“You realize I’m not really a killer, right?” Dalton leaned forward and placed his arms on the parole officer’s desk. She was a nice woman who insisted he call her Lucy. In his head, she’d always be Ms. Warwick. He’d never had a parole officer before her and didn’t know if they were all as kind and flexible, but he appreciated her meeting him on a Sunday afternoon.

“I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to make sure you toe the line. You behaving yourself, Dalton?”

“Yes, ma’am. Can’t get into too much trouble in Aspen Cove.”

She leaned back and kicked her boots up onto the table. “It’s been my experience that if you’re looking for trouble, you can find it anywhere.”

He shook his head. “I’m not looking for anything but an end to this nightmare.”

She pushed off the desk, sending her chair rolling back. Leaning forward, she opened his file. “It’s been a year without problems. I don’t imagine I’ll be seeing you as much next year.”

She pulled a black pen from the edge of her desk and marked up the page. “Have you done anything about that anger problem?”

“I had six years of incarceration. Do you think that helps anger issues?”

“You telling me you’re still angry?”

He shook his head. He was pissed, but it wasn’t something he’d share with her. “What I’m telling you is, I didn’t have anger problems going in, and I didn’t have them coming out.”

She laughed. “Good line. I’ll write that one down.” She shuffled through his papers. “I know what went down that night. I’ve read all the transcripts. Some would call you a hero—others a vigilante. Me, I’d call you a nice guy who thought he was doing the right thing.”

He couldn’t argue, she was right. People either loved him or hated him. There was no gray area to killing a person. “Imagine that. Chivalry is dead.”

“It isn’t dead. Just misunderstood. Don’t stop caring for people. That’s when the trouble really begins.”

Trouble for him started when he cared. He’d played out all the roles he could have taken that night in his head again and again. He could have been the pretender who ignored the woman’s cries when that asshole punched her. He could have been the ignorant ass who stood to the side and watched it all go down while laughing and saying she probably deserved it. He could have been a lot of things, but he was the only man who stepped forward to stop another man from beating a woman because she ignored his advances.

Dalton caught Andy Kranz’s fist midair as he tried to deliver the second blow to Bethany Waters. When Andy turned around, it wasn’t to apologize. He swung with his other fist and landed a solid blow to Dalton’s gut. Dalton fisted up and took one swing at the drunk bastard. He hit him right between the eyes. The jerk dropped like a boulder. The problem was, he never got back up.

“Bethany Waters wrote at least a hundred letters to the courts and parole board.” Lucy pulled out a stack of photocopied letters.

Dalton and Lucy had never talked about the crime, only the sentence. It was interesting to hear her take on things.

“I know. She sent me about two hundred in prison.” He had them rubber banded together. It helped him to know he’d done the right thing even though the outcome wasn’t what he expected. “She still writes occasionally to say thanks. She’s married and has two kids.”

“What about you? You seeing anyone?”

Lucy was pushing sixty. Life hadn’t been kind to her. Her leathered skin was marked by the lines of a life lived outdoors. Her calloused hands were rough enough to sand wood. During one of their talks, she’d told him she raised champion horses. Serving as a parole officer was her way of giving back.

“You flirting with me, Lucy?”

“Darlin’, I’d rip you to pieces. You couldn’t handle me. Go find yourself a nice young thing and make babies.”

This time, he laughed. “My dating resume is tarnished. Few women are looking for ex-felons who cook blue plate specials part-time at a diner.”

“You don’t come out of the gate with ‘Hi, I’m Dalton Black, and I did six years for killing someone.’” She pursed her lips, which made her entire face prune up. “That’s like telling a guy you have herpes before you even kiss him.”

His mouth fell open. The one thing Dalton liked most about Lucy was her candor. She didn’t pussyfoot around or tell him life would be wonderful. She usually told him to get his shit together, and she’d see him next month.

“You got herpes?”

“No, I’m giving you an example of what not to do. Here’s a good one. Don’t annoy your PO, or she’ll revoke your parole.”

“Got it. Are we done?”

She turned to the first page of the folder. “Sober—check. Employed—check. Housed—check. Cute as a button—check.” She closed the file. “You can let your past define you, or you can define your future. Who will you become, Dalton Black?”

“Good question, Lucy. I’ll give it some thought.”

“Don’t waste too much time. You’re thirty-four. That clock only moves forward.”

“Got it.” He rose from his chair. “Same day next month?”

“Nope, I’ll see you in six.” She walked him to the door. “Enjoy your life. Not enough that I’ll be barking up your ass, but enough so the years don’t pass by with regret.”

