Ashley waited until the sound of Smith’s footfalls faded, then faced the counter under the sink and rested her weight on her forearms. Talk about an intense conversation! She let her head drop, relishing the stretch in her spine. The grandfather clock hadn’t yet struck ten, which meant they’d talked for less than an hour. Her flight from L.A. felt like it had happened a hundred years ago.

She lifted her head and looked out the kitchen window. Across the lawn, Smith reached his house and stopped in front of a side door. The handcuffs at his back flashed in the moonlight as he opened the door and let Deuce precede him. She waited for him to look over his shoulder—or give any sign that he was thinking about her request. But he followed Deuce without a backward glance.

When he’d said he needed more time to think about letting her stay, a dozen questions had sprung into her head. How much time did he need? Was he leaning toward yes? Was there anything she could do to make up his mind?

Her cheeks heated. Thank goodness she hadn’t asked the last one. He might have taken it the wrong way. Rowen had always complained about her unwillingness to flirt during auditions. “Honestly, Ashley, you’re such a prude. This business is built on looks. If you’re too proud to use yours, I can’t help you.”

On the few occasions she’d pushed back, claiming the industry was built on talent, he’d rolled his eyes and mumbled something about “difficult actresses.” Despite Rowen’s attitude, she’d never tried to use her physical attributes to further her career. Although, look where that had gotten her. If she’d sacrificed her morals, maybe she wouldn’t be standing in the middle of a crumbling Victorian in Prattsville.

Not that it would have gotten her anywhere with Prattsville’s chief of police. Smith hadn’t so much as cracked a smile as they’d talked. He’d been the picture of a calm and collected law enforcement professional. The word “unflappable” had never had a more appropriate example.

That is, until she’d grabbed his arm. Then he’d recoiled as if she’d burned him.

Had he thought she was flirting? She groaned and lowered her head all the way to the counter. The ancient Formica was cool on her forehead.

Her whole working life, she’d been taught not to stifle her feelings. Emotions were an actor’s bread and butter. Over the years, she’d developed something of a sixth sense for discerning emotions in others. Most people telegraphed their thoughts before they spoke. Facial expressions, little tics…even the subtle angle of someone’s head could say a lot about the direction of their thinking. When she’d faced off with Smith just now, she’d sensed he was looking for a reason—any reason—to say no.

And some instinct told her he was a man who always stuck to his word.

She’d grabbed him without thinking. Clearly, he hadn’t liked it. Oh, he’d been gentleman enough to disguise his distaste by summoning Deuce to his side, but his message had been clear.

I don’t want you here.

She lifted her head from the counter and gazed at the house across the lawn. A light from the second floor glowed in the darkness. His bedroom?

She gnawed her lower lip. Stay away from thoughts like that. The man didn’t want a tenant, let alone a romance. Not that she was any kind of expert on the latter. Her dating history could fit on a Post-it note.

As for the tenant part, she had to make it work. He’d sounded skeptical when he asked if a month was enough time to complete the refinishing work she needed to rebuild her savings.

And wasn’t skepticism just another word for doubt?

She knew doubt. The past two years had made her doubt just about everything—her talent, her appearance, her intelligence. Working on furniture had given her something to do when she’d felt helpless. Discovering that people liked her work—and were willing to pay a premium for it—had restored her self-confidence.

Deep in the house, the grandfather clock began to toll the hour. She walked slowly into the darkened dining room. Moonlight streamed through the windows and threw a silver sheen over the hardwood floors. Standing in the middle of the rambling house, she felt a connection to her surroundings. A profound calm settled over her. On its heels came determination.

She put her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling. In her mind’s eye, she saw the crowded attic overflowing with aging and damaged furniture. If her reluctant landlord doubted she was capable of turning a profit, she’d just have to show him.

She narrowed her gaze. “Smith Salvatierra, you don’t even know what just hit you.”

Smith sank down on his bed and rested his elbows on his forearms, his conversation with Ashley still buzzing in his brain. A second later, the door flew open and banged against the wall as Deuce burst in. Smith shook his head. Note to self: Buy some doorstops. A smile tugged at his mouth as the big dog went straight to his bed in front of the fireplace and plopped in it. The quilted monstrosity had cost a fortune, but it was worth it. Smith usually worked ten-hour days, and Deuce was forever by his side. Prattsville might be a boring town as far as crime went, but they were both bone-tired by the end of a shift.

