on his cheeks, the sensuality of a mouth beginning another slow curve into a disarming smile that softened the harsh angles of his face. What she missed was any hint of a real threat. Whatever this man’s story, it seemed evident to her that he meant her no harm. His concern struck her as genuine, as impulsive and automatic as his smile.
Satisfied, she met his grin with one of her own and briskly wiped away the last traces of her tears with an impatient swipe.
“I was just debating whether to close up,” she said, turning back inside and heading for the lunch counter, which was her domain even though she owned the whole place now. A few months back she’d hired a pharmacist and a teenager to work the rest of the store once Doc Dolan had retired and headed off to the Gulf Coast of Texas. “I didn’t expect anyone to be out on a night like this. You startled me.”
“Sorry. I’ve been on the road all day. When I saw the sign and the lights on, I was thinking more about my empty stomach than I was about whether I might scare you to death. If you need to close up, I can go somewhere else.”
Sharon Lynn heard the underlying thread of disappointment in his voice and watched his gaze settling on the stale doughnuts left over from morning. She could toss those in a bag, give them to him with a takeout cup of coffee and he’d be on his way. The idea held no appeal, not when it would mean empty, lonely hours ahead. These days she was eager to snatch a few moments of companionship wherever she could find it.
“I’m in no rush,” she said quickly. “I still have some soup that’s hot and I can rustle up a hamburger or a grilled cheese and fries. I doubt you’d find anyplace else in town open on a night like this. Los Piños tends to shut down early when the weather’s bad. Nobody likes driving on the icy roads.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t drive,” she said and left it at that. She hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car since the night of the accident. In fact, she’d moved into her cousin Dani’s old house in town, just so she could walk to work. When she wanted to go out to visit the family at White Pines, there was always one relative or another around who could take her. There was no place else she needed to go.
She ladled up a bowl of homemade vegetable soup and set it on the counter in front of him. “Now, what else can I get for you?”
“A couple of cheeseburgers and fries, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
Mind? Not if it would keep her here a few minutes longer, provide a welcome distraction from her grim memories. Her inability to shake them earlier indicated tonight they were going to be worse than usual.
“Coming right up,” she told him. Her innate curiosity and friendliness kicked in. “What brings you to Los Piños?”
“A job,” he said. “My name’s Cord Branson. I’ve heard there’s an opening on a ranch around here. It’s a place called White Pines. Maybe you know the owners.”
Sharon Lynn grinned and relaxed, the last of her fears vanishing. “I ought to. White Pines belongs to my grandfather, Harlan Adams. My father—his name’s Cody Adams—and my brother, Harlan Patrick, run it.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sharon Lynn.”
“Well, I’ll be a son of a gun,” he said, grasping her hand in his and holding it just a shade longer than necessary, long enough to remind her of that earlier tingle of awareness.
“First I meet a beautiful lady and then I find out she’s related to the folks I hope to work for,” he said. “Looks like this is my lucky night, after all. Do you mind telling me about the place?”
“Of course not.” She described the ranch with the affection of someone who’d grown up roaming its vast acreage. “You’ll never see any place more beautiful, if you don’t mind land that’s a little rugged. Grandpa Harlan inherited it when the house was crumbling and the herd of cattle had dwindled down to almost nothing. His daddy wasn’t meant to be a rancher, I suppose. At any rate, now it’s one of the biggest operations in the state.”
“But you don’t live out there?”
“No, I stay right here in town now to be close to the store.”