I put out my hand to help her up. She reached and I saw that her palms were scraped and red from hitting the sidewalk. Hot rage blossomed in my chest again and I twisted and glared at the guy I’d taken down. He shrank back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped.

I took her hand gently in mine and hauled her up to standing. God, she was just a little thing. Even smaller because she wore sneakers: I was used to women in heels.

I said what I always say. “I’m Danny. And who are you?”

But it came out differently. I barely recognized my own voice. I’d been using that line since high school and every other time I’d used it, what I’d really been asking was, “What do I need to do to get your panties off?”

This time, I actually wanted to know who she was. What’s going on?!

“Erin,” she said, uncertain. There was something in her voice, an accent, but it was difficult to catch from just one word.

She frowned, her blonde brows knitting, and pulled off the deerstalker. Underneath was ash-blonde hair pulled back into a long braid: it fell down her back, swinging. She rubbed at the back of her head, wincing a little: she must have bumped it, when she went down. And as I looked down at her in that unguarded moment, I realized…she was beautiful.

I hadn’t seen it immediately, I’d been fooled by how cute she was. But she had that kind of beauty that crept up on you and then hit you all at once, and once you saw it…. She had high, delicate cheekbones and her lips were blush-pink and looked so, so soft…

She was lovely. She just hid.

“Are you okay, Erin?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said. “Yes.” She frowned again, pushed her glasses up her nose and shook her head. “No, I’m not hurt, yes, I’m okay.”

Her awkwardness put her back into adorable mode. But it didn’t matter because I was equally fascinated by both sides of her, now. Her accent was deeply country, soothing and gentle, like a warm shaft of sunshine in the middle of all the cold and snow.