Although, tonight had been anything but boring.

Courtesy of one Ashley Ann Scobel.

He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder, where two large windows faced the house next door. What was she doing right now? Probably getting ready for bed. He should have checked the taps, made sure the pipes were okay. The temperature rarely dipped below freezing in Texas, even in January, but they’d had a few chilly nights lately. Speaking of temperature, he’d have to take a look at the furnace in the old house, too…

A frustrated sigh tore from his chest. This was exactly why he should have told her no the minute she suggested staying in the house. Now he was caught up in another person’s life—hell, he was partly responsible for her well-being.

Put her out of your mind. That’s what he needed to do. As soon as the thought formed, her image rose in his brain. She’d looked like a determined angel standing in that kitchen, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders.

Of course, angels weren’t supposed to have bodies made for sin.

Blood pounded in his cock, and he huffed out a breath that was equal parts frustration and exhaustion. The lazy dragon of lust he’d felt in the kitchen stirred again and slit open one eye. He could almost hear it say, “That one isn’t for the likes of you, Salvatierra.”

She wasn’t. She really wasn’t. Everything about her screamed bad idea.

But then the dragon chuckled and said, “Just the way you like it.”

Smith stood. “Shit.”

Deuce lifted his head, but Smith waved him down on his way to the door. “Stay here, boy. I’ll be right back.” Deuce seemed to hesitate, then let his head drop back to his paws. He knew Smith’s routine, and he’d apparently decided this deviation wasn’t worth investigating.

Smith left the bedroom and walked the short hallway to his office, where his laptop monitor glowed a soft blue in the darkness. Forgoing the light switch, he dropped into the chair in front of his desk and opened the laptop screen. He logged in and pulled up a web browser, then hesitated with his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Get up, go next door, and tell her she has to leave in the morning. That’s what he should do.

Even as he started typing, he knew he wouldn’t. He hit “enter” and then clicked on “images.” Dozens of thumbnails of Ashley filled his screen, including several of her in a black judge’s robe with a bright-green logo on the breast pocket. He clicked on one and read the description underneath it aloud. “Ashley Ann Scobel in her third season as Bewitching University’s Bella Abernathy.”

Not a judge’s robe…a witch costume. That explained her tattoo. So she really was an actress, and a successful one, as far as he could see.

Other photos showed her in formal gowns with her hair up. In a few, she was arm in arm with a tall, willowy brunette. Although the taller woman was stunning, and Smith supposed she checked all the boxes for what Hollywood considered an optimal combination of looks and body type, Ashley was actually the more striking of the two. Her deep-blue gaze seemed to pull him toward the screen. Even through time and pixels, something about her tugged at him from the other side of the monitor.

As he clicked through image after image, he noticed the most recent photos dated from over two years ago. It supported her claim that her career had nosedived after her show was canceled.

He closed the window and sat back in his chair. What a nerve-racking industry to be in—where success wasn’t any guarantee of continued success. She’d gone from red carpets and photo ops to a broken down house on the edge of town. Prattsville didn’t even have a movie theater.

Could he really knock on her door tomorrow and tell her she had to leave?

He heaved himself up and made his way back to the bedroom where Deuce greeted him with a halfhearted thump of his tail. Smith unbuckled his duty belt on his way to the small walk-in closet where he kept a gun safe. He knelt in front of the safe, punched in the code, and placed the pistol and magazine inside. He shut the door, waited for the little beep to let him know it was once again locked, then stood and stripped out of his uniform.

His bed beckoned as he left the closet, but he walked to his dresser and pulled out a plain t-shirt and a pair of running pants. Weariness washed over him as he leaned against the dresser and exchanged his black work socks for white athletic ones. When he’d first accepted the chief of police job, he’d thought the long hours might be enough to tire him out. It had only taken a few nights to learn that wasn’t the case.

It took a lot more than a ten-hour shift to keep him asleep through the night.

Deuce watched with heavy eyelids as Smith walked to the treadmill and clipped the safety lead to his shirt. He dialed in ten miles and set the elevation to five degrees, then fell into a light jog. “You go ahead and sleep, boy,” he told Deuce, who was already nodding off to the soft whine of the treadmill’s motor.

As Smith let the rhythmic sound of his own footfalls fill his head, one thought emerged clear as a cool river in his mind.

He had to keep as much distance between him and Ashley Scobel as possible.