Spy in the Saddle. Dana Marton

want to sound as if she was snooping. “So how did I look on your stage?” she asked instead. “Felt right—” she grinned “—I tell you that. Nice crowd, too. I sure could get used to it.”

      He measured her up. “We’ve never done anything but country.” He paused. “You know, from anybody else, this might not have gone down as well. But you...” His gaze stalled on her breasts for a second. Then slid to her injury. “What happened to your arm?”