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just outside the thin glass windows. Near the dining room? She tilted her head, listening, her body strung tight. No, perhaps the kitchen. She imagined the intruders preparing to enter the house…or maybe just frighten her. Who knew what kind of mischief rural teenagers could perpetrate?

      With a frown, she reached for the phone. Was this town large enough to have an emergency number? Somewhere in the house, she’d seen a listing of fire and police departments, but at the moment she couldn’t remember where that might be. Well, she’d dial 9-1-1 and see what happened.

      “Ranger Springs 9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

      “I think I have an intruder. Could you please send someone out here? I just moved in this afternoon. The house has been empty for a month, and I’m afraid someone might be prowling around.” Robin swiveled so she could see the windows and listen for more sounds.

      “Can you give me a description of the intruder?”

      “No, I can’t see him…or them. But I heard something just a few minutes ago.”

      “What’s your address?”

      Robin gave the dispatcher the rural route number, but kept on listening for sounds.

      “Chief Parker is on his way.”

      A horrible crashing noise came from beneath the dining room windows. “Please, hurry,” she whispered, suddenly more afraid. “I think they’re getting desperate.”

      “Hold on, ma’am. Tell me your name.”

      “Cummings. Robin Cummings. I’m staying at the home of the Franklin family. House-sitting.”

      “Chief Parker will be there in just a few minutes. He’s on his way. He’s listening to the call.”

      “Hurry.”

      “Do you have a weapon?”

      “No,” Robin said, shuddering as she imagined herself trying to pull the trigger as she stared down the barrel of a pistol. Or, worse yet, clutching a knife to defend herself. “No weapon.”

      “I’ll be on the line with you until he’s there. Stay away from the windows and keep your doors locked until the chief identifies himself.”

      “Don’t worry,” Robin said, leaning against the couch, “everything is locked, and I’m not going anywhere near a door or window.”

      She pulled her knees up high and hugged them to her chest. The police chief would be here soon. Not just a patrol officer, but The Chief. Someone experienced, mature, competent. She didn’t care if he looked like Andy Griffith or the guy Carroll O’Connor had played in that Southern television drama. In just a few minutes, he’d be here and scare the intruders away.

      POLICE CHIEF ETHAN PARKER cut the lights on his patrol car; he’d already shut off the siren a ways back. Parking beneath the spreading pecan trees that lined the two-lane blacktop and driveway to the Franklin house, he took just a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness so he could look around the property. He seriously doubted that out here in the country there was an intruder lurking in the darkness. More than likely, an animal was scrounging for food or just curious about activity inside the recently vacant home.

      Still, he unsnapped the holster restraint and gripped his pistol. Even if a human predator wasn’t about this night, he’d seen a couple of pretty large cougars not too far west of here. No sense in tempting fate.

      The car’s clock reminded him that his shift ended in just ten minutes. If one of his patrol officers wasn’t in Austin for a training class, Ethan would be home, getting ready for bed right now. The chief didn’t usually work the night shift, but in a small town, every person had to do double duty at times.

      He gave his position to Ben, his regular nighttime dispatcher, clipped his call unit on his shoulder, then gripped a flashlight. Ethan eased out of the patrol car into the warm, humid night, shutting the door as silently as possible. Every lamp in the house seemed to be blazing, giving him plenty of light to see around the exterior. Floodlights on two sides illuminated the side and back entrances, and brass fixtures on either side of the ornate front door revealed the wide, deep porch.

      Ethan circled the house, listening for any whispers that might indicate some local teens looking for a deserted house to use for a party. Or to sit around outside and drink some beers they’d taken from a parent’s refrigerator. Even Ranger Springs wasn’t immune to the problems of the city, so he wouldn’t put it past a few teens to smoke a little marijuana out here in the country. But the only sounds he heard were the usual summer night noises of crickets and other insects.

      A far cry from the career at the FBI he’d given up almost three years ago. Crime in Ranger Springs didn’t compare with that in Dallas. In the past three years, he’d never before received a 9-1-1 call from a hysterical woman who feared for her life. He had to wonder who this caller might be—a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, or someone who’d heard about the vacancy through Gina Mae Summers, the local real estate agent? Ethan had already been making extra patrols to the property just to make sure teens looking for a good hangout hadn’t decided an uninhabited, upscale, three-bedroom house would make a great Party Central.

      His boots made barely a sound as they sank lightly into the damp earth. No footprints other than his marked the property, giving him further reassurance that two-legged predators weren’t lurking. Kids weren’t nearly as sneaky as they thought they were, and he doubted any one of the teens in Ranger Springs would think to conceal evidence that they’d walked around outside an empty house.

      He reached the side entrance, where a couple of moving boxes and some plastic bags tumbled haphazardly across the concrete path to the detached garage. Nudging the closer box with his boot, he wasn’t too surprised when two dark shapes scrambled out of the mess. One paused briefly to stand on hind legs and stare at him in curiosity from darkly masked eyes. Then the raccoons both ran to the nearest tree and scurried up the rough bark.

      Ethan smiled as he eased his 40-caliber semiautomatic into the holster. Reassured that no danger lurked in the moonlit shadows, he approached the front door and knocked.

      “Police Chief Ethan Parker,” he announced loudly.

      He heard the whisper of footsteps, then saw a feminine shape cross the leaded panels. Finally, a woman flung open the heavy oak door.

      She stood inside the threshold, dressed in a skimpy peach-colored robe she clutched around her middle. Something—perhaps a T-shirt—peeked out below the hem, brushing against her thighs. Long, tanned thighs. He took only a second to take in her average height and build, delicate features and heart-shaped face and determined she posed no threat to him.

      In the next instant, the description “doe in the headlights” popped into his head. He’d seen the same look of fear in large brown eyes just before he’d slammed on the brakes and steered to avoid one of the beautiful and plentiful deer that populated the Hill Country.

      “Miss Cummings?” Thankfully, he remembered her name from the dispatcher’s conversation. Every other rational, professional thought seemed to have deserted his brain for the moment.

      “You’re the police chief?”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said, automatically reaching for his wallet badge. “Ethan Parker. Are you all right?”

      “Yes, but thank goodness you’re here,” she said, her voice soft and throaty. Kind of sexy…except he shouldn’t be thinking about that when she was obviously upset.

      “Did you see who was outside?”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, trying not to let his gaze roam over her thinly dressed figure, shapely legs and bare feet any more than absolutely necessary for police business. “They were raccoons—two, to be precise—and I can assure you they were as frightened of me as you were of them.”

      She sagged against the door frame, her breath fast and shallow. “I feel so foolish. I thought maybe some kids were hanging around, or maybe vagrants. I really