Dalton climbed into his truck with a lot to think about. Actually, it was a little—a little blue-haired woman who’d been on his mind since he busted through her front door and accused her of a crime.

That bothered him. He’d been quick to judge and condemn. He knew better. He’d been found guilty before he had cuffs on. Visits with Lucy always brought that day into focus. Did he feel bad that Andy Kranz died? Sure. He hadn’t intended to kill him, but it came down to Bethany or Andy. In Dalton’s mind, the woman would almost always win. Especially when the man was being an asshole.

Having lived in a violent house, the odds were in favor of Dalton being an abuser, but he wasn’t. He’d taken a punch or two or twenty from his old man by stepping into the fist before it hit his mother. He had the scars to prove it. The one above his eyebrow was a constant reminder. A reminder of who he never wanted to be.

The three-hour drive from Denver back to Aspen Cove gave him plenty of time to think about the trajectory of his life, but he couldn’t clear his head. His mind kept going back to Samantha. He wasn’t sure if it was the memory of her staring at him from the front of the bus in their youth or the exhaustion he saw when she collapsed onto her couch. All he wanted to do was feed her and make her happy because for one second last night when she smiled, his entire world seemed brighter.

When he pulled into his driveway and hopped out of his truck, he glanced to the right. The house looked empty and lifeless in the twilight of the night. That was until he heard a soft lilting voice and the strum of a guitar coming from the beach.

Instead of going inside like he planned, he walked quietly around the back to find Samantha sitting on the ground, facing the lake. The sun had set, and the bruised sky hung above her head with wisps of pink and purple and blue.

Too far away to hear the lyrics, he leaned against his deck and listened to the blend of chords mixed with her angelic voice. There was a beautiful woman, good music, a picturesque setting. The only thing missing was a glass of wine. That was one thing he could provide.

He returned to the beach in minutes with an opened bottle of cabernet and two glasses. The damp dirt ate up any noise his shoes made. Behind her, he cleared his throat. She jumped six inches into the air.

She swung around, brandishing her guitar like a weapon. When she saw it was him, she lowered it and tugged it to her chest. “Holy hell, you scared me near to death. I could have hurt you.”

Dalton had never seen a person move so fast. “Are you going to bludgeon me to death with your guitar?”

She lowered herself back to the folded blanket. “Murder doesn’t look good on a resume.”

Never a truer statement had been said. He lifted the wine and the glasses. “I saw you and thought a good wine would go great with the sunset.”

“Dalton Black, be careful, or I might think you’re wooing me.”

“Well, that’s something I’ve never been accused of.” He walked over and took a seat on the damp ground beside her. “Care for a glass?”

She set her guitar down and slid over to make room for him. “Get off the wet ground. If you’re sharing your wine, I can share my blanket.”

He was twice her size and took up most of the space. The urge to pick her up and sit her on his lap was strong, but he controlled his desire. Under the half-hung moon, he filled the glasses and offered a toast. “Here’s to celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?” She turned to him. Her eyes were almost black, with a hint of blue around the edges.

“Milestones,” he said, and touched his glass to hers, letting the clink ring in the air.

“Do tell …” She smiled, and that warmth and light he experienced the night before radiated through him and settled like a fire in his chest.

“Mine are complicated to explain.” He heard Lucy’s warning about coming out the gate with an I’m-a-felon introduction. “What about you? What do you want to celebrate?”

“I have some difficult-to-explain milestones as well. Let’s simply agree to celebrate.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They sipped their wine and looked at the still water.

“I don’t remember the weather being so temperamental. Last night I nearly froze to death, and tonight I barely need a jacket.”

“It’s early spring. It might have been close to sixty degrees today, but next week we’ll get a foot of snow.”

“Really?” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her knees. “I lived here from August to early November. At the first big snow storm, we headed out.” She shivered and pulled down her sleeves.

He wasn’t sure if she was cold or living a dark memory. He moved closer until their bodies touched on one side from shoulder to ankle.

“It’s been a light year for snow. People talk about climate change. And when we go from this to a foot of snow, I get it.”

“Other than the possibility of freezing to death, I’d love to see that much snow.” She looked to the cloudless night. “To sit in front of a blazing fire with hot cocoa and a good book. That sounds like heaven.”

He picked up the bottle and topped off her glass. “You have simple wishes.”

She sighed. “I live an incredibly busy life. I’m afraid it will be over before I really get to enjoy it.”

“I get the impression you’re a workaholic.”

She laughed. It was a sweet sound that sent a ripple from his chest to the space between his legs. He was grateful the moon wasn’t full. Otherwise, his attraction to her couldn’t be hidden.

“Not by choice.”

