The Salt Maiden by Colleen Thompson

finally figured things out.”
    “So he’s a damned chickenshit, not just a fool.”
    She seemed to consider this, then nodded. “I won’t argue over the coward part.”
    He looked into her face. “Trust me, if he’s giving a woman like you grief, ‘fool’ definitely applies. And then some.”
    She tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite take. “Thanks, but all that’s in the past now. I’ve wasted more than enough time already.”
    “That’s good to hear,” he ventured, his heart pounding out a warning that he was about to make a monumental fool of himself. Oh, what the hell? “That you’re through with him, I mean.”
    She turned her face from his view, but not in time to hide the single tear that broke loose. “Everything’s so screwed up. My personal life, my practice, this business with my sister. This is going to sound stupid, but I thought that if I could fix this one thing for the Harrisons, maybe then the rest would start to make sense. And maybe saving the daughter she gave up would give Angie some purpose, something else besides her own problems to think about.”
    He couldn’t help himself. He leaned close enough to pull her into his arms. He meant it as a simple, human gesture, but it had been so long since he’d reached out to offer anybody comfort, he felt as awkward as a boy.
    She stiffened and then stood, as if to escape him.
    Rising, too, he cursed his clumsiness. He’d crossed a line, a line he’d had no trouble maintaining as a cop in Dallas or a soldier in Iraq. But he’d never met a Dana Vanover in either of those places.
    “I’m sorry,” he blurted.
    When she merely blinked at him, he wished he could shrink down small enough to follow the scorpion into its crevice.
    Shaking his head, he went on, “Wish you’d forget I did that. It’s got to be the heat.”
    “Well, it’s for sure not the humidity. But don’t apologize,” she said quickly. “To tell you the truth, it’s a relief.”
    He stared a question at her.
    She nodded. “I, uh, I don’t want you to take this wrong, but I was sort of hoping that would happen.”
    The breath he’d been holding gusted free. “There’s a way to take that wrong ?”
    “Yes, because it’s…it’s such a bad idea.”
    Jay didn’t say anything, but any number of bad ideas hadflared up—among other things. Instead of speaking, he leaned forward and gave her the gentlest, most restrained kiss he could manage, partly to keep her from looking down.
    The diversion worked out even better than he’d hoped. From the moment their lips touched he let go of his awkwardness like a child releasing a balloon. And for just that moment he was again the man he had been before that night in Baghdad: confident with women, sure of his ability to lead and do his job. The National Guard staff sergeant the younger men looked up to. A man who knew his duty and never shrank from imaginary shadows.
    Jay Eversole wanted that man back, wanted so badly to be him that he rolled with the emotion, pouring every bit of it into a mouth that feasted on Dana’s acquiescence, into hands that skimmed the curve of her waist and held her when she seemed to weaken.
    Seconds stretched to minutes that magnified the heat. Dana’s surrender flared into an urgent murmur as her short nails dug into his back, pulling him tight to her. When her breasts spread against his chest, he thought he’d lose it right there. Unable to control himself, he reached up to find and cup her as his mouth tasted the sweat-salt column of her neck.
    She was moaning now, something he’d forgotten how much he liked in a woman. But finally he registered her words.
    “No. Don’t.” And she was pushing, pushing back his shoulders, a realization that doused him like a freezing shower.
    Jerking back abruptly, he stood staring at her, breathing as hard as if he’d just finished his morning PT. And wondering if that strange expression in her green eyes was terror, if in his eagerness to reclaim