closely, so she tried her safest smile. “When I was twenty-five, my husband, Jennifer’s dad, was killed in a work accident.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Conversation halted. Probing the topic further would be presumptuous, which was part of the reason why Maggie tended to get it over with as soon as possible. Once it was out there, most dropped the subject, uncomfortable with the idea of asking how it had happened, or worse, why she hadn’t married again. She knew her reasons. That was enough.
Nate put a bite of pastry and ice cream in his mouth. Her answers had been plain at best, and he knew she was skimming the surface, evading deeper responses. It would be rude to press further. And how much did he really want to know? He was here for a short time. It would be best if he stayed out of her way as much as possible, kept her questions to a minimum. Get the answers he needed and no more.
Besides, there were some questions about his life he wouldn’t want to answer. If she wanted to keep her life private, that was fine by him. What he needed from her had nothing to do with her private life beyond Jennifer’s—and her—involvement.
The candle at the center of the table flickered and he watched the flame dance.
Maggie sipped her coffee and changed the subject. “So what brings you to back roads Alberta? Most would choose a more touristy area. Like Banff, or somewhere south of the border. Montana or Colorado. There’s nothing around here besides snow and prairie and a bunch of ranches mixed in with the gas industry.”
“If this is your tourism pitch, I can see why your beds are empty,” he joked.
“This isn’t our big season,” she answered. “Like I said, most would head to the mountains for the skiing and richer comforts. We get most of our traffic in the summer.”
“I’m surprised you don’t vacation in the winter, then,” Nate suggested.
When she didn’t answer right away, he peered closer at her face and it struck him. “You do usually travel, don’t you? Is my being here…” He paused, knew he was right by the uncomfortable way her gaze evaded his. “You canceled plans because I was coming.” He hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t thought of anything beyond doing this assignment, and then dealing with the details.
She shook her head. “It’s no bother. I hadn’t even booked anything yet.”
“But you were going to,” he confirmed.
Maggie looked up at him and he was struck again by how young she looked. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought they were close to the same age.
“Mexico isn’t going anywhere.” She smiled shyly, and their gazes caught.
She tried to cover the moment with her own question. “How long have you been a marshal?”
“Five years. Before that I was in the marines.”
“Oh.”
He grinned at her. “And now you’re trying to do the math. I’ll save you the trouble. I’m thirty-three.”
“And you like it?”
“I couldn’t do it otherwise.”
Somehow their voices had softened in the candlelight, taking on an intimacy that surprised him, pleasantly. He watched as Maggie bit the inside of her lower lip and released it. She had a beautiful mouth. A mouth made for kissing.
When he lifted his gaze she was watching him, and her expression was fascination mixed with shock that he’d been staring at her lips.
Attraction, he realized. It had been a long time since he’d felt it. But there was definitely a familiar surge in his blood as his eyes locked with Maggie’s, blocking out the muted sound of the television coming from the den. Maggie Taylor raised his temperature and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why.
It was a complication he didn’t need.All he really wanted to do was what he’d been sent here to do. He’d put on a good face; pretended this was just a vacation for some relaxation, but he wouldn’t have chosen this for a holiday. His idea of fun wasn’t in the middle of some godforsaken Canadian Prairie at a bed and breakfast. He certainly hadn’t expected to feel whatever it was he was feeling for the proprietress. He wasn’t sure if the desire to flirt with her was a detriment or a bonus.
The light from the candles sputtered, throwing shadows on her face. She was as different from his regular type as sun was from rain. Subdued, polite, grounded, yet anything but boring. It took a woman of character and stamina to lose a husband so young and still bring up a family and run a business. How had she done it all alone?
Jen coughed in the den and Maggie looked away as the moment ended. Nate caught his breath as the color bloomed in her cheeks. He hadn’t imagined it, then.
“Excuse me, I should clean this up.” Her voice was overbright as she scrambled up from the table, knocking over her empty mug.
It crashed to the floor, breaking into three distinct pieces.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” Without looking at him, she knelt to the floor to pick up the pieces. Nate watched, amused. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman who intrigued him, and even longer since he’d had the power to fluster one the way Maggie seemed to be right now.
“Let me help you,” he suggested, pushing out of his chair and squatting down beside her.
“Ow!”
Maggie sat back, one of the pieces of pottery in her left hand and a small shard sticking out of a finger on the opposite hand. A drop of blood formed around the tip.
“Maggie, take a breath.” Nate took her hand gently in his. “Are you sure coffee was a good idea?” He chuckled as he concentrated on her finger, pinching the fragment between his thumb and forefinger. “Perhaps decaf next time, hmmm?”
He pulled out the shard, but it had gone deeper than he expected and the drop of blood turned into a substantial streak.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?”
Her voice was subdued. “Of course I do. Under the sink in the bathroom.”
He rose and headed for the stairs.
“The one over there. In my living quarters.”
He stopped and looked at the closed door leading off the kitchen. She had wrapped a napkin around the finger and stood up, taking the larger pieces of the mug and placing them gently on the table.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
“No, you sit tight. I will.”
Nate changed direction and went through the door, feeling somehow like he was trespassing. This was crazy. Less than six hours here and he was flirting with the owner and wandering around her private living space. He went into the bathroom, surprised by the scent of cinnamon and apples coming from a scented oil dispenser plugged into the wall. Switching on a light, he was bathed in an intimate glow—no blaring bulbs here. Soothing blue and deep red splashes of
