Carrie looked up from the work counter. She’d directed her comment to the man who sat in the corner of the kitchen, thumbing through a novel. Matthew Benedict met her gaze. “You have no cause, whatsoever, to feel guilty.” “But you’re here, watching over me, on the off chance that SOB will figure out I work here and come after me. All of the men are taking turns coming into the restaurant, posing as customers, so that there’re always at least two of them here.” She shook a knife at him as if it were her finger and he a recalcitrant child. “And don’t think I don’t know that y’all have been patrolling by the ranch every couple of hours all night long.” Carrie blew out a breath, ruffling her hair. “It’s already been two weeks and there’s been no sign whatsoever of Lockwood. How long can y’all keep this up?” “We can keep it up as long as it takes.” Matthew picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, but the entire time his gaze never left hers.
