A Weaver Beginning. Allison Leigh

next door.

      Then she returned to the living room, blew out all the candles and cleaned up, washing and drying the crystal glasses carefully before putting them back in the cupboard.

      Seeing that the fire was burning low and steadily, safely contained by the screen, she shut off the lights in preparation of going to bed herself.

      Instead of going to her own room, though, she found herself at the front window, peering into the darkness.

      She touched her fingertips to her lips.

      Felt her stomach swoop around.

      It was a first for her.

      Oh, not the kiss. She’d been kissed before. Just never at midnight. Never on New Year’s Eve.

      But she needed to remember that to Sloan McCray, the kiss was probably nothing more than a simple gesture.

      She looked at the house next door. Wondered where his bedroom was. Wondered if he was thinking about her, too.

      But then she shook her head. He’d called her “wet behind the ears.” And the way she was standing there, gazing at his house in the darkness, would only prove that she was. So she turned on her heels and went into her bedroom across the hall from Dillon’s.

      Her bed wasn’t the narrow twin that Dillon’s was, but it was just as innocent. She peeled off her leggings and her sweater and pulled open her drawer. Her pj’s were about as seductive as Dillon’s, too. Soft cotton pants with pink-and-green polka dots and a matching T-shirt with a grinning skunk on the front of it.

      She made a face as she changed and threw herself down on the middle of her full-size bed.

      Her room was even chillier than Dillon’s, but she felt hot. Flushed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

      Even before learning that the man next door was a true-life American hero, he’d made her stomach swoop.

      She stared into the darkness and pressed her fingertips to her lips again.

      Then she groaned and flipped onto her side, hugging the pillow to her cheek.

      * * *

      The mattress springs squeaked slightly when Sloan flipped restlessly onto his back for the tenth time.

      Dawn was finally relieving the darkness seeping around the blinds, and instead of lying there, tossing and turning pointlessly for another few hours, he pushed off the bed and went to the window. He tilted the blinds just enough so that he could look down on the house next door.

      Did the window on the side of the house belong to her bedroom or Dillon’s?

      He muttered a low oath. Kissing her had been stupid.

      Sweet as all get-out.

      But still stupid.

      Abby Marcum was a nice girl. And, sweet lips or not, she was not what he needed in his life.

      He didn’t know what he needed. But he knew it was not a girl like her. A girl with responsibilities. With ties. The kind of girl who’d expect ties.

      As well she should.

      If there was one thing Sloan was not good at, it was ties. He was trying where Tara was concerned, but even with his own sister he wasn’t winning any awards.

      He turned away from the window, dragged on his running gear and went outside. The air was frozen, sending his breath into clouds around his head as he stretched. He usually ran in the middle of the night. Maybe that was crazy, but it was better than tossing and turning while sleeplessness drove him nuts.

      Last night, though, he’d been busy looking into Abby’s open, innocent face.

      He shut down those thoughts and set off down the street in the opposite direction from the one he usually went, just so he wouldn’t pass by her house.

      Instead, he ended up passing the school where Dillon would be going in a few days, and where she’d be handing out bandages and ice packs, and he thought about her anyway.

      He picked up his pace and headed around to Main Street. Light was already streaming from the windows of Ruby’s Café. New Year’s Day or not, Tabby Taggart was obviously already at work in the kitchen, probably making the fresh sweet rolls that people came for from miles away. He knew that she’d already have hot coffee brewing and if he knocked on the window, she’d let him in.

      He kept running and passed the darkened windows of his sister’s shop, Classic Charms. Even though she’d taken on a partner now, he still thought of the shop as Tara’s. He finally slowed as he reached the sheriff’s office and went inside to the warmth and the smell of coffee there.

      The dispatcher, Pam Rasmussen, gave him a look over the reading glasses perched on her nose. “Surprise, surprise. Some of us come into the office because we’re scheduled on duty. Others, namely you, come in because you have nothing better to do.”

      “Happy New Year to you, too. And I’m not here to work. I was just out for a run.” He reached across her desk and flipped the book she was reading so he could see the cover. “Suppose that’s another one of those romances you like.”

      “What if it is? Romance isn’t a dirty word. If you realized that, maybe you wouldn’t go around so grumpy all the time. I know plenty of women who’d—”

      “No,” he cut her off bluntly. The last thing he needed was a setup by her. Or by his sister. Or by anyone.

      The taste of dark, creamy chocolate on Abby’s lips taunted him, and he ruthlessly closed his mind to it. “Quiet night?”

      “Except for a call out at the Pierce place.” She grimaced. “Neighbors called in the disturbance.”

      Sloan filled his mug and glanced around the office. All of the desks were empty. “Who took the call?”

      “Ruiz. Just before he got off shift. Report’s still on his desk if you want to read it.”

      Dave Ruiz was one of the other deputies at the Weaver office. There were more than twenty of them in all, covering the county.

      “Dawson’s out on an accident toward Braden, and Jerry’s checking an alarm that went off at the medical offices next to Shop-World,” Pam added, without looking up from her book.

      Sloan picked up the report on the Pierce disturbance, read through it and tossed it back down again. “Lorraine Pierce needs to leave that bastard,” he said.

      “Yup.” Pam turned a page in her book. “But she won’t. Not until he puts her in the hospital. Or worse.”

      Sloan sighed. He figured Pam was probably right. And there wasn’t a damn thing they could do because Lorraine refused to admit that her husband, Bobby, had hurt or threatened her in any way. Every time they’d locked him up, she’d taken him home again. “She ought to put some thought into that kid of hers, then,” he muttered. Calvin Pierce was about Dillon’s age.

      Which only had him thinking about Abby yet again.

      He gulped down the coffee, scorching the lining of his mouth in the process. But not even that managed to eradicate the image of Abby’s soft eyes staring up at him over a crystal glass full of milk.

      “When’re you gonna tell Max you’ll stay on for good?”

      He looked over at Pam. She was still reading her book.

      The sheriff had asked him to stay on permanently, but Sloan wasn’t ready to agree. “Guess that’s between me and Max.”

      She tilted her head, eyeing him over the top of her reading glasses. She just smiled slightly. Pam was not only the department’s dispatcher, she was also one of the biggest gossips in town, and he didn’t want to provide the woman with any more fodder than necessary.

      He took his coffee, went into the locker room and grabbed a shower. Then he dressed in jeans and an old ATF sweatshirt, signed out