Page 52 of Home Town Knight

It seemed rude to kick the man out of his own bed. But after the day I’d had, I wasn’t sleeping on a couch. Maybe it was just the exhaustion talking, but I didn’t see any point in either of us being uncomfortable.

Also, we’d already seen each other mostly naked. It wouldn’t be anything new.

“We’ll share. We’re trusting each other, right? I assume you can keep your hands off me. That’s been an issue with you so far.”

He snickered. “I will do my very best. As long as you do the same. Don’t ask me to kiss you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The gentle teasing had erased the last traces of awkwardness. We both got ready for bed, taking turns brushing our teeth and getting changed. Owen wore a T-shirt and sweats, while I had my cozy jersey-knit sleep set. He made sure his security system was up and running. We got into his bed, which was thankfully king size, and Owen arranged a line ofpillows down the middle. He propped up on his elbow, looking past the barrier at me.

“Neutral zone,” he said.

“That suggests we’re still at war.”

“Not true at all. It’s a sign of our ceasefire.” His voice dipped into that low, sexy range. “But if you choose to cross the line, I can’t guarantee what my response will be. Militarily speaking.”

“Noted, Sheriff.”

“Nah, when we’re in bed together, you have to call me Owen.”

“Or Tex?”

“I’ll allow it. If I can call you Genny.”

I scowled. “Don’t call me Genny.”

“We’ll see. Night, Genny.”

“Night, Tex.” I faced the ceiling and tried to get some sleep.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Genevieve

In the morning,I found myself alone in Owen’s bed. But his voice murmured in another room. It sounded like he was on the phone.

I felt sheepish about how comforting that was. Knowing he was nearby.

When I inhaled deeply, Owen’s masculine scent filled my lungs. Bright sunlight infused the room. The clock on his nightstand told me it was after ten. I’d slept for a long time, and I’d needed it. Thank goodness it was a new day. Yesterday had felt like it lasted a year.

Still sitting in bed, I took the opportunity to glance around. Last night, I’d been fighting off exhaustion, and Owen had been right here. But now, I could look freely. Aside from the mess of blankets surrounding me, his bedroom was nice and neat. Exactly what I would’ve expected. But the framed pictures on the walls were less predictable. Instead of family shots, they were black and white historical photos. I recognized the outlines of the mountains. These had been taken in Hart County, probably in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century.

The furniture looked antique as well. A dresser and anarmoire, probably with lots of drawers and cubbies. Yet somehow I resisted my boundless curiosity. I wasn’t going to snoop in the man’s underwear. That was too much even for me.

I was tempted, though.

Instead of checking out Owen’s nightstand, I reluctantly checked my messages. Pam had left several so far this morning, mostly complaining about how I hadn’t written back last night. No mention of the article that could’ve gotten me or someone else at Last Refuge killed.

I wrote back to her latest message with two words:I quit.

Then I silenced my phone. Wow, that had felt good.

I’d disliked my job with theDailyfor a while, but I hadn’t realized how deeply that dissatisfaction went. It was freeing, not having any obligations. A little terrifying to be unemployed. But freeing.

A few days ago, I never could’ve predicted I would wind up here. Waking up in Sheriff Owen Douglas’s bed. I had no idea what would happen next, but I liked it. Hadn’t this been the reason I’d become a journalist in the first place? Some spirit of adventure? It hadn’t turned out anything like that in reality. But that longing was still inside me.

I kicked aside the covers and went to the bedroom door, peeking out. Owen’s voice was louder now. The door to his office was partway open, his phone to his ear, and he grinned when he saw me. My stomach swirled, and I smiled back.

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