Free The Smoky Mountain Mist by Paula Graves

who’d worked at Davenport Trucking. That was strange enough. Then I asked around and found out that Marjorie Kenner had been your friend and mentor—another librarian, right?”
    “Right.” She looked stricken by his words, as if the mere reminders of all she’d lost had hit her all over again. He wished he’d found some way to soften his words, but he doubted anything he could have said would have made her feel the pain any less keenly.
    “What I don’t know,” he added more gently, “is why. If someone wanted to get you out of his way—”
    “His?”
    “His, her—whichever. If someone wanted you out of the way, why not just kill you?”
    She blanched. “I don’t know.”
    “I think you do. You just can’t say it out loud for some reason.”
    She slanted a troubled look at him. “How do you know so much about me?”
    He ran his thumb lightly over her knuckles, gentling her with the movement. He saw her start to relax a little, soothed by the repetitive movement of his thumb. “I know because I observe. I used to be a con man, you know. That’s what con men do. Observe, compile, formulate and exploit.”
    Her nostrils flared with a hint of distaste. “You’re approaching my trouble like you would approach a potential mark?”
    “Might as well use those skills for good.”
    Her eyes narrowed a little, but she gave a slight nod. “So what have you observed?”
    “You’re scared of something. Not everyone can see it, because you hide it really well. But I see it, because that used to be my job. Finding a person’s vulnerable spots and figuring out how to use them.”
    “But you haven’t found out what it is.”
    “Not yet.”
    Her lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “And I’m supposed to spill what it is to you, make it easier?”
    “I’m not the one trying to hurt you.”
    “How do I know that?” She pulled her hands free of his grip and pushed him out of her way, rising and pacing the hardwood floor until she reached the picture window. She met his gaze in the window reflection. “I don’t really know you. And what I do know scares me.”
    He couldn’t blame her. What he knew about himself would scare anyone. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, and whether you like my skill set or not, I can use it to help you out. So whatever you can tell me, whatever you’re comfortable sharing—I’ll listen. I’ll keep your confidence, and I won’t use it against you.”
    She turned around to look at him. “I’m taking a huge risk just letting you stay here, aren’t I?”
    She wasn’t going to tell him what scared her so much, he realized. It was disappointing. Frustrating. But he didn’t blame her.
    “Okay.” He nodded. “I can leave if you want me to.”
    She licked her lips and held his gaze, searching his expression as if trying to see what was going on inside his mind. “No. I know you’re feeling better, but head injuries can be quirky. I’d rather you stay here where I can look in on you every few hours to make sure you haven’t gone into a coma.”
    He grimaced. “What, you’re planning to wake me up every couple of hours or something?” He added a touch of humor to his voice, hoping to lighten the mood.
    It worked. Her lips quirked slightly, and there was a glitter of amusement in her blue eyes when she answered, “That’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”
    Behind the humor, however, he heard a steely determination that caught him by surprise. She apparently took the job of keeping an eye on him seriously, and he suspected it was as much for her own sake as his. Maybe it gave her a welcome distraction from the strain and grief of her life these days.
    He nodded toward the picture window. “Do you always leave these windows open like this?”
    Her brow furrowed. “Most of the time. It’s such a beautiful view.”
    “It is,” he agreed. “But it gives people a pretty good view of you, too.”
    Her eyes darkened, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if