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Dicey blushed. “What do you mean?”

He knew that tone of voice. He bit back a grumble. “Why is someone named JK asking if we have extra books? You’re the secretary for the Friends. Why didn’t you answer this?”

She averted her gaze. “Because JK is cute and he’s single. He’s also young.”

“Don’t try to fix me up.”

“He’s right out of college and, according to his aunt, he’s gay.” She batted her lashes. “Someone in this library needs to get some. Why can’t it be you?”

“Dicey.” He blew out a ragged breath to steady his nerves. She knew how to hit the right buttons to drive him crazy. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship, and not one with a guy ten years younger than him. He wasn’t in the mood to train a lover. Besides, how could he be sure this JK would stick around? He might have told himself he’d put himself on the market for a new job, but the truth was, he liked Sullavan and wasn’t leaving any time soon. He typed out a reply, then hit send.

Michael massaged his temples. He loved Dicey and Lauren. Most days they were great. Today? Not so much. Lauren was fine, but Dicey… She’d drive him nuts before she gave up volunteering for good.

He spent the next two hours behind the circulation desk and dealt with the after-school rush. During the lull at six, he re-shelved the returned books and neatened up the children’s section. When the bell dinged, he didn’t bother to look up. Dicey and Lauren were behind the desk and could handle the patron if there was a problem.

“Hi, I’m here on the hunt for books about Sullavan. Can you help me?”

Michael froze. He hadn’t heard that particular warm baritone voice in the library before. The speaker was forthright, but polite. A shiver ran the length of his spine. He glanced over the display of early reading books to appraise the man at the counter. His jaw nearly dropped and his nerve endings sizzled. He’d never seen the man before—not in the library or Sullavan, Ohio.

The gentleman, tall with black hair and five o’clock shadow darkening his cheeks, stood with his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. The tailored shirt clung to his slender body. When he followed Dicey to the local color section, Michael noticed the man’s toned legs and his feet. He wore socks with the casual shoes. Such a small detail shouldn’t have pleased Michael, but he preferred men who bothered to wear socks instead of going barefoot. Maybe he’d found a kindred sock spirit.

He paused. What was he doing? A kindred sock spirit? He’d heard the guy speak and given him the visual once-over, but he’d built up a connection to him in his mind.Jesus.Dicey was right. He needed sex—at least a fuck to clear his head. He needed to hide, but there weren’t many places in the building to keep out of sight. If he could return to the desk without incident, he’d be able to duck behind the bookcase of DVDs. Maybe then the hunk wouldn’t see him.

“I’m not sure we have much,” Dicey said. “There are a few books about the subdividing of Sullavan land and one about Edgar Sullavan. Is that what you want?”

Whatever the man said, Michael couldn’t understand.

“Our head librarian, Michael, would know more.” Dicey met Michael’s gaze. “There you are. I’ve got a job for you.” She turned her attention back to the hottie in the button-down. “Are you here doing a term paper? College paper?”

The man smiled and his blue eyes sparkled. “Research, yes. Paper, no. I wanted to learn about Sullavan and was told to come here.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Michael.”

He sighed, then headed over to the research desks. “Hi. I’m Michael. All of our books based on, involving or written about Sullavan and our founder, Edgar Sullavan, are here.” He pointed to the lone shelf. “You’re welcome to peruse any of the titles, but because they’re reference, we can’t loan them out. What kind of research are you doing? I know a few of the older folks in town might be good references.”

“Thank you.” He smiled again. “I’m working on a book.”

“Are you an author?” Dicey asked. She pushed in beside Michael.

“I am,” the man said. “History is my passion.”

“You’re not from around here.” Dicey laughed. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” The man took one of the books from the shelf. “I’m researching my family and I traced them to Sullavan. I thought I’d see what else I could find…for my book.”

“Oh. You’re a writer?” Michael’s ears perked. Sullavan tended not to have the money to draw in writers for talks. Even if this guy wasn’t a big-name author, maybe he’d be willing to have a coffee time chat or something. “What do you write?”

“Novels.”

“Nice.” The guy wasn’t terribly forthcoming.Rats.

“I’m Tristan.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m researching the McCartney side of my family. Al was my uncle.”

Michael nodded and shook hands with Tristan. “I knew Al well. He liked to browse the westerns section. I think he read every one we have. He was a great man and I’ll miss him.”

Tristan’s eyes widened. “It’s nice to know someone who knew him.”

“I’ve got a few stories about him, but not many.” Michael sighed. “You’re welcome to whatever information you can find in the books we have. If you find things you want to take, you’ll have to make copies, which are a nickel each.” He’d given that speech so many times, he’d memorized the words.

“Copies?” Tristan tipped his head. “Those still exist?”

“Yes.”Who is this guy?“We’re a tad backwater, here in Sullavan. We haven’t branched out into all forms of technology.”

“Copies,” Tristan said. “Huh.”

“Yes.” Michael fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll leave you alone to your research. If you have any questions or need help, just ask. One of us will do our best to assist you.”

“Of course.”

Michael turned on his heel and left Tristan alone. Having new people coming to town wasn’t completely bizarre, but he wasn’t sure if he could trust Tristan. Al McCartney had been a fine, upstanding citizen. He’d never mentioned having a nephew and Tristan didn’t look a bit like Al. The story about doing genealogy work could be true, or a scam. He narrowed his eyes and kept his attention on Tristan. He didn’t trust the strange but handsome man. Not a bit.