” she said with sheer bravado.
The dog seemed to sense her uncertainty and tested her immediately, but one sharp command from Justin had him behaving.
Back at Dani’s Justin took the baby into the bedroom and settled him, then walked back to the front door. He lifted his hand to graze her cheek with his knuckles. Longing shimmered through her, a deep yearning for more than that gentle touch. For now, though—perhaps forever—more was forbidden.
“Thank you,” she said, fighting the breathless note in her voice. “I enjoyed the walk and the ice cream.”
In fact, she had enjoyed the whole evening entirely too much. It had relaxed her guard around this man. It had made her want things that couldn’t be. It would not do to repeat occasions like this too often, for both their sakes.
“We’ll have to do it again sometime,” he said.
“Sure,” she said, but she knew she would have to fight the next invitation.
Tonight had proved beyond any doubt that being around Justin Adams was dangerous. One day soon he wouldn’t settle for evasive answers. One day soon he wouldn’t settle for the quick brush of his fingertips along her cheek, as he was doing now.
Worse, one day soon, she wouldn’t, either. And that could be her downfall.
Chapter Five
Justin had a long and restless night after leaving Patsy. He’d lain awake most of it reciting all the reasons he ought to be fighting his attraction to her for all he was worth. Every instinct he possessed warned him away.
Even without the circumstances of their first meeting still fresh in his mind, he would have known that there were troubling aspects to Patsy Gresham’s past. She was too leery of any questions, too skittish around him. He’d noted her easygoing manner with most of the customers in Dolan’s the day before and concluded that her nervousness was directed at him. More likely, at his uniform.
There were a couple of obvious reasons for people to be afraid of a cop. Either they’d committed a crime, or they were trying to hide from someone and feared discovery. He wanted to believe it was the latter in Patsy’s case.
But who? And why? He wasn’t sure he was going to be thrilled with the answers to those questions, either. That probably explained why he hadn’t asked them the night before. If he discovered something in Patsy’s background that required reporting, he would be duty-bound to deal with it. For the moment, it seemed to him it might be better not to know.
Looking the other way was totally out of character for him. That he was even in such a position was irritating as the dickens. He left for work in a foul humor, which didn’t improve when he walked through the door to be greeted by more questions about Patsy.
“Justin, how much do you know about the Gresham woman?” Tate Owens asked before he’d even had time for a decent cup of coffee.
As riled as he was by the question, Justin had anticipated it. He’d known the sheriff wouldn’t let the matter rest ever since Tate had come back from Dolan’s the day before. He’d found his conversation with Patsy worrisome. “The woman’s in some kind of trouble,” he’d said then. “I can feel it in my gut.”
Justin hadn’t been able to argue with him.
“Justin,” Tate prodded now. “What do you know about her?”
“Enough,” he said curtly.
“Did you run the tag number?”
“No.”
“You’re sure it’s her car?”
If Justin had been the kind of man who squirmed under pressure, he’d have been doing it now. He knew he should have run the check, but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers it might yield. He hadn’t even demanded to see the registration.
“Sure enough,” he said curtly.
“I don’t suppose you checked the registration, either, did you?”
He scowled at Tate. “No, but—”
The sheriff stared at him. “Justin, you’re a better cop than that. The woman shows up here out of the