Her smile falters, quick as a blink.
I shift my weight, suddenly restless. I don’t enjoy her laughing at me. But I don’t like her looking at me with her sad little kitten eyes either.
She lifts her chin, back to defiant. “Well, if thirty seconds was enough for you to judge me, why can’t I do the same?”
My brow pulls tight. “Are you looking for some ink or not?”
“Hmmm...” She rests her elbow on the counter, tilts her head like she’s dissecting my every micro-movement. “Grumpy. Bossy. Probably allergic to small talk. And definitely hiding something.”
I snort. “Such an expert.”
Her lips curve. “Sharp instincts. Comes with the job.”
“What a job. Pestering strangers.”
“My job is askingquestions.” Her gaze rakes over me. “And according to my research, you have the answers.”
Research? She researchedme? Why? What did she learn? I roll my shoulders, crossing my arms to cage in my questions. “You should leave.”
She grins like I stumbled into her trap. “Look at you proving my point—bossy.”
I narrow my eyes. “You always this irritating, or am I just lucky?”
“That depends.” She leans a little closer, conspiratorial. “Are you always so easy to rile?”
Damn it. She’s enjoying this. And worse, I am too. The Rider’s tack claws at my ribs, heat prickling under my tattoos like they’re listening to her.
“Unless you’re here for a tattoo, you’re wasting my time.” I jerk my chin toward the door. “Go bother someone else.”
Her eyes flick down, then back up with a glint that’s part challenge, part dare. “Sure. But first, why do I need to bring old iron to visit the Weeping Widow?”
Every muscle in my body goes tight. She couldn’t have picked a worse question.
Or a better one.
I step closer, close enough the scent of cinnamon gum cuts through the fog curling inside me. Close enough to see the pulse jump at her throat.
“Careful, little bird,” I murmur. “That’s a dangerous question.”
Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it tightens. “Good thing I don’t scare easy.”
Of course she doesn’t. She’s standing in my shop, eyes bright, daring me without realizing it. Brave or stupid—I can’t decide which. Either way, it triggers my defensive side.
“You think this town’s a simple creepy sideshow.” My voice comes out low, edged. “But you don’t understand what you’re poking at.”
“I understand enough.” She taps her crow pin like it’s a badge. “People make up stories for a reason, but there’s usually some truth underneath. My job is to uncover that truth.”
“Go search for your ‘truth’ in another town.”
Her brows lift. “Why? From what my viewers say, this one has fantastic material.”
I grit my teeth. Herviewerstold her about us. That’s why she’s here?
The Rider’s tack scrapes hard against my ribs, answering the mention like a summons. Every instinct screams to shove her out the door before she sees too much.
I step back, put space between us. “Conversation’s over.”
Her eyes widen, just slightly. “That’s it?”
