front of the diner, leaped out of her truck and hit the ground running. After she popped through the front door and glanced at the clock behind the till, she wanted to pump her fist in the air. She’d shaved two minutes off her drive time.
“There she is.” Merritt waved from a booth halfway down the long stretch of front window. “I can’t believe my eyes. She’s here almost on time.”
“Before we had to order for her.” Caroline twisted around to wave, too. “Glad you could make it. We figured you got held up on the ranch.”
“Broken fence line, escaped cattle, met the new sheriff. I didn’t think I would make it, but Scotty offered to take care of Aggie for me.” Bless their best hired man. She dropped into the booth beside Caroline. “Otherwise, I’d still be in the stables. How have you been?”
“Let’s go back to the part about you meeting the new sheriff.” Merritt flipped a lock of brown hair over her shoulder and leaned one elbow on the table. “So, spill. Is he young or old?”
“Cute or ugly?” Caroline took a sip of soda.
“He’s somewhere in this thirties.” She grabbed the laminated menu and flipped it open. “Not too ugly, I guess.”
“Well, he at least sounds promising—” Merritt fell silent, her sentence unfinished. Her eyes rounded.
A battered roll of duct tape landed on the edge of the table, held in place by a sun-browned hand. The hand was attached to a muscled arm, and she didn’t have to look farther to know who belonged to that arm. Ford Sherman.
“Not too ugly?” His baritone warmed with amusement.
Okay, not the most comfortable situation she’d ever been in. Good going, Autumn. She squirmed on the vinyl bench seat, wishing she could disappear beneath the table, spontaneously combust, anything to escape the embarrassment. She’d wanted to hide her interest in him, that was all. What she needed was a snappy comeback. “What do you think, girls? We have certainly seen worse in these parts.”
Not a snappy comeback, but the best she could do under the circumstances.
“Worse?” Ford’s gaze latched onto hers, an intense, uncomfortable probing that only made his dimples deepen. “You think because I’m from the city I can’t measure up?”
“No, I was talking solely about your appearance.”
“Good to know.” Judging by the twinkle in the sheriff’s knowing eyes, he wasn’t offended.
“Did the tape help? Or is your side mirror still dangling in the wind?”
“It is fixed for now.” He released his hold on the roll and stepped back, giving her the once-over. He’d thought her magnificent on her horse with the sun at her back, framed by a perfect blue sky. But without her Stetson, her strawberry-blond hair tumbled around her face and shoulders in a soft cascade. Her features were scrubbed clean, her complexion perfect. She was girl-next-door wholesome in an ivory sweater and jeans. He liked this side of her, too. “You clean up nice, Miss Granger. Very nice. I almost didn’t recognize you without your .45.”
“I only wear it when I’m working. Usually there’s no need to scare off varmints in the diner.”
“I hope you’re not hinting that I’m a varmint.”
“Who, me?”
He liked her sense of humor, too. Out of the corner of his vision, he spied the waitress setting his burger and fries on the corner table in the back. “I’m keeping my eye on you, Miss Granger. Something tells me you are trouble waiting to happen.”
“Me, trouble?”
The young women at the table began to laugh. “It’s true,” the black-haired woman said. “Disaster finds you, Autumn.”
“Trouble has always been her middle name,” the brown-haired one agreed merrily.
“I’m not that bad.” Autumn had a cute gleam in her eye.
He lifted his hand in farewell, reluctant to turn around and walk away, but he didn’t want to keep blocking the aisle. He couldn’t explain the spark of interest in her or the weighing disappointment as he turned on his heel and left her behind.
“He’s not ugly,” Merritt whispered over ice cream sundaes. “I’ve thought about it all through the meal, and I can’t see it. You don’t think he’s gorgeous?”
This was not what she wanted to discuss, thanks. Autumn took a big bite of syrup-covered ice cream, knowing full well the sting of brain pain was coming. But did she care?
No. Bring on the agony. It was better than having to admit the truth to her friends.
“He’s a hunk.” Caroline licked the syrup off her spoon.
“A hunky hunk.”
“Fine. So he’s gorgeous.” She rubbed her forehead—ow—and kept her voice low. No way was she going to take the risk that their conversation might carry across the noisy Friday night crowd to Ford Sherman’s no doubt supersensitive ears. Everything about him looked superior, why not his hearing?
“Then he’s all yours.” Caroline plunged her spoon into her butterscotch sundae. “I think he likes you.”
“Why do you say that?” He couldn’t like her. He didn’t know her.
“Because he keeps stealing glances this way, and he’s not looking at me.” Caroline stirred her sundae around. “That’s it, I’m stuffed.”
“Me, too.” Merritt gave up on her dessert with a sigh.
Autumn scraped the bottom of the glass bowl with her spoon and licked the last drop of fudge. After divvying up the check, leaving a pile of bills and change on the table, they filed out of the booth and down the aisle. It took all her willpower not to glance over her shoulder. She didn’t have to look to know Ford was watching her. The force of his gaze settled on her back like a dead weight. Best to ignore it.
The crisp evening air greeted her as she ambled along the sidewalk. A motorcycle rumbled down the road, the only traffic on the street. A dog barked somewhere on the residential blocks behind the diner. The nape of her neck tingled. Was the sheriff tracking her as she passed in front of the window?
“Something’s wrong with your truck.” Caroline noticed it as she set her purse on the hood of her car. “Your tire is flat.”
“All of them are.” Merritt squinted at the damage.
“What?” She’d been so busy wondering about Ford that she hadn’t noticed her truck. Deflated rounds of rubber sagged tiredly against the pavement, all the air gone. She’d never seen such flat tires. Had she run over something in the road? She knelt to get a good look, and her heart slammed to a stop. A neat cut sliced the upper curve of the front tire.
A slice, not a nail or a screw or anything like that. Someone had done this on purpose. Judging by the size of the gash, whoever had done this must have used a bowie knife.
“It’s the same back here.” Merritt had spotted the slit
