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that well in the corner of the porch.”
    “A galvanized washtub?” He looked at her in disbelief.
    Andrea tilted her head slightly as she added, “Of course. But this is Friday, and I thought cow-boys always took their weekly baths on Saturday night.”
    Sam suppressed a smile. “But I’m not a cowboy, remember?” He took an envelope of papers from the table and placed the material in Andrea’s hand. “Just be certain to return those when you’re finished.”
    Andrea glanced woodenly down at the papers and the rough, callused hand that had not only placed the envelope in her grasp but was now holding
her
hand. The sandpaper texture of his thumb rubbed the underside of her wrist, and she felt her pulse jump as she stared at them.
    “You found them.” She pulled her hand away and forced herself to look up at him.
    “No. Otis did. In the back of his truck.” He was close enough now to see the blue in her eyes change color as they widened. Sam felt the tension flare between them.
Oh, no you don’t, Stormy
, he told himself.
You’re not feeding my flame again
. But she was, standing there with that smoldering light in her eyes. He had to fight the strong urge to pull her inside the house and into his arms.
    Sam frowned. This lack of control was new to him. He took a deep breath, lifted her hand uneasily, and forced a smile on his face. “Don’t suppose you’d like to stick around and scrub my back,would you, darlin’? Wouldn’t that be considered the neighborly thing to do?”
    Andrea let out a deep breath. “But you don’t want to be a neighbor, Sam Farley. Better relock this door if you’re going to bathe on the porch,” she advised briskly. “It’s likely that welcoming neighbors will continue to visit you until they learn that you aren’t interested in being friends.” She lifted the envelope. “I’ll get your papers back to you as soon as I’ve checked them over.”
    “Whatever you say, Chief Fleming. You’re the boss.”
    This time Andrea didn’t answer. She simply turned on her heel and strode down the over-grown drive.
    Sam watched the suggestive roll of her hips as she walked. A real earth mother, he though, remembering the firmness of her breast beneath his touch when he’d first discovered that she was a woman. She was a nearly irresistible challenge if he were inclined to take the risk. He’s always thrived on danger, and he’d never made love to a policewoman. Still, this was one time he wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved. This woman wasn’t into fun and games. This woman was the church-on-Sunday, till-death-do-us-part type. This woman could land him in jail.
    He swore and turned back inside, wondering what the hell he was doing in a boarded-up old house with no electricity and no food.
    Sam walked barefoot through the house and stood on the front porch. He watched until Andrea drove away. He should have thanked her for her concern, but maybe being nice to her was amistake. He couldn’t afford to let her know that she’d gotten under his skin and made him crave something he didn’t trust, something he’d never have.
    Sam spotted a fruit tree, heavy with fat golden plums. He smiled. He liked looking out and not seeing another house or person anywhere. He liked the privacy. He wished he could believe that people were so trusting here that they never locked their doors.
    Sam stuck his hands in his jean pockets and glanced around at the dilapidated old house. It was a lot like him—abandoned and falling apart. Well, hell, it wouldn’t hurt to leave his grandmother’s home a little better off than he’d found it. Maybe he’d clear the drive before Andrea came back. Maybe he’d check out the attic and the barn out back.
    Could be, he’d find that porch swing.
    Buck was sitting with his plastered leg propped on the desk with the last of the breakfast coffee in one hand and a chocolate-chip cookie in the other. “Where’ve you been, Andy—it’s almost ten