She moved restively. “Yes.”

“But you can’t get past the memory.”

She studied his lean, strong face. “Not really,” she confessed on a sigh. “Men scare me.”

“Which explains the bullet hole in the volunteer deputy’s foot,” he added.

“He was really aggressive.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Cal taught me some martial arts moves, but he said to never confront a man I could run from. He said that no matter how well you can do those moves in a studio, it’s different with a real attacker. He said that overconfidence gets a lot of women killed.”

“It does,” he returned. “A man on drugs or drunk on alcohol is hard to take down, even for men or women with extensive martial arts training.”

“Most law enforcement agencies have women who work there. Do martial arts really work for them?”

“In desperate situations, ones where they might be killed if they can’t counterattack, they usually reach for a stun gun or a pistol, or a riot gun, if other lives are in jeopardy,” he replied. “A little woman is hard-pressed to subdue a man twice her size, even with ongoing instruction. We had a perp killed a few years ago for that very reason. The officer, who was female, had two broken ribs and a torn rotator cuff after she tried a stun gun, which didn’t stop the perp from beating her half to death. She was barely able to get her firearm out in time to save her life. Not that male officers don’t occasionally get put in the same situation.” He smiled. “Not all men are six foot five and muscular,” he added.

“I don’t ever want to wear a badge,” she said quietly.

“It’s not a bad life. Certainly, not as demanding as the military.”

She drew in a breath. She sounded raspy. “I guess it wouldn’t be.”

“You’ve got a good job here. Why were you thinking about the military?” he persisted.

She bit her lower lip. “Well, see, the house we live in belongs to Tad’s half brother. If he ever comes back here to live, we’ll have to find someplace else to go.”

He scowled. “Why? Isn’t he family, too?”

She swallowed. “Tad’s scared of him.”

He started to ask another question when his phone exploded with sound. He pulled it out of its holster, irritated at the interruption. “Banks,” he said shortly.

“What? Oh! No, I hadn’t forgotten,” he said. “The damned printer ran out of ink just as I started to print out a letter I need to send today. So now I have to go find cartridges for the damned thing...yes, I know, I’ll be there in ten minutes. No problem.” He hung up.

He glared at the printer.

“If you shoot it, they’ll take away your gun,” she said, reading his expression.