© Nancy Fraser
A new, totally unexpected twinge poked at Katy’s belly when she thought of the sheriff, of how he’d come into their lives through tragedy and accepted her, and her children, without question, without judgment. Mitch Logan was a decent, honorable man.
“Mama,” Susan called out from the kitchen doorway, “come listen.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes, Susie-girl. I’m almost done with the dishes.”
“Don’t try to carry out the tub,” Mitch warned, his voice carrying easily from the parlor to the kitchen. “It’s too heavy. I’ll do it for you when you’re done.”
“Yes, Sheriff,” she called back, a light chuckle escaping her lips. The flutter came again and Katy pressed her hand against her stomach, wishing away the confusing emotions clouding her thoughts every time Mitch came near.
She was used merchandise, stale bread, and nothing good could come from her attraction to the handsome sheriff. She wouldn’t let it.