A Question of Honor by Mary Anne Wilson

her, and she wondered if that was a good thing. “I’ll be over there in an hour or so.”
    “How long do you think it will take to fix it?”
    “No way to tell until I get a look-see at the problem. If it’s a battery, no time. Be done today. But if it’s more, I don’t know. Depends on what and how bad it is. Just give me a number to reach you at, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I figure it out.”
    Her heart sank. She didn’t want to give out the number of the pay-as-you-go cell she’d bought before leaving Texas. No one had that number. Then she knew what she’d have to do, at least for the next few hours. “I’m at the inn, so you can call there.” She would check with Mallory during the day.
    “Great.”
    “Thank you, sir,” she said.
    “I’m no sir. I’m Denton Manaw, sole owner and head mechanic at this establishment. But people call me Dent.”
    “Dent,” she repeated. “I’m Faith. And thank you again.”
    He nodded, then got back to work on the truck.
    She walked away slowly, toward the inn, taking her time, checking out the town. Wolf Lake felt so comfortable, as if it belonged right where it was, as native to the area as the buttes and mesas were. No rush, no fuss, and nice people, if they were like Mallory and Dent. The memory of Adam came to her. He was nice, too, she suspected. He’d bought her another coffee and obviously felt bad about running into her.
    She glanced into several windows decked out for Christmas and considered what it would be like to live in a place like this. It was a world away from Chicago in more ways than one. When she spotted the same coffee shop she’d gone to the previous evening, she ducked inside, ordered coffee and a pastry, then took a table by the window that overlooked the street. Slow and easy. It was good to just sit still for a bit. There was nothing else she could do, so she sipped her steaming coffee and nibbled on the flaky pastry.
    She hadn’t been there more than ten minutes when she looked out the window and spied a tall man striding down the sidewalk. He was heading in her direction. There were the leather jacket, faded jeans and boots she recognized. Adam, she thought, but now he had a dark Stetson pulled low to shadow his face. He walked quickly, an obvious destination in mind, and she wondered if he was searching for the man he’d argued with the night before.
    As he got nearer, he glanced up and to his left, then waved to someone across the street and kept walking. As he got closer, she had to fight an impulse to move back from the window. But she stayed put as he came abreast of her on the other side of the glass. She looked down into her coffee, sure that he was going to pass without noticing her. She was wrong.
    There was a tap on the window, and she looked up, knowing who she’d see. Adam. His intense gaze was on her, then the smile she’d seen last night, the one dimple exposed by the expression. He looked rugged and confident, as if he fit right in at Wolf Lake. She managed a nod, formed what she hoped was a pleasant smile for him, and all the while her heart was hammering against her ribs.
    Please keep walking, she pleaded silently, but he had no intention of going past with a mere wave and a smile. He headed for the shop’s entrance, all but dwarfing the space. In a few strides he was at her table. Without hesitating or asking if it was okay, he pulled out a chair and sat across from her, taking off the Stetson and putting in on an empty chair by him.
    His eyes flicked to her coffee. “I promise not to get too close to that,” he said with that wry grin.
    Did the man know what effect he had on women, or was he one of those guys who didn’t have a clue? Staring into his dark eyes, she wasn’t sure. His smile was genuine, his body language showed ease, and if he smiled fully again, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. But she knew she wasn’t going to drink any more coffee. She kept her hands clasped in her lap under the