Chapter Three

“Turn left and you have reached your destination,” the lady with the English accent spoke in a singsong voice from the GPS.

Lacy pulled along the curb, shut off the engine and sighed with dread. Carol Katz sounded like a crotchety old biddy, and when she’d mentioned Kaya, her mother and Carol’s stepsister, the lady became more crotchety. Until mention of the drawings. She glanced at the khaki bag in the passenger seat. Carol Katz’s abrupt turnaround in attitude, and her invitation to visit her, left Lacy unsettled.

After putting the top back on the BMW, she slung the khaki bag over one shoulder and her purse over the other, stepped onto the cracked sidewalk and double clicked the lock button on her key ring to set the car alarm.

She faced the house, her stomach churning; the veggie sandwich for lunch hadn’t settled well. A healthy choice of whole grain bread with hummus instead of mayo hadn’t made a difference. Her nerves agitated the combination like sludge. The day had turned gray with an overcast sky, which didn’t help the curb appeal of the box-like gray house that had seen better times. She pushed through the thigh-high picket gate hanging precariously from its hinges. The long squeak gave her chills like teeth scraping metal. The postage-stamp-sized yard displayed a neatly mowed lawn, and a few white flowers bloomed on each side of the front step. They might have chosen something more colorful than white.

Her knuckles rapped the weathered wood. After several seconds, the door opened and a short, older woman faced her. The lady smiled, or at least her mouth smiled. Steely eyes lacking in welcome stared at her. Not what she’d expected. From the voice on the phone, the vision of a stooped over, slovenly, unkempt witch had come to mind. Carol Katz’s tiny frame looked fit, her jeans and sweatshirt youthful and the short and stylish white hair suited her. She had to be at least in her mid-sixties, but her youthful face showed only a few lines by her eyes and subtle sag on her jaw line. When she dropped the smile to speak, the way her mouth fell into a frown without effort struck Lacy.

“Please come in.”

The small entryway doubled as a cramped mudroom, not found in homes down in the valley but common in northern Arizona. A line of hooks on the right held an array of cardigans and coats. Below them, a pair of women’s boots, dusty from lack of wear in the spring, and two pairs of rubber flip-flops lined the floor next to the wall.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked over her shoulder as she led the way into a living room.

“No, thank you.”

“Well, my cup needs freshening. Please have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

She chose the armchair covered in a pattern of faded red roses. The tops of the arms and the seat showed heavy signs of wear from years of use and cleaning. Matching sofa, shag rug and pressed wood coffee table in a cherry finish completed the décor that hadn’t been changed in decades. A mirror hung over the sofa and reflected the window, allowing a view of her Z4 parked on the street.

For a moment, she listened, thinking she heard voices from the direction Carol had gone, but quiet now.

She turned her attention to the framed photographs on the end table and recognized a younger Carol in one, with a man the same age, a teenage girl and a younger boy. Probably a family snapshot. Snow covered the ground where they stood in front of the house.

An older photograph in sepia tones, somewhat faded, drew her interest. Another family snapshot, but not Carol’s husband and children. This one had been taken at a restaurant or ice cream parlor, on a street corner, the family sitting around an ornate iron table on matching chairs. She lifted the frame for a closer look. The man, obviously Native American, and the Caucasian woman looked to be in their early to mid-thirties. She guessed the man to be her grandfather Mockta and the woman his second wife, Janice. A boy of eight or nine years of age licked an ice cream cone with a comically messy face. The boy would be the result of the marriage. Two female children, ice cream cones in hand, sat next to each other. Although close in age, perhaps twelve or thirteen, their striking differences glared from the photo. The unmistakable frown of the present day Carol, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, tilted her head away from the camera. Dark-haired Kaya addressed the photographer with an open smile.

“I suppose you might recognize someone in that picture.” Carol came into the room carrying her coffee.

“Sort of. More of a guess than recognition.” She set the frame back on the table. “Is this my grandfather?” She touched the man in the photo.

“Oh, yes, the one and only.” Carol sipped her coffee as if to rinse the bitterness from her voice.

“Was he a bad stepfather?”

“He wasn’t abusive, if that’s what you mean.” She brought her legs up under her on the sofa. “He played favorites.”

Lacy could guess who hadn’t been his favorite. “So, he married your mother when you were quite young?”

“Yeah, I was three. Kaya was two. His Hopi wife, your grandmother, hadn’t been dead six months.”

“Mansi Mockta. I found a picture of her in Kaya’s things. You said on the phone John Mockta, my grandfather, is dead?” She sat forward, unable to relax with the conversation.

