A Wanted Man by Susan Kay Law

would ever find the real world as interesting as the one she created.
    She tried to concentrate. On the color, the light, the slope and proportion of the land. But the knowledge that he was there hovered, tantalizing, so omnipresent it should have been suffocating, as she’d always yearned for privacy and freedom above all.
    But she was terribly afraid that she was growing so accustomed to the situation that it would feel strange when he was gone. There was a certain comfort in knowing that, whenever she chose to look up, she would find him. Though it was far from comfortable.
    She glanced his way now. Braced into the wind, the sky behind him so dark it appeared to be early evening instead of afternoon, his sharp, dark visage blurred by the light spatter of raindrops on the windows. She reached up to touch the glass of the nearest window and found it cool, unseasonably so. He had to be chilled but it seemed to bother him not a whit. Hatless, his collar open, a brisk flush of color across the dusky slash of his cheekbones. The moisture had brought a bit of wave to his hair, the wind blowing it back from his face. Automatically she reached for her sketchbook, brushing a couple of quick lines across the page before she realized what she was doing and set it aside.
    “An odd one?” she echoed. “Is that what he is?”
    “Standing out there in this weather. In any and all weather. Why?”
    “Spent some time pondering this, have you?” Laura asked.
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” The steel of Mrs. Bossidy’s needles jabbed in and out of a snarl of bright scarlet yarn. The project was completely unidentifiable, but Laura had asked what she was making— once —and had no intention of making that mistake again. Laura knew perfectly well Mrs. Bossidy’s only interest in Mr. Duncan was suspicion, but she bristled so easily at the suggestion Laura couldn’t resist. “Someone has to keep an eye on the man, considering how closely he keeps one on you.”
    “Umm-hmm.” The rain spurted against the glass and plastered his dark shirt against his chest. “What’s ridiculous is that he’s standing out there in this weather.”
    Mrs. Bossidy frowned over the wool, then bared her teeth as she tugged on a strand, ripping out the row of uneven stitches she’d just laboriously completed. “Maybe he’ll catch pleurisy and save us all a lot of trouble.”
    Abruptly Laura set aside her papers and stood. “I’m going to invite him in.”
    “Come now, Laura. He’s a big boy. I’m sure he knows how to come in out of the rain if he wants to.”
    “My father probably offered him a bonus if he remained on duty twenty-four hours a day.” She headed for the door.
    “Laura…”
    “I’ll not have him take ill on my account, regardless of what my father promised him. We’re miles from anywhere, every where, and no one’s lying in wait to kidnap me. You know that as well as I do. There’s simply no place to hide out there. We’d see any attackers coming from ten miles away. It’s not going to hurt for him to come inside and warm up.”
    Mrs. Bossidy frowned, setting aside her knitting. “I’ll do it.”
    “Stay. I know how you feel about cool weather, and I could use a bit of fresh air.” She sprinted down the aisle before Mrs. Bossidy could start warning her about the risks ahead, spouting about chilly air and locomotive smoke and dangerous men.
    Rain stung her face the instant she opened the door. He turned to face her immediately, then shifted so that his breadth shielded her from the worst of the wind. The movement was subtle enough that she was unsure if it was by design.
    He said nothing. Not unusual, she supposed; a wise employee always waited for his boss to speak first. But her tongue got tangled up in staring at him. She wondered if it was shallow of her to be so taken with his looks. Surely she was wise enough to see beyond the surface to take the true measure of a person. But the artist in her couldn’t help but