not alone, she bantered right back, “You started it.”
His brows knit together. “How?”
Telling herself she was definitely not enjoying their repartee, Noelle gave him a look that let him know she was not impressed. “By insulting my intelligence.”
Frowning, he waited for her to go on.
Noelle studied his hands, wondering how his body could be so clean when his clothes were so impossibly grungy. “Pretending to be a McCabe, for starters.”
“What makes you think I’m not?” he asked.
Because, as she had learned very early in life, the first rule of thumb when it came to running a con was to gain trust—and entrée—to your mark, find common ground and get close any way you could. A swift way to do that was by selecting a respected last name and claiming a familial connection. Rule number two—most people never doubted the name you gave upon introduction. It simply didn’t occur to them to question it. When a con met a mark who did, he or she usually just saved themselves the trouble and moved on. “The McCabes are one of the most well-respected families in the state.” Noelle gave a phony smile. “They don’t have a slacker among them.”
His spine stiffened. “I assure you I am quite hardworking and successful.”
“Not to mention a member of law enforcement.”
The scowl on his face deepened. “I am a deputy with the Laramie County Sheriff’s Department.”
She nodded in exaggerated agreement, aware he hadn’t so much as flashed a badge. Another telltale sign. “Sure you are. They always employ unkempt and unshaven—” although not unwashed “—bums in filthy clothing.”
He looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or strike back. “So now I’m a trespassing bum?” He rubbed his jaw with the flat of his hand in a parody of thoughtfulness. “Is that a technical term?” He tilted his head. “Maybe you should call that in and let them know you’ve got a vagrant on your hands. And while you’re at it, that the bum’s name is Kevin McCabe.”
Noelle tapped her foot on the landing and felt the rotting wood shift uncertainly beneath her feet. “No need,” she announced, “since they’ll be here at any minute.”
He swept off his hat and started up the first two steps. They creaked beneath his weight, shedding splinters of wood and aging paint. “Look, you can dis me personally all you want, later. Right now I want to check on Miss Sadie.”
“I told you she’s not here,” Noelle said impatiently, wondering whose idea it was to put wood steps where they would be exposed to the rain, and then fail to keep them waterproofed and painted.
“Well, guess what?” The wood creaked again as he climbed yet another step. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then you’re wrong.” Noelle took one step down.
“In fact—” he came up one more “—I think you’re hiding something.”
Only the most important thing in the world to me. Only the reason I took this opportunity so close to the holidays—against my better judgment. Only the reason I’m now so very sorry that I did.
He lounged against the railing, studying her openly. “And I’m not leaving until I find out what you’re trying to keep me from discovering.”
Panic swept through her. Noelle went down another step, the candy cane held in front of her like a battering ram. “I don’t care who you are or what you think. There is no way you are getting past me into this house,” she told him.
He abruptly became reasonable again. “Look, I just want to make sure Miss Sadie and her property are all right.”
Part of Noelle—the part that had already looked deep into his eyes and found them to be inherently kind—wanted to believe that. The cynical side of her that had learned not to trust anyone, said otherwise. “If you were really with the sheriff’s department,” she reminded him, “you would already know the answer to that.”
He went completely still. For a split second, Noelle could have sworn that was genuine alarm in his eyes. “Has something happened to her?” he asked, concerned.
Either he truly cared about Miss Sadie or he was one hell of an actor. Noelle regarded him skeptically. “Everyone around here knows what occurred here the day before yesterday. I know, and I don’t even live in the area!”
He frowned. “I’ve been out of touch for the past two weeks. I’m on my way home from a fishing trip.”
That might have rung true, in summer. Not December. Although it did explain the clothes…. Resolved not to accept anything he told her without due scrutiny, she lifted a brow. “Fishing for what?”
“Speckled trout, red drum and white bass. I’ve got my catch on ice in my Jeep if you want to see it.”
Okay, that had the ring of truth. However, that didn’t mean it was a good idea to let him any closer, especially given whom she had hidden inside Miss Sadie’s house. Darn it all. Where was that patrol car? She fixed him with her most threatening glare. “Once again, you need to leave.”
His mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “Or what?”
Obviously he was not used to being ordered around.
“I’ll be forced to use this.” She waved her “weapon” threateningly in his direction. “To defend myself.”
“Well—” he lifted both hands in a mock display of surrender “—now I’m scared.”
“You should be,” she lied, gripping the large plastic ornament more tightly.
“Oh, I can see you’re armed and dangerous.” He started toward her once again, wicked speculation gleaming in his eyes.
She backed up ever so slightly, aware the rest of her was suddenly shaking as much as her knees. “I know how to use this.”
“What are you going to do with it?” he taunted. “Decorate me?”
“You wish. Now get back!” She lunged toward him.
Probably figuring she was going to aim for his head, he brought his hands up to shield his face. She faked him out and swung low instead. He jumped left, swearing as the candy cane whacked his thigh with a dull thud.
“Hey! Watch what you’re doing with that thing!”
Okay, maybe she hadn’t actually hurt him, but she had annoyed him. And now that she had the upper hand… “Now do you take me seriously?” she asked.
He grimaced, eyeing the candy cane, yet still refused to back down the steps. “Ma’am,” he drawled, tipping the brim of his hat, “I have from the first.”
“Stop calling me ‘ma’am’.” She prodded at him like a cowpoke herding cattle into a pen.
He gave her a pitying look, then retreated down the steps.
It was a conciliatory
