the man in question was the Justin Kincaid she had known. Besides, she scolded herself, it wasn’t seemly for her to go around spying on others. She would simply open the door and step inside, as any good citizen could. She would see for herself, then leave.
“Afternoon, Megan.”
She spun toward the voice. Mrs. Greeley, the butcher’s wife, strolled by her.
“Good afternoon.” Megan almost choked on the words. She’d forgotten that guilt made her throat dry. “Fine weather we’re having.”
The older woman hiked up her skirts to almost her knees and waded through the mud. “If you don’t mind a little mess,” she called over her shoulder.
Megan stared at the front door. Indecision gripped her. Oh, just get it over with, she told herself firmly. She had to do it now before someone else she knew came along. What was the worst that could happen?
She gripped the door handle and turned it. The door swung open silently, and she stepped inside. Until that moment, Megan hadn’t realized she’d never been inside the sheriff’s office before. She’d had no reason to come here. She’d never sworn out a warrant against another or been accused of a crime. Her father had conducted his business with the sheriff in the small office in the back of the general store.
Standing by the door, she slowly studied the room. The walls hadn’t been papered. Posters of wanted men hung on the bare wood. Dappled sunshine highlighted the floor scarred by boot heels, spurs and tobacco burns. Three desks, two smaller ones on each side and a larger one in the center of the room, took up most of the space. There were two doors leading into the back. Both of them were closed. Except for the furniture and herself, the room was empty.
She stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief. There was no one to witness her potential humiliation at the hands of Justin Kincaid. Of course, there wasn’t any Justin Kincaid, either.
She moved closer to the large desk. A box sat on top. The cover had been pushed aside and she could see pencils and papers, along with a pair of handcuffs. She saw the edge of a pocketknife at the bottom of the box. Initials had been carved into the side, but she couldn’t read them. She didn’t have to. Justin had always put his initials on his pocketknife. No doubt the JK carved on this knife would match the one she kept in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box.
It was him. He’d come back.
“This is a surprise.”
She jumped when she heard the man’s voice, and her head jerked up. He stood by the back door, beyond the afternoon light filtering through the windows behind her. She had trouble making out his individual features. Even so, she knew the man. She recognized the broadness of his shoulders, the tilt of his head and the easy grace of his stride.
As he walked toward her, he moved in and out of the shadows. For a second, his face was clear to her, then hidden, then clear again. She hadn’t realized she was backing up until the desk was between them. It should have made her feel safer, but it didn’t. She took one more step to the side and the sun illuminated him fully. She wished she’d left him in shade.
His hair was as dark as she remembered, and as long as ever. The dark brown layered lengths reached to the bottom of his white shirt collar. Equally dark eyes flickered over her face and body with all the impersonal appraisal of a horse buyer inspecting a brood mare. But she was too intent on her own study to take much offense. The lines by his eyes had deepened. Was it from the weather or had he had reason to laugh and smile these last seven years? The hollows of his cheeks made his mouth look fuller than she remembered. His square chin and angular jaw were still thrust forward in stubborn defiance. She’d told him that once. He’d asked what other kind of defiance was there.
She’d laughed then, and he’d joined in. Their laughter had led to kisses, and then he’d touched her waist. His hand had slipped higher and—
“So. You’ve come to welcome me back,” he said, taking the straight-backed chair in his hands. He turned it neatly and straddled the seat, folding his arms along the top of the back. “I’m honored. Is it me, or do you welcome all newcomers to town?”
She stared, not quite able to believe that he’d actually taken a seat without offering her one. She shook her head. Why was she shocked? He was behaving exactly like the Justin she remembered.
“Come now, Megan, are you here simply to stare at me? Has it been that long since the carnival came through town? I don’t remember your being this quiet.”
She gave him her best glare. “Welcome back, Justin. No, thank you for the kind offer of a chair, but I prefer to stand.”
He raised his dark eyebrows. “Oh, a temper. I don’t remember that, either. Did you want me to get you a seat? You’ll have to forgive me. Being the town bastard, I tend to forget my manners.”
She flinched as if he’d struck her. Before she could gather herself together enough to think about leaving, he rose to his feet and grabbed a chair from behind the desk on his right. He carried it over and placed it next to her.
“Please.” He motioned to the chair, giving her a mocking half bow.
They stood close, now. Close enough for her to see the pure color of his eyes. No flecks of gold or green marred the deep brown irises. She’d never been able to see what he was thinking, and today was no exception. She was close enough to count the individual whiskers on his cheeks. Close enough to study the scar on his chin. Her fingers curled tightly against her palms as she remembered what it was like to touch that chin. The contrast of textures. The rasp of the stubble, the hard line of the scar, then the damp heat of his lower lip.
His scent surrounded her. The fragrance of his body, a unique blend of man and temptation, filled her lungs and made her knees tremble. It had been so long, she thought as she swayed toward him. So very long. His eyes locked on hers. She felt her fear fade as a fiery weakness invaded her. Her breath caught in her throat and she exhaled his name.
“Sit down, Megan,” he growled, holding the chair in one hand and pushing her shoulder with the other. “Sit down and tell me what the hell you’re doing in my office.”
His anger completed the job his nearness had already begun. Her knees gave way and she sank onto the seat.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Embarrassment flooded her, making her duck her head in shame. How could she have reacted to him that way? She stared at her hands, twisting them together on her lap.
She didn’t hear him move, but when she finally gathered the courage to look up, he was back behind his desk, straddling his chair. Nothing in his expression gave away his feelings, but his anger lingered in the room. She could smell it when she breathed.
“This was a mistake,” she said. “I should never have come here.”
“Why did you?” he asked and folded his arms on the back of the chair.
He wore a black vest over a white shirt. Convention required that all the buttons be fastened, even on the warmest of days. There was still a bite of winter in the air, but Justin wore his shirt open at his throat. She could see the hollow there, his tanned skin and the hint of the dark hairs on his chest. Once, when they’d sat on the edge of the creek on a summer night, once, when she’d sipped from his flask and felt the heat in her belly and the languor in her limbs, she’d kissed that spot. She’d tasted his skin and felt his heat. Once, he’d moaned in her arms.
Foolish