“I hear he died about nine years ago. No one had seen him in years, not since Kaya and I were teenagers. Hit Kaya real hard when he took off. Such a daddy’s girl, and he never even called his precious princess.” Again the bitterness crept into her tone. She waved a hand in the air. “So, here you are after all these years.”

An intrusion. “I don’t mean to impose on you. I only—”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” She sipped her coffee. “When the old man left, well, my momma turned kind of sour. Then Kaya left.” She jutted her chin. “Your mother was a strong-willed woman, and we weren’t related, not really. I thought she might keep in touch with me, but what the hell.”

“Were you close growing up?”

“We were...like sisters.”

Like the stepsister to Cinderella. “Did she have any ties to her Hopi roots?”

“Not really. She’d hang with some of the Indians in school. The old man had a brother who died not long after we all started living together. He’d go drinking in town once in a while with some guys I assumed were cousins. I only saw them once. They may have lived on the reservation, but I’m not sure. I don’t remember any relatives of Kaya’s mother.”

“Mansi Mockta was an only child.”

“That could be the reason then.”

Lacy glanced at the photo of the funny-faced boy eating ice cream. “And where is your brother?” Would he have been closer to this half-sister or to his half-sister Kaya? Perhaps he knew details of Kaya’s life the jealous Carol hadn’t bothered to remember.

“You don’t know?”

She jerked at the tone in Carol’s voice. “Know what?”

“I thought you might have discovered what happened when you researched your parents.” The frown furrowed deeper across her brow.

“Discovered what?” Her nerves tingled at the hate in the older woman’s eyes.

“He died along with Kaya and her Austrian lover in the plane crash.”

Her breath caught. “I...I’m so sorry.”

“He was flying the plane.”

The air whooshed from Lacy’s lungs as the implications of another dead end smacked her hope down. Everywhere she turned, she hit a wall. Yes, her main purpose in coming had been to find out about the mysterious sketches for her daughter, but as the day droned on, learning more about her blood parents spiked her enthusiasm. She’d expected to learn something from the only relatives known, Carol and her half-brother. Now, all she had left were slanted stories from a life of bitterness of one old woman.

“They were all a bunch of fools to take off in that little, rickety plane with a novice like Johnny. He hadn’t had his license long. He wasn’t much more than a kid. All he had to do was fly to Phoenix and turn around and come back. They ruled it pilot error. Just another notch in my memories.”

Lacy had been the only survivor. And now every link to her mother, her first mother, no longer existed. Dead ends. Literally. “I’m so sorry.” The regret tore at her for selfish reasons.

“Before your time.”

“Can you tell me anything about Kaya?” The sketches forgotten, she had an overwhelming desire to put more than a face to her mother.

“Hmm...well, you look like her. Got her smile, that’s for sure, and her coloring. Her hair, too.”

She’d learned that much from the photographs. “Where were they headed that day?”

“Johnny told me they were going to Austria to get married. He had to drop them at Sky Harbor Airport down in Phoenix, and they’d get on the plane there for Austria. The marriage was kind of a last minute thing. Kaya was always impulsive.” She stared into her coffee cup. “Johnny said Hartmut wanted to go home for a visit, alone. At the last minute, plans changed. It was some big surprise for your father’s family. Johnny said Hartmut had broken ties with his family when he took off for the States a few years earlier, and he was going to take Kaya and the baby, er you, back to Austria.” Steely eyes regarded her. “Make up with them, I guess.”

If they had lived, she might have been raised in Austria? How different life would’ve played out.

Lacy tipped the picture closer, looked at the little boy licking his cone, ice cream dribbling down his chin. Her attention shifted to Janice in the photo.

“And where is your mother now?”

“She’s in a home, Alzheimer’s. Doesn’t know any of us.”

“That’s too bad.” My God, this woman had nothing good to say about her life.

“She’s not unhappy.” Carol cleared her throat and tossed a smile across the room. “You said on the phone, you had some drawings of Kaya’s.”

“Hmm, yes. Although, I’m not sure Kaya is the artist. Did she want to be an artist as a child?”

“She drew all the time. You have the drawings...with you?”

She bent to pick up the bag and glanced in the mirror over Carol’s head just as the alarm sounded on her car. The reflection of a man by the driver side door froze. Carol’s eyes widened as they jumped to their feet. The man appeared ready to flee, but he’d spotted them and shrugged in resignation.

“Son of a...” Carol muttered.

Lacy darted toward the front door, flung it open with Carol close on her heels. “Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing?” She got partially out of the doorway and stopped. What if the would-be car thief carried a weapon?

