“No.” Her lips flexed down. “And someone else could use my excellent job.”

He dipped his head. “Good idea.”

“Thank you.” She slid his beer back toward him. “And I don’t think you’re an ex–police officer, either.”

“Deputy sheriff,” he said.

“Law enforcer.” She nodded. “No such thing as an ex-policeman?”

He thought of the drunk ex-cop who’d shot him, now sitting in prison, convicted of assault with a deadly weapon on an officer of the law. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Hmm,” Clare said, once more considering him. He didn’t mind that. “Maybe there are people . . .” She blinked. “There are people who live their job. I think you were—are—one of them.”

Drinking to give him time enough to think about her insight, he realized that there were now four ex–law enforcers in his mind—himself, the guy who’d shot him, and Lauren and Larry. All done with such work forever. He clicked the empty glass down on the table, licked the last of the foam from his mouth—and when Clare’s gaze flicked to his lips, his brooding eased.

Until she gestured to his cane. “Despite your circumstances, I think you’ll always be a lawman here”—she touched fingertips to her breast over her heart.

A dog barked and Zach scanned the mall for one, didn’t see it.

Clare said, “Not like the gunman Jack Slade, who was the law of the West at one time, then devolved into an alcoholic and was fired from his job.”

Zach felt one side of his mouth kick up in a half smile. “He had PTSD.” Could have happened that way.

Nodding soberly, Clare said, “You know, they didn’t get all the lead out of him. That probably bothered him for the remaining four years of his life.”

Zach lifted his hand. “I concede the point already.” He paused. “I don’t want to think or talk about bullet wounds.” And he didn’t know what possessed him to say that, either.

Clare’s eyes rounded, pupils black against the hazel. “Is that how . . . ?”

“Yeah.”

She swallowed, and her mouth must have been dry because she finished her coffee.

When she put her cup down, Zach reached out and grasped her fingers. Her hand remained cool, felt nice in the heating- up afternoon. He smiled at her. “I’ve remembered something else about Jack Slade. He had a vibrant, intelligent, loyal, and sexy wife.”

“Maria Virginia,” Clare said. Her smile turned teasing. “I’m sure that list of qualities isn’t in the order you prefer.”

Zach grinned, realized his face hadn’t moved like that since he’d been shot. “Nope.” Her hand was warming in his and he rubbed the back of it with his thumb, to keep that pretty smile going.

“So what would be the order?” she asked.

SIX

“I’M THINKIN’ YOU’RE gettin’ a little too personal.” Zach put on a drawl that anyone who’d lived in Colorado for a while would have heard.

Her brows went up. “Native Coloradan?”

“Yep.”

“I came during college. I was born in Chicago, raised here and there and everywhere. I have wandering parents.”

His turn to blink. The more they talked, the more he understood they had a lot in common. He pointed his thumb at himself. “Military brat.”

“Oh.”

“But I was born in Boulder. Have a few generations of Coloradans behind me, I think, on my father’s side, some Native American. Never looked into it.”

His dad would never admit the Native American blood or discuss it, especially around his mom or her family, but from the slight tawny hue of their skin, they had to have had Native American blood in them not so many generations back. All the Slade men had hair so dark brown it looked black in most light. “My mother’s family is from Massachusetts.”

“My folks are mostly from Illinois, I think, though I may explore that.”

Another woof! from the dog he still couldn’t see on the sidewalk outside the window. But Zach followed the thought through. “Tracing your family background because of the inheritance.” Her fingers had trembled in his, but she hadn’t withdrawn them.

“Yes.” Her eyes went distant, then she tossed her head, focused her attention back on him. Every time she did that, he liked it more.

“So,” she said. “What would the order of that list be?” She frowned as if trying to recall the qualities he’d listed.

“Intelligent, loyal, sexy, vibrant,” he replied promptly.

She chuckled. “Interesting order.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not sure how vibrant I am.”

“You’d look better out of that gray suit, that’s for sure,” he said.

“Ohh.” Her appreciative glance went to his shoulders. He figured they were broad enough for her.

A melody played and her eyes sharpened.

“Your cell?” he asked.

“My real estate agent.”

His brows rose. “Spending the inheritance?”

“My house is too small,” she replied stiffly. “I’ve already sold my late aunt’s house. Even as we speak, my brother is arranging for moving trucks to me, his place in Virginia, and a storage unit for the parents in White Plains, New York.”

Professional interest prickled along Zach’s nerves. “They don’t have a problem with you inheriting a lot of money? Or did they get a big cut, too?” Just how wealthy was this woman? Her clothes and bag were modest, midlevel management.

“I got all the money and the house, but my brother took money out of a trust some time ago and I didn’t. He and his family are comfortable and my parents live on trust fund money.”

“Uh-huh.” Zach didn’t believe for an instant that her relatives wouldn’t resent Clare’s good luck. In his world, big money always caused problems between people.

Her cell rang again with the same sprightly, tinkly music. “Go ahead and get it,” he said.

She leaned down and pulled the phone right out of her bag, no fishing around. Efficient. Nice.

“Hello, Arlene, this is Clare. Four listings already that match my requirements? Oh. Right now? I don’t know . . .”

Clare’s gaze cut to Zach, and he stopped himself from smirking. She didn’t want to leave him and the conversation they were having to look at pretty houses. She’d rather stay. That boosted his confidence like nothing and nobody since the shooting. He leaned back in his chair, smiling, but waved that she should accept the appointment. He had no doubt they’d meet again.

Clare pursed her lips, tilted her head, staring at him.

“Go on,” he said. High-pitched, quick burbling continued to come from the telephone. No doubt the agent knew she had a big fish on the line and wanted to sell to Clare as soon as possible. Still, he’d back Clare and her obviously careful ways against a high-energy and persuasive real estate agent.

A cool draft washed around his legs. The day remained sunny, with heat rising to sizzling. The restaurant must have turned the air-conditioning up.

“All right, Arlene.” Clare turned her wrist to look at her watch. A person who still wore a watch so she could see the time faster than reaching for her cell or personal computer or tablet—which Zach also bet she carried.

Yep, one damn intriguing woman.

Under her tan skin, her cheeks pinkened as she flushed, her gaze darting to him. “Ah, Arlene, I don’t have a car with me. I took a cab downtown.”

That was interesting. She didn’t strike him as the type who’d spend an extra penny on herself if there were other options, and it was impossible to get around the Denver metro area in a timely manner without a ride.

A lot of commonalities between them, and the shadows in her eyes, and something just different combined into a hell of an attraction for him. Intelligent, sexy, vibrant. He didn’t know how loyal she might be. Trustworthy, though, he’d allow her that.