the exasperation in his voice. “I want to see it.”
“Okay. I'm going to move, slowly.” He was as good as his word. His eyes never left hers as he shifted back and dropped one hand to the badge pinned to his shirt.
Clare flicked a glance over the metal star. “I can buy one of those in the dimestore.”
“I. D.'s in my wallet. Okay?”
She nodded, watching him as carefully as he watched her. With two fingers, he reached in his hip pocket and flipped open a wallet. Clare inched back, then reached out. She tilted the wallet toward the spill of light. She read the laminated identification, frowned at the name and picture.
“Cameron Rafferty?” She looked up at him then, squinting in the dark. “You're Cameron Rafferty?”
“That's right. I'm the sheriff here.”
“Oh, God.” She giggled, surprising him. “Then pigs must be flying.” She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. Baffled, Cam shined his light in her face. “Take a good look,” she invited. “Come on, Rafferty, don't you recognize me?”
He played the light over her features. It was her eyes, gold and glowing with unholy amusement, that jogged his memory. “Clare? Clare Kimball?” He gave a shout of laughter. “I'll be a sonofabitch.”
“Yeah, that's the truth.”
He grinned at her. “Well, welcome home, Slim.”
Chapter 4
“S O HOW THE HELL are you, Clare?”
They were sitting on the front porch steps drinking two of the lukewarm Becks that Clare had picked up during her meanderings through Pennsylvania. Relaxed, she moved her shoulders as she tipped the bottle back. The beer and the cool night eased the driving kinks.
“I'm pretty good.” She leveled her gaze to the badge on his shirt. Her eyes glowed with humor. “Sheriff.”
Cam stretched out his booted feet, then crossed them. “I take it Blair didn't mention I'd moved into Parker's old job.”
“Nope.” She sipped again, then gestured with the bottle. “Brothers never tell their sisters the interesting gossip. It's the law.”
“I'll write that down.”
“So where is Parker? Spinning in his grave because it killed him to see you sitting in his chair?”
“Florida.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one. “Took off his badge, packed up, and headed south.” When he flicked on his lighter, Clare leaned overand touched the tip of her cigarette to the flame. In the glow they studied each other's faces.
“Just like that?” she said, expelling smoke.
“Yeah. I heard about the job and decided to give it a shot.”
“You were living in D.C., right?” “That's right.”
Clare leaned back against the stair rail, her eyes amused and measuring. “A cop. I always figured Blair was pulling my chain. Who would have figured Cameron ‘Wild Man’ Rafferty on the side of law and order?”
“I always liked to do the unexpected.” His eyes stayed on hers as he lifted his bottle and drank. “You look good, Slim. Real good.”
She wrinkled her nose at the old nickname. While it didn't carry the same sting as some of the others-Beanpole, String, Gnat Ass-that had clung to her during her youth, it did remind her of the days when she had stuffed her woefully underfilled bra with tissues and consumed gallons of Weight-On.
“You don't have to sound so surprised.”
“The last time I saw you you were what? Fifteen, sixteen?”
The autumn after her father had died, she thought.
“About.”
“You grew up nice.” During their brief wrestling match inside, he'd noticed that while she was still on the skinny side she'd rounded out here and there. Despite the changes, she was still Blair Kimball's sister, and Cam couldn't resist teasing her. “You're painting or something, right?”
“I sculpt.” She flipped her cigarette away. It was one of her pet peeves that so many people thought all artists were painters.
“Yeah, I knew it was some arty type thing up in New York. Blair mentioned it. So do you sell stuff-like bird-baths?”
Miffed,
“Okay. I'm going to move, slowly.” He was as good as his word. His eyes never left hers as he shifted back and dropped one hand to the badge pinned to his shirt.
Clare flicked a glance over the metal star. “I can buy one of those in the dimestore.”
“I. D.'s in my wallet. Okay?”
She nodded, watching him as carefully as he watched her. With two fingers, he reached in his hip pocket and flipped open a wallet. Clare inched back, then reached out. She tilted the wallet toward the spill of light. She read the laminated identification, frowned at the name and picture.
“Cameron Rafferty?” She looked up at him then, squinting in the dark. “You're Cameron Rafferty?”
“That's right. I'm the sheriff here.”
“Oh, God.” She giggled, surprising him. “Then pigs must be flying.” She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. Baffled, Cam shined his light in her face. “Take a good look,” she invited. “Come on, Rafferty, don't you recognize me?”
He played the light over her features. It was her eyes, gold and glowing with unholy amusement, that jogged his memory. “Clare? Clare Kimball?” He gave a shout of laughter. “I'll be a sonofabitch.”
“Yeah, that's the truth.”
He grinned at her. “Well, welcome home, Slim.”
Chapter 4
“S O HOW THE HELL are you, Clare?”
They were sitting on the front porch steps drinking two of the lukewarm Becks that Clare had picked up during her meanderings through Pennsylvania. Relaxed, she moved her shoulders as she tipped the bottle back. The beer and the cool night eased the driving kinks.
“I'm pretty good.” She leveled her gaze to the badge on his shirt. Her eyes glowed with humor. “Sheriff.”
Cam stretched out his booted feet, then crossed them. “I take it Blair didn't mention I'd moved into Parker's old job.”
“Nope.” She sipped again, then gestured with the bottle. “Brothers never tell their sisters the interesting gossip. It's the law.”
“I'll write that down.”
“So where is Parker? Spinning in his grave because it killed him to see you sitting in his chair?”
“Florida.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one. “Took off his badge, packed up, and headed south.” When he flicked on his lighter, Clare leaned overand touched the tip of her cigarette to the flame. In the glow they studied each other's faces.
“Just like that?” she said, expelling smoke.
“Yeah. I heard about the job and decided to give it a shot.”
“You were living in D.C., right?” “That's right.”
Clare leaned back against the stair rail, her eyes amused and measuring. “A cop. I always figured Blair was pulling my chain. Who would have figured Cameron ‘Wild Man’ Rafferty on the side of law and order?”
“I always liked to do the unexpected.” His eyes stayed on hers as he lifted his bottle and drank. “You look good, Slim. Real good.”
She wrinkled her nose at the old nickname. While it didn't carry the same sting as some of the others-Beanpole, String, Gnat Ass-that had clung to her during her youth, it did remind her of the days when she had stuffed her woefully underfilled bra with tissues and consumed gallons of Weight-On.
“You don't have to sound so surprised.”
“The last time I saw you you were what? Fifteen, sixteen?”
The autumn after her father had died, she thought.
“About.”
“You grew up nice.” During their brief wrestling match inside, he'd noticed that while she was still on the skinny side she'd rounded out here and there. Despite the changes, she was still Blair Kimball's sister, and Cam couldn't resist teasing her. “You're painting or something, right?”
“I sculpt.” She flipped her cigarette away. It was one of her pet peeves that so many people thought all artists were painters.
“Yeah, I knew it was some arty type thing up in New York. Blair mentioned it. So do you sell stuff-like bird-baths?”
Miffed,
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