LITMIR.BIZ

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time, she blew out a breath. “Life is all about risks, taking chances. It doesn’t matter how safe and comfortable you want things to be. They never are.”

      “No,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.”

      This time he wasn’t apologizing for the sweater. He was apologizing for all the hardships in her life, which didn’t make her any happier. “I don’t want to be your cause du jour.”

      “I don’t believe in causes.”

      She doubted that, but kept quiet.

      “You don’t have to sleep in your car,” the Captain said, braking at the lone stoplight in town.

      “Inviting me to sleep somewhere else?” she teased. She wanted to hear him say it. She wanted to hear him admit that he wanted her. Some of it was pride and ego, some of it was that she wanted to be wanted, but the most urgent part was that she wanted him.

      Charlene Hart wasn’t a fan of upstanding men. She liked her men footloose and flawed. And in the ten years since her death, Brooke hadn’t moved in the sort of circles where soft-hearted men roamed.

      The soft-hearted man next to her looked at her, one eye that clearly saw so much. “No invitations. You can take the couch.”

      She shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.

      Moments later he turned down Main Street, pulling to a stop in front of a tidy row of shops. The Hinkles’ grocery was there, a post office, Dot’s Diner and Tallyrand’s. “It’s not Paris, but Tallyrand’s has some good shirts. And shoes.”

      Then he passed her a credit card. “Get what you need.”

      She stared at him, squared her shoulders. “I’ll pay you back.”

      “I know.”

      Then she smiled, liking his confidence in her, liking the way the sun played in his hair. The Captain needed a haircut, and tomorrow, she would tell him. “Thank you.”

      “Your brother should take you in.” He paused. “If he is your brother.”

      Did he have to ruin it now? “You don’t ask me questions, I won’t ask you any, either.”

      The Captain nodded. “Fair enough. Get what you need. An hour’s enough time?”

      “More than enough.”

      TWO HOURS LATER, and Brooke had yet to show up at the truck. Jason considered leaving her in town, but as tempting as the idea was, it was a hot afternoon, and he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her.

      Her or her breasts.

      Deciding that he had to find out, he made his way through the seven stores of downtown Tin Cup before finally tracking her down in the same place she’d started— Tallyrand’s. Tallyrand’s was a combination feed and clothing store, owned by Rita Tallyrand, who was the former Ms. Pecos Valley back in 1957. It wasn’t the sort of personal detail that Jason usually remembered except that Rita reminded everybody each time they came into the store.

      “Captain!” Rita called out, and Jason managed a smile, immediately spotting Brooke next to the shelves full of shirts. She was still wearing his old T-shirt. Two hours of shopping and zilch to show for it?

      Jason closed his eyes, telling himself to be patient, but then Rita waylaid him and he knew escape was impossible. What was worse than a nightmare?

      “Captain,” she whispered, eyes fixed on Brooke. “You know her? Gladys said you knew her. Who is she? One of the Harts? There was no girl, but that’s how she introduced herself. Said she was a sister. I wanted to call the Sheriff, to find out what’s what, but the Sheriff was out babysitting for Mindy. Have you seen the new baby?”

      It was gossip like that that kept Jason far away. “No.”

      Rita frowned. “No, you don’t know her?”

      “I know her,” he volunteered, choosing not to divulge any more of the pertinent facts he knew about her, not that they were facts, exactly. More supposition, he supposed.

      “She’s a Hart?” Rita asked again.

      Now this was where it got tricky. Jason knew that Gillian Wanamaker and Austen Hart were tight, and if he told Rita that Brooke was a Hart, and it turned out that Brooke wasn’t a Hart, but part of some wild, best-forgotten weekend from Austen Hart’s past, then Gillian would be crashing down Jason’s door because not only did Gillian Wanamaker have a possessive streak, but she was the sheriff, and also carried a gun.

      After glancing at Brooke, he laughed in a knowing way. “She’s not a Hart. Not even a family friend. Seems like she read about the Hart family troubles and thought the whole thing was romantic in a Bonnie and Clyde trailer trash sort of way. Too much television in her life,” he added, not wanting Rita to think that Brooke was mentally unstable or anything.

      Rita still eyed Brooke suspiciously. “She’s been browsing in the shirt section for two hours. Maybe Gladys is right about the girl’s possible sticky fingers, although I don’t see where she could hide a shirt.”

      “She’s a good kid.”

      Rita shot him a curious look. “Not a kid.”

      Rather than confirm that Jason knew she wasn’t a kid, but a healthy, well-developed woman, he chose to keep his mouth shut.

      “Can you get her out of here?” Rita asked. “I want to close up and make it home before I miss the news.”

      There was nothing more that Jason would like than to get her out of here. As he approached her, Brooke smiled and motioned him closer.

      “I can’t decide between the darker blue with long sleeves, or this plain cotton tee. The long-sleeved one is better quality, but—” she glanced at Rita and pitched her voice low “—it’s a little pricy.”

      Patiently Jason removed both shirts from her hands and gave them to Rita. “We’ll get them both.”

      Brooke grabbed the shirts back. “No. We won’t. One shirt.”

      Rita watched the exchange, not saying a word. Smart lady.

      However, Jason knew that Brooke wasn’t going to give in. Part of him understood her need to make it on her own. Part of him thought she was an idiot for being too stubborn, and part of him, a very masochistic part, wanted to see her naked again.

      “One shirt,” Jason agreed. That was his hard-on talking.

      “Which one?” Brooke asked, holding up one shirt then the other.

      “The blue one looks nice with your hair,” Rita offered, now realizing that money would eventually change hands.

      Brooke flipped over the price tag, chewed on her lip. “But it’s so expensive.”

      “All cotton,” Rita explained. “And look at the seams. You’re not going to get that sort of stitching for a song.”

      And still Brooke shook her head. “I don’t know.”

      Slowly Jason counted to ten.

      “It’s worth every penny.”

      Brooke chewed on her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe if it was…oh, ten percent less. Then I wouldn’t feel so extravagant.”

      Jason counted to twenty this time. Didn’t help.

      Rita considered the offer and finally nodded.

      “Ten percent, but only because you’re a friend of the Captain’s.”

      “My family is from here,” Brooke said, following Rita to the register. Rita turned, giving Jason a knowing wink.

      “Well, sure, sweetie. Is this cash, check or charge? I’ll need four forms of ID if you’re writing a check.”

      Brooke handed her Jason’s credit

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