Showdown at Shadow Junction. Joanna Wayne

      But she was anxious about something, likely the same situation that had prompted the kiss. Possibly the ex-boyfriend she’d mentioned. Possibly not.

      Traffic on the interstate was heavy. He figured the trip was going to take at least an hour and a half, and his stomach was already complaining that it was past dinnertime.

      He took the next exit.

      Pam, or whatever her name was, turned to face him. “Where are we going?”

      “The freeway sign listed several fast-food choices at this exit. I’m starved. You must be, too, if you just got off a plane. A bag of peanuts and a sip or two of soda isn’t very filling.”

      “I could use a bite.”

      “What’s your choice?” he asked as they pulled off the frontage road and were confronted with a buffet of choices. “Burgers, tacos, fried chicken, barbecue?”

      “You pick.”

      “It all looks good to me. There was a severe shortage of artery-clogging fast-food joints in the mountainous wilds of Afghanistan.” He pulled into a familiar chain where he knew the burgers were good and the strawberry shakes even better.

      He parked and they went inside. “Nothing like the smell of a burger on the grill.” He ordered two half pounders, fries and a large shake. She ordered a salad.

      “Kind of defeats the purpose of going to a greasy-food joint if you eat healthy,” he said, hoping a little teasing would help her loosen up enough to talk about what was really going on with her.

      “I need to go wash up,” she said.

      Booker watched her walk away. Great butt in a pair of well-fitting jeans, but nothing about her quite rang true. Big-rimmed glasses that kept sliding down her nose as if they belonged to a big brother. The ugly black hair was a wig, a cheap one at that. The jeans were new. So was the T-shirt, as evidenced by the price tag hanging out the back of the neckline. New and several sizes too big.

      His guess would be that she was running scared from something or someone.

      On the run. Damn. What was he thinking?

      Booker rushed to the door, almost knocking down a middle-aged woman who was entering as he was leaving. Just as he expected, Miss Mysterious had left through the back door and was already hightailing it down the road.

      He jumped in the rental sedan and gunned the engine, sliding into rescue mode with only a minuscule of concern for the fact that he rescuing a woman who didn’t want to be rescued.

      He pulled the car to a stop on the shoulder a few feet in front of her. “Get in the car,” he ordered.

      She kept walking. Booker threw the gear into Park and jumped out of the rental. He walked over, grabbed her arm and tugged her to a stop.

      “I don’t take kindly to being stood up for dinner.”

      She met his gaze, her voice low but her eyes shooting fire. “Take your hands off me.”

      He did. That settled one thing. She wasn’t running from an abusive lover. If that look was any indication, she’d have made mincemeat of a man who’d gotten out of line with her.

      “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let’s start over. My hunch is you’re in some kind of trouble, and my hunches are incredibly accurate. I’d like to help if I can or at least drop you off wherever it is you’re heading. I don’t like the idea of dropping you at a service station.”

      “Why?”

      “Standing on the side of a road is dangerous.”

      “I mean, why are you so insistent on putting yourself out for me?”

      “You’re a good kisser.”

      “I’m serious, Booker. What’s in this for you?”

      “I’m the hero type.”

      She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay. I don’t need any help, but you can drive me to my friend’s ranch—under two conditions.”

      “Shoot.”

      “No more questions. And once you drop me off, forget you ever saw me.”

      “If you wanted me to forget you, you should have started with a handshake instead of a kiss, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

      “Then let’s go back and pick up our food order. I really am starved.”

      “Finally, we agree on something.” He went through the drive-through and picked up their food after the hassle of explaining to the woman at the window why he’d changed his mind and now wanted his food to go.

      He ate as he drove, spilling loose lettuce and a paper-thin slice of overripe tomato down his shirt. He kept his promise not to ask questions until they were about thirty minutes out of the city and traffic was finally moving smoothly.

      “So, does this ranch we’re going to have a name?”

      “The Dry Gulch. Now, doesn’t that sound inviting?”

      He hadn’t been ready for that shocker, but suddenly the facts came together. The woman sitting next to him was wearing a wig and what she was running from was the law.

      He was now harboring a fugitive from justice, a fugitive whose crime had the entire country and half of Europe up in arms.

      But damn, could Jade Dalton kiss!

      * * *

      JADE FELT THE tension grow with each mile they got closer to the Dry Gulch Ranch. Her problems were far from over. The NYPD surely had a warrant out for her arrest by now. She could possibly put off facing them for another day, but facing R.J. and the rest of the Daltons was imminent.

      It was difficult to imagine that any of the Daltons would be glad to see her and the pack of trouble she brought with her. They might even call the local sheriff and have her arrested tonight.

      It was a chance she had to take.

      “I’ll get the gate,” she said when Booker stopped at the entrance to the ranch.

      She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the fresh country air. The smells were different here. So were the sounds. Wind whispering through the branches high atop the towering pines. Loud chirping from crickets or perhaps the tiny tree frogs she’d heard about on her last trip to the ranch.

      The croak of a bullfrog. The lonesome hoot of an owl. A rustle in the nearby grass that sent her rushing back to the car the second she’d closed the gate behind them.

      “Nice spread,” Booker said as they drove past acres of fenced pastureland, “at least what I see of it in the moonlight.”

      “If you like living on the outskirts of civilization.”

      “I take it you don’t.”

      “I’m a big-city girl. The bigger the better.”

      “Where do you live?”

      “There you go with the questions again.”

      “Sorry about that.”

      Fortunately, he drove the rest of the way in silence, throwing on the brakes once to avoid hitting a deer that dashed across the road just a few yards in front of them.

      The rambling ranch house sneaked up on them, the lights from the windows peeking at them from between tree branches as they rounded a curve in the ranch road.

      “Looks like they left the lights on for you,” Booker said.

      “I’m surprised they’re not all in bed by now.”

      “It’s only eight-thirty.”

      “But what else is there to do out here when the sun goes down.”

      “Watch TV. Read a book.