She gave up pretending she wasn’t watching them and turned her head in time to see the animal lean his head against Adam’s arm. His right arm, she realized. And after a moment the movement stopped, and Adam looked from the dog to...his elbow. The injured elbow. Then he flexed it, as far as it would apparently go. And he had an oddly puzzled expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

She supposed it was a measure of how unsettled he was that he answered her in a tone that matched his expression. “Nothing. I mean...it was aching a bit but...it stopped. When he did that.”

She crossed the two steps between them and stroked Cutter’s dark head. “Well, aren’t you the wonder worker?”

The dog looked up at her rather intently, then shifted his gaze to Adam. And then looked back at her. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to communicate, but she looked at Adam, as well.

“Does it always ache?” she asked.

That quickly he shut down, his expression going stiff, his eyes chilly and his voice just as cool. “Not your problem.”

“I know. I just...hate to think of you dealing with constant pain.”

Something flashed in his eyes, like lightning behind gray clouds. “Shall I tell you exactly what you can do with your pity?”

“It’s not pity,” she said with exquisite politeness. “But why don’t you take it and stuff it wherever you keep your usually good manners at times like this?”

For an instant he looked taken aback. It took her a moment to figure out that if she really had been feeling pity for him, it probably would have made her just ignore his rather rude question as only to be expected if he was hurting. But would he see that? Was that too fine a point to expect him to pick up, under the circumstances?

“I’m not sure I brought them with me,” he muttered finally.

She smiled. “Oh, you did, I’ve seen them,” she said. “The best kind, the quiet kind, that opens doors, cleans up after himself and never complains. And I’ll bet when you’re wearing that cowboy hat, you probably tip it to the ladies.”

He let out a snorting burst of laughter. She grinned at him, happy she’d gotten at least that much out of him.

“You do, don’t you?”

“It’s part of cowboy hat etiquette,” he said. “Rule number two, I think.”

Was he actually joking with her? Delighted, she took the obvious bait. “And rule number one?”

“Never touch another man’s hat.”

She laughed then. “Are there more?”

“Of course. And superstitions.”

“Hat superstitions?”

“Like never set your hat down on the brim, because all your luck will pour out.”