Gently, he tugged Amy behind him, grateful as hell for her quiet footfall. No chance of her startling the thing; that much was certain. Her hand trembled in his, though.
Behind the boar and on the other side of the stream, the doe fled. The steaming hulk of pig did not spare a glance in its direction. Chances were good the animal would take off soon, too, but every now and then, the things turned vicious. Sam had a weapon on him, but he had no inclination to be stuck eating gamy pork all winter.
“We’re going to back up a step, okay?” he told her, reaching an arm behind him to find her. His hand collided with a gently curved hip.
She was close. Very close.
He gave her hip a squeeze, and Sam told himself the gesture was a normal human instinct to offer comfort and reassurance. Somehow his brain didn’t account for the fact that what he actually clutched was the curve of her ass. The top of her thigh.
The sudden lightning strike of sexual response was as inappropriate as it probably was inevitable.
He let her go fast, cursing himself for being ten kinds of idiot.
“If that thing charges,” he continued quietly, “you run in whatever direction I don’t. Understand?”
She made an inarticulate sound he took for agreement as he backed up and she followed suit.
The boar surged forward, scaring the living hell out ofhim for about two seconds until it peeled off to the west at a dead run, disappearing into the brush. Soon the thundering hooves and crackle of branches and underbrush grew fainter.
Sam stared after it, certain it had taken off for good, but wanting an extra second for the realization to soothe his hammering pulse. Behind him, Amy’s forehead brushed the back of his shoulder for a fleeting moment, her reaction so fast he might have imagined it.
“Are you okay?” He turned to her in the unnatural quiet left behind in the wake of the two-hundred-pound beast.
“Fine.” She gave a clipped nod, her posture brittle, spine ramrod straight. But her head was dipped ever so slightly, confirming that brief bit of contact that still scorched his shoulder. “Although I’ve probably had my fill of fresh air for today.” Then her head straightened; her lips quirked. “I’m ready to head back if you are.”
So cool. Composed.
Had she felt that moment of heated attraction? Or was he the only one to dream up the shared lust?
Sleep deprivation. Surely he had to be suffering from lack of a solid eight uninterrupted hours of rest. Well, and too many months of no sex.
Best not to think about sex.
Nodding, he couldn’t restrain the impulse to place a hand on the small of her back and urge her forward down the hill. He told himself it was only because he felt responsible for her. As sheriff, he had a duty to keep people safe. Besides, he’d promised Heather Finley he’d keep an eye on Amy.
And neither of those reasons explained why it was so tough to pull his hand away again. He forced himself to focus on why he’d come here. Why he needed to talk to her.
“Amy, I wanted you to know what happened with Gabriella. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the whole story at the time.” He kept an eye on the woods on either side of the path, unwilling to be caught off guard again. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. But Gabby’s ready to testify now, so I can finally explain everything to you.”
“I understand.” She kept her attention straight ahead as they made their way back to the cabin. “And I appreciate you telling me now. I always wondered.”
He had plenty of things that he’d wondered about, too. Like why she’d left Heartache right after he did. Like what had happened to chase the warmth he remembered out of her eyes.
But he couldn’t afford to think about what he wanted. He had to focus on the case and Aiden’s safety.
“I hoped that, in return, you would spend some time talking to me about what happened to you that summer.” He nearly ran into her when she slowed her step suddenly.
He caught himself just in time.
“I told you I don’t know anything that will help your case.” Her voice sounded strangled.
Because she was hiding something?
Or because there were emotions at work between them that she didn’t want to acknowledge any more than he did?
That wasn’t going to be easy to untwine.
“But you can’t be certain of that,” he pointed out reasonably, following her lead in slowing the pace down as they headed back toward the cabin. “I’m not going to ask you anything personal or try to invade your privacy.” Nine times out of ten, that was what people were worried about when they resisted police questioning. Unless, of course, they had something to hide. “I just want to try and create a timeline of that summer. Walk through it and try to account for ourwhereabouts each day. Just see what small memories might crop up.”
