Free Running Blind by Linda Howard

plate on a tray, prepared to hand it over to Kat, who’d waited on Zeke the cowboy-cousin. But Kat was talking to a customer at the counter, and waved Carlin over to her cousin’s table.
    Great.
    While Carlin had been preparing the order, Kat had placed a steaming mug of coffee and silverware wrapped in a napkin in front of Zeke. All Carlin had to do was set the food before him, ask if he needed anything else, and skedaddle. She didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to notice whether or not he was looking at her.
    But of course he was looking at her. Hard. And it was impossible not to notice.
    She couldn’t say the cowboy and Kat shared any strong family resemblance, but there was something about their eyes. Not in color—his were green, and Kat’s were that arresting blue-gray. It wasn’t the shape, either. But when it came to intensity, there was a definite similarity. Those eyes could look right through her. She approached him feeling as if she were Superman getting closer and closer to Kryptonite.
    As she set the food in front of him his gaze never wavered. It wasn’t a particularly friendly look, but it was definitely male and assessing. He didn’t make even a token attempt to disguise what he was thinking; mentallyhe already had her stripped. If she hadn’t had such a visceral reaction to him she’d have been able to ignore the look, but having to deal with herself as well as him had her nerves on edge.
    “Thanks,” he said, but he didn’t even glance at the plate.
    With an effort, she kept her expression bland and unresponsive, and her tone the same way. “Can I get you anything else?” That was good; she sounded just like any of a million other waitresses who just wanted to get through their shifts without any trouble.
    “No, I’m set.”
    Okay. Easy enough. She blew out a mental breath of relief. She was about to make a quick getaway when he said, “You’re new.”
    Damn! So close … Annoyance seeped in; she didn’t like feeling as if she wasn’t in complete control of herself, and she resented him for being such a testosterone carrier, resented herself for being susceptible. She didn’t like his interest, didn’t welcome his questions. In another time, another place—but this wasn’t that other time or place, this was here and now, and she had enough of a load already without throwing a hard-ass cowboy into the mix.
    “Not really,” she said, her tone just a little curt. “I’m older than I look.”
    Zeke’s eyebrows barely lifted. His gaze flickered, got even more intense. Instead of being put off by her response, it seemed to push him further.
    He glanced down at her breast. “What’s the
C
for?”
    “Cautious,” she fired back. Whose idea was it to put the monogram on the breast, anyway? Why wasn’t it on the sleeve? Or the collar?
    He made a low sound in his throat, a kind of acknowledgment that he’d received the hands-off signal she was sending. He acknowledged it, but that didn’t mean hewas giving up just yet. “Where are you from, Cautious? Not from around here, I know that much.”
    “Do you know everyone who lives in a hundred-mile radius of Battle Ridge?”
    “Nope, but the accent is all wrong, and you’ve got a bit of a tan. It’s fading, but it’s still there. It’s not a fake tan, either, like you’d get from a tanning bed. I saw you on the street earlier and you were wearing a jacket. Lightweight, but more than a local would need, so I’d say you’re used to warmer weather. From the accent, I’m guessing … Texas.”
    His accuracy sent a chill down her spine. She didn’t need anyone guessing anything about her, especially not where she was from. This was a heads-up to start work on altering her accent. “You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes,” she said, and managed a tone of supreme disinterest. Then she ruined it by pointing out, “You have a tan.”
    “I work outside. You don’t.”
    “I don’t live my entire life inside. You need to