“It’s all a choice.” Dalton knew that life was a series of decisions. Some set you up for success. Others could ruin you. “You can choose differently.”

“Hence the milestones. Coming here was a risky decision.” She leaned into him and traced the tattoos on his arm. “Bet these took thought.”

He let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Not at all. Most of them took a night of too much alcohol.”

“Seriously?”

“Not all the decisions I’ve made were wise.” He took a chance and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Not sure if this decision is wise either, but I really want to kiss you.”

“You want to kiss me?” She turned her body and faced him. Her crisscrossed legs caged him from hip to knee.

“More than anything.” It had been a long time since he’d kissed anyone out of desire rather than need. That first week of man-whoring after prison didn’t count. He’d had six years of celibacy to make up for. All the faces blended together. No one was looking for anything but a good time. Tonight was different. Wanting to kiss her meant something to him.

She lifted her chin in what looked like defiance, but her eyes softened into submission. “I’d like that.” She closed them and leaned in.

He pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue slipped out to taste the sweetness of her lips. The angle was awkward. He was too tall. She was too small. This wasn’t working. After he lowered his glass to the ground, he took hers and set it aside before he lifted her onto his lap. The exact place he wanted her earlier.

She straddled him and wrapped her legs around his waist. Stone hard thighs pressed into his hips. His hands moved down her too-thin body and gripped an ass made of steel.

“I’ve never kissed a girl with blue hair.”

She whispered against his lips. “Me either.”

He chuckled. “That’s a relief.”

“Are you going to kiss me or talk about my hair?”

“Oh, I’m going to kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before.” He lifted his hands to cup her face and lowered his lips to hers. He knew this was a bad idea, but he’d be damned if he could stop himself from indulging. He nipped at her bottom lip and pulled it into his mouth. He tasted wine and desire … and maybe a little fear.

Her tiny hands moved up his chest, over his shoulders, and ran through his hair. He reminded himself that women were trouble and the only reason he kissed her was because she said she was leaving. She wouldn’t be around long enough to cause him harm.

Samantha opened her mouth and moaned. It was deep and throaty and sexy as hell. That was all the invitation he needed to intensify the kiss. One hand slid up to the back of her head where he threaded his fingers through her hair. He pulled her closer. His tongue stroked hers softly at first and became more demanding as the kiss lingered. He continued his assault on her mouth until he could no longer breathe. The desire he felt for her had sucked all the oxygen from his lungs.

Despite the temperature dropping outside, he was hot. She was hot. He pulled away with regret. All he wanted was to get lost in her touch and her taste, but he knew better. He expected a simple kiss, but this was way more than he bargained for. “I should get you inside.”

She leaned back and looked at him. What did he see in her eyes? Under the night sky they were like a wishing well, full of dark desire and endless possibilities. Dalton hadn’t felt this turned on since he was a teen.

Her legs lowered to the ground, and she rose to her feet. “You’re probably right. Thanks for the wine.” She looked to her deck. “Oh, and the flowers and eggs and bread and stuff. That was sweet.”

“I was being neighborly.”

She picked up her guitar. “I think I might like this neighborhood.”

He walked her to her door. “I’d like to kiss you again.”

“Now?” She turned the knob and let the door swing open behind her.

“Hell yes, but I won’t because I wouldn’t stop at the kiss. Racing to the finish line would be a shame when there’s so much to explore in-between.” He looked past her to the fireplace. “You want a fire?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m already warm.”

He reached past her and waved his hand through the air. Her cabin was colder inside than it was outdoors. “You’re warm now, but it won’t last. You have gas heating. You know that, right?”

“I turned it on. It doesn’t work.”

He pressed into her until she backed into the living room. “My cabin is the same model as yours, only we have flipped floor plans.” He walked past her to a hallway closet. “Bring me the matches. The pilot light to your heater probably isn’t lit. Didn’t you use the stove?”

“No, I went to the bakery.” She handed him the box of matches and stood back as he turned on the gas and lit the pilot light. On the hallway wall, he adjusted the thermostat to sixty-eight.

“That should do it. You’ll stay warm now.” He closed the door and looked down at her grateful expression.

“Or you could kiss me again. That seems to heat me up.”

“You’re trouble.” He shook his head and walked out the door.

As he walked toward his place, he mentally kicked himself for walking away from a sure thing. Carelessness sat on one shoulder, screaming, “Turn around!” Common sense sat on the other, demanding he walk away.

He wanted to turn around and run back to her cabin. The problem was, he knew that the minute he did, a kiss would lead to more. And something told him that when he pressed himself inside her body, Samantha White would own his heart.