“Calm yourself,” Carol said, pushing past her. “That’s just Kitty’s boy, my grandson.” She waved, beckoning him to come to the house. “What’re you doing, Clark?”

Lacy dug the keys out of her pocket and killed the alarm.

“Nothing, Gram. All I did was bump into the fucking car, and it went off.”

“Watch your mouth and get your ass over here.”

Tall and lanky, not much of a man at all, he lowered his head like a reprimanded puppy. She guessed him barely in his twenties. His long strides covered the small yard in no time. He brushed hair from his eyes as he faced his grandmother, towering over her. His oversized shirt didn’t fit him any better than his pants slung too low on his hips. He wore black high top sneakers, untied. The sneer on his face looked permanent, like his grandmother’s frown.

“I got done with my job interview, and thought I’d stop by to say hi.”

She wondered what sort of interview he could’ve had dressed like a teenage thug.

“You remember hearing us talk about Kaya, my stepsister? This is her daughter, Lacy. Lacy, this is my grandson, Clark.”

“Yeah, I remember. Hi.”

“Hello.” She nodded, as pleased to meet him as he looked to meet her. This must have been the young man she’d spoken to when she returned Carol’s call.

“Come on back in.” Her “aunt” took her grandson by the arm. “I’ve got coffee on, Clark. Lacy, excuse the interruption. Be right back.” She tugged him toward the kitchen.

Lacy took up her seat again. To get the alarm to go off, he had to have tried the door, with more than a little force. And right in front of his grandmother’s house. Lovely family. She’d show Carol the drawings, get her opinion and scoot out as soon as possible.

Voices from the kitchen drifted out to the living room, although too low to hear the conversation. The tone sounded like a reprimand from Carol and whining from the grandson. Yet she returned with a smile plastered on her face.

“Now, where were we?” Carol sat on the couch, her glance at the khaki bag obvious. “Oh, yes, you had some drawings you wanted me to look at.”

“I thought you might be able to tell me if Kaya drew them or not.” She reached in and pulled the roll of sketches from her bag.

“Didn’t you say you had a sculpture, too?”

Signed or not, the half-finished wolf would have to be Kaya’s work. Lacy had already decided that on her drive from the gallery. No artist would turn over an unfinished piece of work to someone else. And Carol’s interest bothered her, didn’t feel right. The two sisters hadn’t exactly been close, so why the interest now? “I brought only the sketches.”

“Oh? Well, that’s too bad.”

She opened the roll of papers, and scooting to the edge of the chair, set them on the coffee table. “Did Kaya do much sculpture or wood carving?”

Carol looked at her as if she thought her a half-wit. “You said you had one of her pieces.”

“It isn’t finished, and it’s not signed.”

With rigid shoulders and eyes now narrowed to slits, doubt radiated from her step-aunt. Why the woman regarded her with distrust, Lacy couldn’t imagine. Maybe she viewed the world that way.

“Did you ever see her carving wood?”

“Hmph. Once Kaya moved out, she kept her life and art her own private world.”

And why not? Her mother probably received no love in that household. She ached a little for her.

“Do you know how that turned out?”

“I know she got pretty thick with an art professor at NAU.” Her scowl deepened. “Course, with Kaya, that didn’t seem unusual.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not putting her down, don’t get that idea. It was the sixties. Kids were loosey-goosey back then. Make love, not war. All that stuff. Kaya hobnobbed with the artsy-fartsy community, and she lived the life. Saw her and the professor one day, smooching in broad daylight on the sidewalk out front of Babbit’s.” Her attention drifted off above Lacy’s head, and the scowl saddened. “First I knew of it.” She cleared her throat and set her lips again. “They got real thick.” She drummed fingers on the coffee cup. “Then next thing I knew, the Austrian guy came to town and you were born.”

“My father, Hartmut.” His photo flashed across her mind—the attractive man with light green eyes.

“Yeah. She did good and never looked back.”

“You didn’t see much of her?”

“She had her artist friends in town and a place of her own. I never saw you.” She paused with one brow cocked. “Until now.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

The woman continued to lay a thick blanket of guilt on her. She shrugged it off, but felt more sorrow for her mother because of it.

Carol set her coffee cup on the table. “Long time ago. You and her art live on, right?” Steely eyes stared through her.

She looked away, concentrating on spreading the sketches. “Do these look at all familiar?”

With apparent measured words, the elder woman answered. “Not really sure. How many are there?” She thumbed through them, not interested in the sketches, only the number.

“Twelve.”

Not looking up, she blinked rapidly, darted a scan over the stack of sketches and licked her lips.

“Did you ever see her sign her art with these initials?”

“Like I said, her family didn’t see much of her.”

She sensed Carol knew something more. But what?

