Camouflage Cowboy. Jan Hambright

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СКАЧАТЬ for an ambush? He wrestled the questions to the back of his mind and looked at his watch. C’mon, c’mon, he thought. He had to get to Grace Marshall now. Another minute and she’d make it to her car and escape.

      Focused on her alone, he narrowed the distance.

      On his left, a man wearing a black hoodie, black sweatpants and running shoes brushed past him and broke into a sprint.

      Time slowed as Nick listened to the jogger’s pounding footsteps echo off the sidewalk and ping against the brick-and-mortar storefronts that lined the quaint main street of Freedom, Texas.

      Grace Marshall’s high-pitched shriek slammed against his eardrums. The man in the black hoodie and Grace were engaged in a tug of war over the purse.

      “Hey! Leave her alone!” Nick took aim at the would-be purse-snatcher and charged.

      Stressed, the metal ring anchoring the strap to the purse broke.

      Grace still clutched the handbag, but the force of the sudden release sent the bag flopping across the sidewalk as the strap slipped through the purse-snatcher’s fingers.

      He took off down the street at a dead run and vanished around the corner at 4th and Main.

      Car keys, pill bottles, a hairbrush and a wallet were scattered across the sidewalk next to her. She went to her knees on the concrete.

      Nick shuffled to a stop and knelt beside her.

      “I saw what happened. Are you okay?”

      She turned wide blue eyes on him for a second before reaching for the contents of her purse. “Yeah.”

      He reached out and picked up one of the prescription pill bottles, glanced at the name on it, then handed it to her. “I’ll call the police. I got a good look at him. I think I can give them a description—”

      “No! I mean…” Grace tried to force the lump in her throat to go down, but it wouldn’t budge. The last thing she needed was local law enforcement poking around in her business. “I still have my purse and its contents. There’s no reason to involve the police. He’s probably halfway to the next county by now.” She shoved the last item into her handbag and pulled the zipper closed before staring eye to eye with the handsome stranger who’d come to her rescue.

      His irises were electric blue, his stare leveled on her with pulse-zapping heat that made her cheeks light up. “But thank you for offering. I’m not sure I could have held on much longer. If you hadn’t spooked him, he might have gotten away with this.” She squeezed the brown leather bag she gripped like a lifeline and realized her hands were shaking uncontrollably. “Oh. I don’t feel so good.”

      Concern crossed his features and settled around his mouth in the granite-hard line of his lips. She was suddenly sure this man, if asked, could and would trail the thug to hell and back.

      “Come on. Let’s get you inside somewhere.” He stood up and helped her stand by putting his arm around her waist. Pulling free from him wasn’t as option, she realized as her stomach roiled, roiled again and settled down with several deep gulps of air.

      Perhaps she should have eaten breakfast…or lunch for that matter, but her son Caleb’s treatment days were always like this. Next time she’d be sure to put a banana or something in her purse.

      “I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” Her declaration seemed to fall on deaf ears as he steered her toward the door of the café.

      “You’re suffering from mild shock. It’ll pass in the time it takes you to let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

      She couldn’t argue with his assessment. Her knees trembled, her feet tingled, and if his strong arm weren’t wrapped tightly around her waist, she wasn’t sure she’d be standing right now. She had half an hour before she had to pick Caleb up, and Holy Cross Hospital was only ten minutes away. She could make it in plenty of time.

      “You’re right. I suppose the surprise of almost having my arm jerked off by a stranger is a good reason to sit down for a minute.”

      “I knew you’d see it my way.” He chuckled deep in his throat, a soothing male sound that made her smile as he reached out with his free hand and pulled open the door to Talk of the Town Café.

      She stepped inside, absorbing its cool retro 1950s interior, complete with red-and-white upholstered booth seats, and a black-and-white checkerboard tile floor. It was a novelty she could get used to—if the Help Wanted sign in the window managed to come down after she applied for the job. And maybe, if she were lucky, the man with his arm around her would come in every once in a while so she could buy him a cup of coffee as thanks.

      Nick zeroed in on a booth in the rear of the establishment, away from the noise of the regular afternoon crowd.

      This was his orchestrated break in his assignment, and he didn’t plan to waste an iota of it. He might not get another chance at a one-on-one conversation with the target of his investigation.

      The café’s owner, Faith Scott, waved to him from behind the counter and raised the steaming coffeepot in her hand.

      He nodded and grudgingly let go of Grace to help her into the booth’s seat before taking a spot across from her with his back to the room.

      “Coffee?” Faith had already turned their cups upright in their saucers before Nick realized he was staring at the woman sitting across from him.

      “Yes. Please. And for you?”

      “Just water, no ice,” Grace said. “I’m not sure my nerves could handle a shot of caffeine right now.”

      He watched a tentative smile curve her full lips as she considered him through eyes tinted a shade-of-heaven blue. This wasn’t the army way of conducting an interrogation, but he couldn’t help enjoying the view.

      “Would you like a piece of pie? I just took a cinnamon-apple-crumb out of the oven ten minutes ago,” Faith said from next to their table.

      Nick broke eye contact with Grace Marshall and immediately felt his blood pressure drop a fraction. “Not for me, but maybe…” He glanced back at Grace, anxious to prompt her response. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

      “Grace.”

      “Maybe Grace would like a piece.”

      She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ve got to run in a few minutes.”

      “I’ll get your water.” Faith turned and headed for the counter, leaving them alone in silence.

      Reaching across the table, he extended his hand to her. “I’m Nick Cavanaugh.” The moment she put her delicate palm into his, a jolt radiated through him. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around Freedom before.”

      Her gaze dropped for an instant. “I spend most of my time at home, or at work.”

      He released his grasp and leaned back into the booth seat just as Faith put a glass of water in front of Grace.

      “Thanks,” she whispered, locking her fingers around it for an instant before raising it to her mouth and taking several deep swallows.

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