Free Showdown in West Texas by Amanda Stevens Page A

your sister’s chatter over my sister’s cold shoulder any day of the week,” Grace said.
    â€œSilence is golden,” he said with a devastating grin. “I’ll take that deal. Of course, I should warn you that my sister comes with strings attached. Namely, the jerk she’s married to.”
    â€œStill sounds like a fair exchange to me.”
    â€œThat bad, huh?”
    â€œRight now it is. But…that’s a subject for another day,” Grace tried to say lightly. “It’s late, and your ass is melting.”
    â€œMy what?”
    â€œIce. Your ice is melting.”
    â€œSo it is.” He straightened, but he made no move to leave.
    Instead, he just stood there looking down at her, making her feel as if she had all the poise of a thirteen-year-old. Grace couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so flustered and self-conscious. Even the review board hadn’t torpedoed her composure this badly.
    â€œWell…I guess I should go in and try to get some sleep before the alarm goes off,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning at nine, right?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. Nine o’clock sharp.”
    She stepped through the door and turned the lock. Leaning a shoulder against the frame, she listened for Dale Walsh’s retreating footsteps.
    It took a moment, but finally she heard the telltale creak of the floorboards as he moved away from her room.
    And then Grace let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.
    Holy moly, she thought.

Chapter Seven
    Cage felt like a new man the next morning. Amazing what a little sleep could do for the morale.
    The pain in his knee had eased up, too. He’d iced it the night before, and now, after another quick shower, he wrapped it with a pressure bandage he’d bought at the discount store.
    After slipping on his new jeans and shirt—a white western cut with pearl snaps that he thought would help him blend in better, he tugged on his boots, grabbed his wallet and headed out to find some food.
    Miss Nelda—or was the blonde Miss Georgina?—was cleaning shadow boxes with a feather duster when he came downstairs.
    â€œWell, good morning,” she said with a bright smile. “My, aren’t you looking chipper? How did you sleep last night?”
    â€œNot too bad,” he said. “That poofy thing is like sleeping on a cloud.”
    â€œYou do look mighty rested,” she observed.
    â€œAnd mighty hungry.”
    â€œWe’ve put out fresh fruit and pastries in the diningroom, but if you’re looking for something a little more substantial, there’s a diner across the street. And don’t worry about hurting our feelings. Our nephew, Billy Don, owns the place and that poor boy needs all the help he can get. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you get my drift.”
    Cage picked up a newspaper from a nearby chair. “Mind if I take this with me?”
    â€œNot at all. Ask for the special,” she said. “It’s the best value on the menu.”
    â€œThanks for the tip.”
    â€œOh, any time, dear.” She turned back to her dusting. “So, how long do you expect to be with us?”
    Cage paused at the door. “I guess it all depends.”
    She gave him a sidelong glance. “On whether or not you hit it off with Grace?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    She smiled at his surprise. “Oh, we all know why you’re here. This is a small town, Mr. Walsh. Or should I call you Detective? Word travels fast so I hope you don’t have any deep, dark secrets.” Her coy expression suggested that she might be actually hoping for the opposite.
    â€œNothing too terrible,” he murmured.
    â€œI’m not so sure I believe you, young man. You have a certain… je ne sais quoi, shall we call it?”
    â€œ Je ne sais quoi. That’s a new one,” Cage said, grinning.
    â€œMy first beau had that same