I re-wrote this, I read it this morning and didn't like the way it sounded.

No one really knew where Lucas Buck had come from, to some it seemed he had sprung to life as the sheriff of Trinity, SC. It was rumored he had grown up in the big stone manor outside of town but no one could remember parents. Some swore they had gone to school with him, but couldn't remember exactly when. Others swore they remembered when he had been Deputy Sheriff Buck but could only remember a man wearing a uniform, a man whom people remembered encountering, but if pressed for details could provide none.

All agreed that Lucas Buck must have become Sheriff at least ten years ago and had ruled Trinity with an iron fist ever since. He could be a sinister presence but there were rewards for those who had the wisdom to accommodate him. It was universally agreed that Lucas Buck could be a generous man, but some whispered that his generosity had a price—like the devil's.

This particular day Lucas was cruising without a particular destination in mind. He liked to see what was going on in his town and that all was right in his world. There was a woman in the delivery room due to present the world with yet another baby Buck but this particular delivery did not concern him much. He had his heir, or at least his designated air although the boy did not show much appreciation for his good fortune. In time he would see the advantages of his situation and appreciate it.

Something caught the sheriff's sharp eyes: a moving truck parked outside of a house that had been vacant for five years. A small group of people were unloading furniture out of the van, carrying them through the open doors.

Normally, any newcomers would have to obtain his approval to move into his town. He had not been notified that someone new was moving into town, how had this slipped under his radar? The heirs that now owned the house no longer resided in Trinity, and had declined his offer to purchase it. The property held no significant value so he had been willing to bide his time, now someone was moving in.

A dark green Jeep drove up and parked in the driveway. Out stepped a girl with a long, brown ponytail and she began to talk to the crowd gathered around. She went back to her Jeep and opened it, then pulled out an antique trunk that must have been heavy but she allowed no one to touch it.

He decided to see what was going on and slipped his long, lanky form out of the blue Ford that the town had purchased for the police department, or rather for him. He smoothed back his light brown hair from his face and put on his most genial expression as he approached the group of people gathered in the driveway.

"Howdy folks," he said genially, "I'm Sheriff Lucas Buck, I like to greet the newcomers when they move to our fair little town. If there is anything I can do for you, please feel free to let me know." He pulled his card out of his pocket and looked around, "Sure hope this is in good enough condition to move it, it's sat empty for quite a while."

He zeroed in on the girl with the ponytail. She had a fresh face that seemed young at first glance but up close you could see tiny lines around her violet eyes, her almond-shaped bedroom eyes. The lines did not detract from her looks, they said she was a woman, not a girl, and wore her age as part of her.

He looked her in the eyes as he handed her the card, attempting to hold her glance but instead her eyes seemed to stare deep into his, not letting him look away at first. Then, for the first time she spoke, and the timbre of her voice sounded almost musical.

"Thank you, Sheriff," she said, "That's very kind of you. The owners told me it's in good shape, and if I need anything to please let them know."

"You're a Yankee!" he didn't mean to say it but it came out. Her voice had a definite East Coast accent, but it was soft, more hinted at. Her diction was clear, like one who was used to public speaking.

"Yes, I am, I suppose, I'm from Boston," Her mouth twisted up into a smile, clearly amused but not taking offense.

He recovered himself, not wanting to show he had been caught off guard. "Can I offer you my help unloading your car? Why don't you let me carry that trunk?"

"No!" He was surprised at the emphasis she gave that one syllable. The trunk must hold something precious and his natural curiosity made him wonder what.

She attempted to compensate for her reaction, "The boxes, or the suitcases, you can get those, but please don't feel obliged to help."

"Nonsense," he said and picked up two boxes, "Just show me where you want them."

"In the bedroom where the door is open. I've put my cats in the other one, they needed to get out of their carriers."

He shed his coat and spent the next two hours unloading boxes and being amenable, playing the perfect gentleman. He helped clear out the moving truck and shut the doors when at last it was empty.

Her family gathered around her, giving her hugs, asking if there was anything else she needed, but she told them to go catch their plane, she'd be fine. They shook Lucas's hand and thanked them for his help, then they got into their respective vehicles and slowly drove away.

Good, thought Lucas, leave, then asked her, oh so casually, "Can I buy you dinner, little lady?"

"You can buy me dinner if you promise to never call me 'little lady' again."

"Don't be so sensitive, it's just a term of endearment. I don't know how they talk in Boston." He moved closer to her, daring to lay a hand on her shoulder and hoping that she wouldn't flinch at his touch.

"We aren't so forward, will I have to get used to being called 'sweetheart' or 'honey' down here? I'm not used to it."

"Why have you moved down here then?" he pushed, wanting to know why she was so distant, yet not moving away from his arm.

"I'm hiding from an abusive ex, my family moved me down here for my safety. We have friends who helped me find a job in Charleston. They told me this was a nice little town and find it a welcome break from living up north."

"This ex, does he live in Boston? Don't worry, we'll keep you safe down here." He looked at her, saw a softening in her expression, "You know, I generally don't take girls to dinner when I don't know their name." He used his most charming voice, one that had won over more than one reluctant female.

"I'm sorry, It's Elizabeth Bates. I'm originally from Salem, I'm named for a relative who was found guilty in the witch trials and hung." She focused her violet eyes on his light hazel orbs, waiting to see the effect the words had on him.

Was it a warning or was she showing off. A chill ran down his spine and the long hairs rose on the back of his head. "You're not kidding, are you?" Things he wanted to say came to his lips then fell away. There was something different about this girl but he could not put his finger on what.

"No, I'm not. We have a charcoal sketch that someone did of her-we're rather proud of our persecuted ancestors in Salem. My father got a job offer in Boston that he couldn't refuse no we moved away when I was twelve. I missed it at first, but there are a lot of fun things to do in Boston. Both my parents have family in Salem so I spent a lot of summers there. I grew up around all that fun creepy stuff. My Aunt Rose's house was even haunted."

"Were you ever scared?" he wanted to keep her talking.

"No. When you have witches for ancestors you're not scared by things like ghosts. Preachers scare me, 300 years and they still preach against witchcraft, some of them would still burn us at the stake if they could."

"Now, Miss Elizabeth, you're being silly. There's no such things as ghosts, or witches."

"Elizabeth, if you please. 'Miss Elizabeth' makes me sound like a spinster. I don't think that exactly describes me."

I should say not, Lucas thought, but we'll see. You're definitely not a virgin, or I'm a Yankee. I intend to find out for myself—tonight.