an innocent here."

But he had been.

Innocent, naive or maybe just plain stupid to believe that she would

actually have married him.

But she had to be referring to something else.

"What are you talking about?"

If he thought she was going to let him see how much he had hurt her by

taking her.

mother's money, by asking to be paid off, he was wrong.

She'd die first.

Caitlin looked longingly toward the door, wishing for a customer to

take her attention away.

But none came.

Par for the course.

Nothing was going right today.

"You figure it out."

She turned her back on him, arranging the underwear in layers of three

on the counter.

"And while you're figuring it out, do it somewhere else, Gray. I won't have you in my store, scaring away customers."

Graham drew himself up.

"I haven't burned a covered wagon or scalped anyone in at least a

month."

She turned to look at him, her fingers wrapped around a small scrap of

powder blue nylon that some designer envisioned as proper cover.

He couldn't mean Caitlin saw his expression and knew that he did.

She was appalled, horrified and angry at the same time.

How could he think so little of her?

"You think this is about-?"

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

He thought she was prejudiced, that it actually mattered to her that he

was part Navajo.

Dear God, she thought he knew her.

Had she really loved this man as fiercely as she had and still remained

a stranger to him?

Obviously she must have.

He didn't know her at.

all.

Caitlin refrained from hitting his broad chest with the flat of her hand,

though she wanted to.

Badly.

Maybe then she'd feel better.

"You jerk, this has nothing to do with covered wagons, burning or

otherwise. Women don't like a man hanging around when they're debating buying lingerie for themselves. They think they're being measured up."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at his face.

He was looking at the panties in her hand and she could almost read his thoughts.

She tossed them aside.

"Or undressed."

Caitlin moved behind the counter, wanting distance between them.

Miles.

The counter would have to do.

"I have a business to run. Now go and guard someone else's body."

She pointed to the door that stubbornly remained unopened.

"Or go write someone up for speeding.") He could see her wearing something like that.

Soft and silky against her skin.

Damn, what was the matter with him?

Why was he torturing himself like this?

Clearing his mind, he raised his eyes to her face, his expression

unreadable.

"I don't write tickets."

"Good for you."

Caitlin fairly spat it out.

Whether she liked it or not, she was in danger.

And also whether she liked it or not, it was his job to protect her.

He indicated the paper with his eyes.

There was no point in pulling punches .

"Caitlin, that article your mother waved around told the killer that

there was a witness to the crime. It told him who the witness was.

You want to end up another statistic?"

She hated the frightened feeling that rose up to choke her.

Hated feeling vulnerable.

Because there was no one else to take it out on, he was her target.

"You told me he was probably on a bus out of Phoenix."

He had said it because she'd been frightened.

And because, at the time, there might have been a small chance that it

was true.

His eyes held hers.

He tried not to remember how they used to mesmerize him.