As she crossed the sand, she spotted Pete Stahr and his infamous dog. Both looked sheepish as Zack stood beside them, hands on hips.

He never wore a hat as he’d advised her to do when gardening. As a result his hair was lighter at the tips and almost always disordered from the ocean breeze. He rarely wore his badge either, she noted, but the gun rode in the holster at his hip almost casually.

It occurred to her that if he had stopped by the café and asked her to go to a clambake, she might not have brushed him off.

When the dog lifted his paw hopefully, Zack shook his head, pointed to the leash that Pete held. Once the leash was secured, man and dog walked off, heads hung low.

Zack turned, the sun bouncing off his dark glasses. And she knew instinctively that he was looking at her. Nell braced herself and went to him.

“Sheriff.”

“Nell. Pete let his dog off the leash again. Mutt smells like a fish house. Ice cream’s dripping.”

“It’s hot.” Nell licked at the cone and decided to get it over with. “About yesterday—”

“Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Gonna share any of that?”

“What? Oh. Sure.” She held out the cone, felt a little tingle in the blood when he licked just above her fingertips. Funny, she thought, she hadn’t gotten any tingles from the cute guy with the clambake. “You’re not going to ask?”

“Not as long as you’d rather I didn’t.” Yes, he’d looked at her. And had seen the deliberate squaring of her shoulders before she started toward him. “Why don’t you walk with me a while? There’s a nice breeze off the water.”

“I was wondering . . . what does Lucy do all day when you’re out upholding the law?”

“This and that. Dog chores.”

That tickled a laugh out of her. “Dog chores?”

“Sure. Some days a dog’s got to hang around the house, roll in the grass, and think long thoughts. Other times, she comes on in to the office with me, when she’s in the mood. Swims, chews up my shoes. I’m thinking about buying her a brother or sister.”

“I was thinking about getting a cat. I’m not sure I’d be able to train a puppy. A cat would be easier. I saw a notice on the board in the market for free kittens.”

“The Stubens girl’s cat. They’ve still got one or two left, last I heard. Their place is over on Bay. White saltbox, blue shutters.”

She nodded, stopped. Impulse, she reminded herself, had served her well so far. Why stop following it? “Zack, I’m going to try out a new recipe tonight. Tuna and linguini with sun-dried tomatoes and feta. I could use a guinea pig.”