Stranger In Cold Creek

“You know, John Blake, if you’re not careful, I could really get used to having you around.”

“Would that be a bad thing?”

She set the glass on the table, considering the question. “If you were going to stick around long-term, maybe not. But if you’re just some stranger passing through—”

He didn’t say anything, looking down at his plate of food. “I don’t know what happens next,” he admitted.

“Then maybe we should just keep things casual,” she said, swallowing an unexpected rush of disappointment. “No strings, no expectations. No taking things too far.”

He followed her to the door when she started to leave, catching her hand. “Does kissing count as taking things too far?”

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Table of Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Copyright

PAULA GRAVES, an Alabama native, wrote her first book at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.

For my mom.

Who still makes it possible to live my dreams.

Chapter One

The tinkle of the bell attached to the front door of Duncan’s Hardware heralded the arrival of a new customer, though on this frigid March day in the Texas Panhandle, the gust of icy wind blowing through the entryway would have been plenty of warning by itself.

In the fasteners aisle, John Blake winced as the cold seeped under the collar of his jacket and seemed to attach itself to his mending collarbone. The gnawing pain stole his breath for a moment before settling into a bearable ache.

The new arrival was a woman. Tall and rangy, with hair the rusty color of Georgia clay and worn in a simple ponytail, she had alert eyes the color of the gunmetal sky outside. Her rawboned features, free of makeup, were more interesting than beautiful.

She nodded at Gil Duncan, the proprietor, and scanned the shop with those sharp gray eyes, her gaze settling on John and narrowing.

He looked away, feigning a lack of interest, though every nerve in his body tingled to attention.

He felt more than saw her approaching him, but he didn’t look away from the boxes of screws he was studying.

“You’re new in town.”

John looked up at her, finding himself the object of those smoky eyes. Close up, her gaze was sharp, her expression intelligent and curious. She also gave off an air of authority, and he thought the word cop even before she flipped open her jacket to reveal the six-pointed star badge of the Barstow County Sheriff’s Department.

“Yes, I am,” he answered with a mild smile. He was barely an inch taller than she was, and in his current condition, he was fairly sure she could take him down without much trouble. Cooperation was by far the smarter option for him, especially since he wasn’t looking to draw much attention to himself during his hopefully brief stay in Cold Creek, Texas.

“You’re that fellow who’s renting the Merriwether place on Route 7?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her lips twitched a bit at his polite response. “You’re from...North Carolina?”

Not a bad guess, he thought. “Tennessee.”

She gave a nod. “How do you like Cold Creek so far?”

“It’s quiet. Been chilly since I got here.”

“That won’t last,” she warned with a friendly smile that displayed a set of straight, white teeth. She was prettier when she smiled, he decided. “If you’re plannin’ on stayin’ long, that is.”

Was that her way of asking whether he was going to stick around? “So I hear. Hopefully it’s a little less humid than where I’m from.”

The musical tone of her laugh caught him by surprise. “You can bank on that. But it’s windy as all get out, so you need to take care with any open flames. Doesn’t take long for a fire to get out of control in these parts.”

“Hey, Miranda, I got those two-by-fours you ordered in the back,” the florid-cheeked man at the front counter called out. “Wanna meet me back there with your truck?”

“Be right there, Dad,” she called before turning back to John. “I’m Miranda Duncan.” She grinned before adding, “Of the hardware Duncans.”

He laughed. “John Blake. Of the accounting Blakes,” he said in return, wondering if she could tell he was speaking the truth.

It had been a while since he’d used his real name. But Quinn had suggested it, since the people who might want to do him harm knew him by other names. Nobody he’d crossed recently would connect him to some guy named John Blake who lived in Cold Creek, Texas.

Miranda cocked her head for the briefest moment before she smiled at him again. “Welcome to Cold Creek, John Blake. Hope you’ll like it here.” She headed back out the door, letting in another blast of icy wind that made his bones hurt.