Hank was strapping Deputy Smith’s too-small bulletproof vest around his chest. “I can’t go anywhere, Millie. This is my job. It’s what I do. And this is personal; the bomber put a pipe bomb in my lady’s way. You could have been hurt. How could I not get involved?”

“I’m not your lady, Harrison. You were just helping me. We’re friends, remember. I’ve never been anyone’s lady.”

She took a breath and tried again. “In Houston you’d have a team and trucks and equipment. I’ve seen you guys work on TV.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “If I hadn’t stepped off that curb without looking, our wreck wouldn’t have happened and you would have already been back home. If you get killed, this is all going to be my fault.”

Hank wanted to yell that none of this was her fault, but he could never raise his voice at Millie. The librarian was fine china and he was a tin beer mug. He’d run toward danger all his life, and Millie had run away.

He knelt in front of her wheelchair. “This is what I do. I’m not going to get hurt. I’m maybe the one person in town who knows how not to get hurt.”

With two fingers he brushed away her tear. This one tear said it all. It was the reason he never got involved with anyone, why he didn’t tell his father what he did, why he’d rather people think he was a biker than know what he really did for a living. How could he explain that this wasn’t just his job? It was his life, his calling his dad might say.

Hank craved adventure—no, danger. He needed that rush to keep his heart beating. He’d discovered the thrill of driving fast in high school, rode it through years in his rodeo days. No matter how many times he got hurt, he’d found he could have the excitement running through his veins forever if he balanced it with knowledge and precaution.

People might say he was trying to kill himself, but in truth, Hank was keeping himself alive. Most folks walk around mostly dead inside, not ever knowing their heart is beating, but not him.

It seemed the only thing that could hurt him was the fearful look in people he cared about.

He cupped Millie’s face and kissed her, loving and hating that she cared. “I’ll be fine. I have to do this. I want to do this. Colby said they found three more bombs yesterday and two of them were live. That means they could have gone off and hurt someone. A little kid pulling out the mail, or a person just walking by.”

When she looked like she was going to argue, he kissed her again. This time the kiss was sweeter, longer, than ever before.