Page 31 of The Formation of Us
She smiled as if she appreciated his boyhood sincerity.
“The sheriff was kind enough not to laugh at me. He let me run errands for him when I wasn’t in school or working at my dad’s sawmill. When I turned fourteen, he had me sit as guard on weekends. Mostly I guarded an empty cell, or sometimes a local drunk who’d gotten tossed out of a saloon. I spent most nights reading law books. I got my deputy’s badge when I turned seventeen.”
“Your father allowed this?”
“I had spent nine years running errands for the sheriff, babysitting drunks, and studying law to get that badge. Dad knew how much I wanted to wear it.”
“But that badge put you in danger.”
“The sheriff kept me away from the nasty side of the job until I was nineteen. I helped him track down a bank robber. We put the man in jail, and I earned the sheriff’s respect. When he took a job in Buffalo four years later, he pushed me to run for the sheriff’s job. I won the election.”
“That must have been a proud day for your dad.”
“It would have been, but he didn’t live long enough to see me pin on my sheriff’s badge.”
She brought her hand to her chest. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize.”
Her compassion warmed him. Having lost her husband and mother, she must understand how the loss of his father tortured him.
“Dad died knowing I was fulfilling my promise to live an honorable life. I think that was enough for him.”
“I’m sure it was,” she said, but her eyes filled with sadness. “You can leave the bath now, Sheriff.”
As he inched himself out of the water, her gaze dropped from his shoulders to his chest to his waist. He took his time, wanting her to look, wanting to know if she felt the vibrations traveling between them, because for all his good intentions, he wanted to do more than investigate her business.
When his hips cleared the water, she vaulted from the chair and put her back to him. Laying two thick towels over the table, she asked, “Do you mind waiting to dress? It’ll make it easier to massage your back.”
He wouldn’t mind at all. He’d like nothing better than to help her out of her clothes and into the tub with him. “Maybe you should stretch my shoulder, too.”
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I would recommend it, but it’s up to you.”
Forcing his sore muscles to stretch was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t wait for his shoulder to improve on its own. Resigned, he sat on the table. “Let’s get it over with.”
o0o
“You’ll have to lie on your back,” Faith said, then turned herself away while he did so. When she turned back, she opened another linen and draped it over Duke’s hips and legs.
The sheriff glanced down and back up. “What’s that for?”
“I don’t want you catching a chill,” she explained. But she was the one shivering. Lord, she had to get away from this half- naked warrior. “Sheriff, I . . . I think Iris can do a better job with your shoulder,” she said.
“I don’t want Iris.”
“But she’s better at—”
He wrapped his long fingers around her wrist. “I want you.”
She looked down at his handsome, water-speckled face, and couldn’t force another word from her throat.
“My name is Duke.”
He spoke softly, but she heard the command behind his words, and saw the hunger in his eyes. This man wanted more than a massage.
“May I call you Faith?” he asked.
Her flutter-birds beat their wings in panic. He was flat on his back, but the sheriff could easily overpower her. He could make her life hell, run her out of town even, but it wasn’t his strength or position she was afraid of—it was her sense of being out of control, of being governed by her body rather than her brain. She should never have offered to treat his shoulder.
“May I?” he prodded.
