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she didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him that she was an excellent marksman. He was already feeling relatively useless, if she had her guess.
    But just because she could plot a map and fire a gun didn’t mean she’d actually have the guts to shoot someone if it came down to it. She’d like to think that she could do it to defend her own life or someone else’s, but she’d never been in that situation.
    As a former Ranger she knew he had, and she also knew that she couldn’t be in better hands.
    But she didn’t need to think about being in his hands, because that ignited a thought process that took her imagination to depraved places it had no business going and made her panties feel like they’d been dipped in steam.
    His eyes weren’t just blue, as she’d noted before. They were a bizarre mix of blue and green with a darker ring of lapis around the edges. They were utterly arresting, the shade managing to be both brightand dark, like the sky in a Maxfield Parrish painting, so perfect it had earned the name “Parrish Blue.”
    She’d known the minute she’d looked at him that she was going to be in trouble, that she was going to want him with an intensity far beyond anything in her experience. On a physical level, he simply did it for her. He was big and hard and exuded confidence without being cocky, and there was an irreverence in his gaze, in the shape of that droll, incredibly carnal mouth, that was particularly attractive.
    Something about the line of his jaw against his neck when he turned his head just so made her long to slip her fingers along that bone, to trace the shell of his ear. Everything about him was masculine and beautiful, even the way his hair lay against his scalp. She watched his fingers trace a path along the map and her belly gave a clench. His hands were large and veined and the strength in them was palpable. She imagined them kneading her flesh and released a sigh deep enough to draw his attention.
    She felt a blush race to her hairline and took another sip of her cider.
    â€œIs something wrong?” he asked.
    Only with her misguided libido, Bess thought. She blinked innocently. “No.”
    His lips twitched with humor.
    â€œAre you laughing at me?” she asked, waiting towatch the way his mouth moved when he talked. It was sensual and mesmerizing.
    â€œNo,” he said. “Not at you.”
    â€œBut something was funny?”
    He dropped the pen in his hand and leaned back and regarded her more thoroughly. That lazy scrutiny made her stomach flutter and warm. “Yes, actually. I was thinking you must have learned that little innocent look you just gave me from Elsie because it was the same exact blinking incomprehension that she gave you when you told her not to call unless it was important.”
    She popped a bite of Danish into her mouth and laughed. “It’s possible that I picked it up from her,” she said. “I’ve known her most of my life.”
    â€œShe’s quite a character,” he said, which she thought was more charitable than saying she was crazy as a shit-house rat, which was what most everyone else thought about her. Including Bess, if she were honest, but it only added to Elsie’s charm.
    â€œShe is,” Bess said with a nod. “She has the sight, you know.”
    â€œThe what?”
    â€œShe likes to think she’s psychic,” Bess clarified, and wondered again what had spooked him so much when Elsie had taken his hand. Something had, she was sure. And for all his irreverent nonchalance, there was an unexplained shadow in his gaze—almost haunted-looking—that made her wonder about his story. Everyone, in her experience, had a story and she found herself unbelievably intrigued by his.
    It was his turn to blink and she chuckled again. “Seems like you’re a quick study on the look, as well,” she told him, wrapping her hands