The Outsider by Rosalyn West Page B

fellows.”
    Her features adopted that still mask again, but fear glittered in her eyes. He was right, she realized. She needed to be careful.
    “How did you get to town?”
    “With Reeve.”
    “You can keep me company until he’s ready to leave—all right?”
    She chafed at the lack of options, alarmed by her own willingness to remain as much as by the dangerof leaving. Noting her reluctance, he smiled.
    “If you can get past my accent, I’m really not such bad company. Some people actually find me amusing.”
    “I’m afraid I’m not one of them, Lieutenant.”
    He grinned, not offended. “Damn, at least you’re honest. Can’t fault you for telling the truth. All right. I’ll eat my breakfast and keep my mouth shut. You can sit pretty and pretend you’re at a table by yourself. When I’m finished, we’ll find Reeve, then I’ll fall off the face of the earth and never bother you again.”
    He seemed sincere enough, even a little peeved, but Starla doubted that Hamilton Dodge would be that easy to get rid of. She’d already seen that hint of bulldog in him. Once he sank his teeth in, she doubted he was quick to let go. Why was that knowledge as welcome as it was worrisome?
    But he did keep his word about not burdening her with conversation. His breakfast arrived and he tackled it in silence. And while he ate, she watched him, with displeasure at first, then with begrudging interest.
    He wasn’t hard on the eyes. His features were cut with a pleasant symmetry, regular rather than dramatic. He wore his dark hair close cropped and paid scant attention to his razor. His dark-stubbled jaw was strong and squared, an indication of that bulldog again, as were the thickness of his upper body and the breadth of his shoulders.
    She would have thought him placidly solid and nonthreatening, had she not seen him dispatch those two outside with such lethal speed. Thecrutches suggested a weakness as false as her first impressions of him. He wasn’t helpless nor made up of empty arrogance. His dark eyes warned that there was more to him than just a nice face, a negligent manner, and a clipped, fast, and often profane pattern of speech. His eyes were deep centered, patient, and alarmingly intense. That quality made her uneasy around him more than any other. Patrice called him a good man, a dependable man.
    She saw him as a potentially dangerous one.
    She started to bring her cup of coffee up for a drink when the smell reached her. Ordinarily, she enjoyed the rich scent of beans and chicory, but this morning something about the odor seemed bitter enough to make her stomach roil in protest. She set it away in a hurry and swallowed hard to keep the creep of acid from coming up the back of her throat.
    Before, she’d felt chilled. Now, the room was unbearably warm. Sweat popped out along her brow as the unsettled feeling continued to grow. She blinked hard against the sudden sense of lightness that had everything blurring out of focus. Perhaps she needed to eat.
    But one glance at Dodge’s plate discouraged that thinking.
    Then he tipped back in his chair and lit a cigar.
    The instant the first curl of smoke brushed her nose, she went racing for the door.
    She was hanging over the edge of the boardwalk, heaving ignominiously into the alley with the hope that it wouldn’t take long for her to die, when sheheard him lower himself awkwardly to his knees beside her. At the first touch of his hand, she groaned in objection but was too weak to pull away.
    “Easy, now.” Something in the low croon of his voice conveyed a sense of comfort, as did the wet cloth he pressed to the back of her neck, then to her fevered brow.
    Beyond shame, she leaned into him, letting him cool her face and even open the first few buttons to her bodice without protesting. Instead, she heard herself mumbling apologies.
    “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”
    “Shhh. It’s all right. Don’t be embarrassed by something so natural. Five