THE SECRET OF CHEROKEE COVE by Paula Graves Page A

that hugged his muscular legs from his narrow hips to his boots. The bike was an old Harley-Davidson Sportster, similar to one her father had owned, all shiny black and chrome. It slowed to a crawl as it reached the clump of onlookers, rolling to a stop in front of Dana.
    The rider flipped up the visor of his helmet, revealing Walker Nix’s coffee-colored eyes. Dana felt a flood of relief so powerful it made her knees tremble.
    Nix’s gaze slid past her to take in the state of her car, then whipped back to meet her surprised stare. The look he gave her was equal parts regret and resignation.
    “Get on the back,” he said, “and let’s get you the hell out of here.”

Chapter Seven
    Nix couldn’t say why, exactly, he had kept his grandfather’s cabin a few miles up the mountain from Cherokee Cove. It wasn’t much to look at, inside or out, and as recently as twenty years earlier, the place hadn’t even had indoor plumbing. But some of his best memories of growing up in the Smokies had happened in that cabin, and when his grandfather died and left the place to him, he’d ignored his father’s advice and kept it.
    Of course, when he’d left the marine corps and moved back to Tennessee to finally assess the condition the cabin was in, he’d been tempted to apologize to his father. But he’d quickly seen that the cabin’s bones were solid, and little by little over the past five years, he’d begun to turn it into a home.
    He found himself watching Dana’s face as she took in the rustic trappings of the old cabin, from the rough-hewn rocking chairs on the dusty wood-slat porch to the deer antlers that lined the plain oak mantel over the sooty fireplace.
    “You hunt much?” she asked.
    He shook his head. “No. Not a lot of time or need. There are people around these parts who hunt to eat. I leave the wildlife to them.” In fact, he thought, he’d gone into Cherokee Cove to talk to one of those people, but Dana’s dilemma had derailed his plans, at least temporarily.
    “Inherited?” she guessed.
    Nodding, he waved toward the sofa, one of the newer pieces in the place. “I’ll call Brantley’s Garage to go pick up your car.”
    “I didn’t leave the keys,” she said, her voice more subdued than he liked. Her showdown with the crowd back in Cherokee Cove must have shaken her more than he’d realized.
    “We’ll meet them down the road.”
    She sat on the sofa, watching as he pulled a small phone directory from the drawer of the table where he kept the phone. “Won’t that mean driving back through there again?”
    “Are you afraid to go back?”
    The look she shot his way was sharp enough to cut. “No, I’d just prefer not to have to shoot anybody today.”
    He stifled a grin.
    “And I really don’t enjoy riding a motorcycle without a helmet.”
    “We’ll take my truck.” He dialed the number of Brantley’s Garage and talked to Wally, telling him where Dana had parked her car. Wally agreed to meet them at Parson’s Crossing, where Cherokee Cove Road intersected with Parson Hollow Road.
    As he hung up, Dana asked, “What were you doing in Cherokee Cove anyway?”
    “Following up another lead.”
    “You didn’t mention your other lead was in Cherokee Cove when I asked you to take me there.”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “Who did you come to see in Cherokee Cove?” she asked, not deterred by his attempt to end the conversation.
    “You’re not officially on this case, you know,” he said.
    “Do I have to call my brother?” she asked, a glint of humor in her eye.
    “You’d really play that card?”
    Her only answer was a slight twitch of her eyebrow.
    “Fine. I came here to see a woman.”
    Her face reddened. “Oh.”
    “Do you want to tag along?”
    Her eyes narrowed, making him grin. She flattened her lips to a thin line and shot him a hard look. “Sure, I’m up for it,” she said through gritted teeth.
    “Let’s just hope I am,” he muttered as he grabbed his truck keys and