“It doesn’t sound like a very fulfilling profession.”

“For some people, it is. My dad is one of them. But for me, not really. I loved working in speech therapy, because I could see improvement and hope. In law enforcement, I don’t get that sense of satisfaction. Others do. They feel that they’re taking a small bite out of crime in their little corner of the world. They can take pride in those moments, and it’s enough for them.”

“In other words, you were never geared for this profession.”

“Nope, and now I may be stuck with it.”

He slid back his chair and rose to his feet. Whether he wanted this evening to end or not, she’d been right to point out that morning came early on a large ranch. “As much as I hate to call it an evening, I really should get back so I can get some sleep.”

She stood and grabbed her bomber jacket from the seat of the extra chair. Prompted by childhood training, Wyatt stepped over to grab it from her hand and then moved behind her to line up the sleeves as she reached backward with her slender arms to find the openings. As he drew the heavy garment over her shoulders, the collar clamped down on her long hair. Using a scooping motion, he plunged his fingers beneath the drape of silky strands to tug them free. And that was his mistake. His knuckles grazed the velvety nape of her neck, and he felt her shiver. His own body reacted as if he’d just touched a live wire that put out 220 volts.

* * *

The blue-gray of twilight hovered between the tall buildings that lined each side of the street when they exited the restaurant. Even as Erin noticed the encroaching dusk, the quaint lantern lights that lined the sidewalks began coming on, their globes glowing a cheerful yellow. The cool night air cut through her clothing and made her shiver, a sensation that wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the one she had experienced when Wyatt’s fingers caressed her neck. He cupped her elbow as they walked to his truck. When they reached the front bumper, she expected each of them to go their separate ways, but he strode beside her to open the passenger door and help her get in. Logistically, his attempt to help only complicated the process. She was accustomed to jumping in and out of high-clearance vehicles dozens of times a day and had her moves down pat. He interfered with her rhythm and the swing of her body weight. He grasped her at the waist to give her a boost up, which made her feel foolish. And feminine. She refused to allow those feelings to get her hackles up. Instead she needed to think about how nice it felt to have a man look after her.

As he climbed in from the driver’s side a moment later, he said, “We’re entering the no-speak zone again. I’m sorry I can’t chat while I drive.”