Read Online Craving a Hero: St. John Sibling Series, book 3 by Barbara Raffin - Free Book Online

much, 'cause nothing would keep me away from something or someone I truly loved."
    She gaped at Dane, stunned he had put into words something she'd often thought herself.
    "We better head back before it gets dark," she said, finding a comforting kinship in Dane thinking the same way she did.
    #
    Back at the cabin, they sat side-by-side on the picnic table bench watching the sun set, backs braced to the table and Max stretched out underneath, finally having chased enough sticks.
    "Some people say the best sunsets are on the ocean," Dane said. "Have you ever seen a sunset on the ocean?"
    "I've never seen an ocean, let alone a sunset on one," she said, thinking how limited a life she'd led compared to his.
    "Against all that horizon," he said, "it seems…small."
    Surprised by his comment and curious, she studied his profile as he stared out over the forested landscape at the distant range of trees behind where the sun sank.
    "This—" He waved a hand that encompassed the full range of a sky view framed by forest. "—is majestic."
    Following the sweep of his hand, she gazed across the valley—gazed at the oranges and purples and pinks with which the slipping sun painted sky and clouds.
    "I always liked our sunsets," she said.
    He slung an arm around her and hugged her to his side. "And well you should. They're among the most beautiful I've seen from anywhere in the world."
    "Really?"
    His face caught in the last golden ray of sunlight, he looked her in the eye and smiled. "Really."
    Then he kissed her forehead and rested his temple against hers as they sat together in amiable silence watching the oranges and purples and pinks sharpen in their final glory before fading toward night. Kelly had told herself what was between them was just lust. It would be over soon. But now, hugged against Dane's side sharing a sunset, it didn't feel like just lust. It felt more like something she didn't want to give up, something she wanted worse than breath.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
    They were back on the job the next morning, the previous night's rain and the nearby swamp of the low-land they patrolled spongy beneath Dane's feet. He was struggling through a thicket of brush when her arm came up against his chest, stopping him.
    "What?" he asked.
    She nodded at the ground in front of them. "Rabbit guts."
    "And you were afraid I'd step in them?" he asked, even though he sensed there was more to her stopping him than preventing him from gooing up the soles of his boots.
    "Animal predators don't leave behind the guts."
    "So this rabbit was killed by a human?"
    "You got it, Sherlock." She squatted, studying the ground around the remains.
    "Given your interest, I would venture to say rabbits aren't in season?"
    "Another good deduction." Carefully, she swept back the underbrush. "Aha," she said. "The remnants of a snare."
    "Is that illegal, too?"
    "Yeah. Falls under the realm of trapping, and traps require identification."
    He squatted and peered over her shoulder. "It looks like a string. How do you put identification on a string?"
    "You don't," she said, standing and shrugging off her backpack. Retrieving her field camera from the pack, she ordered, "Hold that brush back so I can get a shot."
    "Got yourself a poacher, huh?"
    "Looks that way," she said, snapping shots of the snare and the rabbit guts.
    "So now what do we do?" he asked.
    "We track him," she said, shooting the imprint of a boot in the damp soil.
    "Hot damn. Some real action." He took one step toward the footprint and she stopped him.
    "Behind me."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "You never track on the trail," she said. "You track alongside it. Preserve the trail in case you lose it and need to backtrack."
    "Handy bit of information for The Hawke."
    "Glad to be of service in your research," she said, stowing the camera. "And here's something else The Hawke should know. Stay behind me and keep quiet."
    They'd gone about a quarter mile, the terrain gradually rising—getting drier. But even when the