“Have you heard of an artist called Muuyaw?”

“No.” Her answer came abruptly with a flicker of her eyelids. “Why do you ask that?”

“It’s possible these aren’t Kaya’s handiwork. They may have been drawn by Muuyaw. Perhaps she was a friend of Kaya’s?”

“A friend?”

“Yes, you said she had artist friends.” Lacy fingered the ribbon that bound the sketches and studied Carol whose face became taut. “Maybe you heard Kaya mention her?”

“No. Never heard that one.” She set her jaw.

“Well, I appreciate the information.” Damn. Whether truth or a lie, she’d exhausted her avenues of questioning. She rolled the sketches and wrapped the ribbon around them. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I better get going.”

“Now, it’s not been any trouble at all. We’re practically family.”

Lacy cringed. Being part of this family would not be a blessing. “I appreciate it all the same.” She tucked away the art, stood and hefted her bag over her shoulder.

Clark came from the kitchen to stand in the living room doorway.

“Goodbye, Clark.”

His mute stare didn’t surprise her.

“And you said you have a room at the Grand View Hotel?” Carol followed her to the door with Clark on her heels. “Room two eighteen?”

“Yes, that’s right.” She hadn’t said, and Carol had already left her a message so the hotel must have told her. The Grand View’s lax attention to privacy and the disgruntled stepsister’s attitude didn’t help her sense of unease. But if Carol would actually think of something helpful and contact her, a little discomfort might be worth it.

“It’s a lovely old hotel. Hope you aren’t scared by all the ghost stories.”

Lacy edged out into the yard. “The hotel does like to play that up.” And everyone else in this city.

“Lots of locals swear they’re true.” She pulled her grandson to stand beside her. “I sure hope we get to see you again, Lacy. Don’t we, Clark? How long will you be staying?”

“Probably a couple of more days.”

“Call me, and we’ll get together for lunch or something.” The smile that didn’t touch her eyes came again.

“I’ll try. Bye.”

Behind her, the screen door creaked, and she caught bits of conversation.

“Honestly, Clark,” Carol scolded.

“How was I supposed to know? I thought mayb—”

“Just shut up and get in the house now.”

Lacy pulled the gate closed. That visit hadn’t gone any better than she feared. In spite of finding a few more pieces to the puzzle about her mother and the events the day of her death, her step-aunt would never be a part of her life. She slid into the car, setting the bag on the passenger seat. Her mother’s childhood hadn’t been exactly idyllic, living with the wicked stepsister. Her grandfather must have treated her well, favoring her over his stepdaughter. Then why did he leave, lose contact? He shouldn’t have left his son, John, either. Lacy shook her head and pulled away from the curb. She’d probably never know why.

****

The whistle brought Myles out of his reverie. He lifted the black enamel kettle, turned the burner off and poured the steaming water into the red, cast iron teapot. The chain on the steeper warmed between his finger and thumb as he dipped it up and down in the hot water.

Lacy Dahl would no doubt visit Carol Katz. Poor bitter old Carol. What would she tell the woman? He let the steeper sit and took a tea mug from the cupboard above his head. She knew so little, what did it matter? After rinsing the cup with tap water, he removed the steeper and poured his tea, carrying it to the patio.

The sun shone on the Adirondack chair. He sank into the heat, closing his eyes for a moment to absorb the relaxing warmth, the old twinge of melancholy hovering. He rested the mug against his chest as if the added heat could kill the sensation. He’d created Muuyaw, and what she created belonged to him. He deserved it. He’d loved her, nurtured her...lost her.

After all this time, more of Muuyaw’s art had surfaced.

It should be his.

His pulse quickened at the thought, and he wondered what to do to own it. Carol. He’d hear from her soon enough. Any excuse to contact him. How had he met her, God, so many years ago? The steam played wet on his face with the sip of tea. Raising his lids, he stared at the cascading white spirea along the back fence. How he loved beauty. She’d been a beauty and, if memory served him, she’d been a waitress as well as a student. But not a student of art. The brief affair satisfied him, but not Carol. Her beauty paled compared to the dark-haired, copper-skinned art student who’d sashayed into his class, awed him with her raw talent, and who just happened to be Carol’s sister. Perhaps jealously more than lost love drove her bitterness. He didn’t care then, and he didn’t care now, as long as her complicity satisfied his needs. If the sketches were authentic—and they sounded so—then Carol might be helpful.

His thumb tapped the cup edge. Yes, Carol would be helpful, and he’d not have to lay eyes on Lacy Dahl.

****

Lacy drove the short distance back to the hotel and thought about Carol’s characterization of her mother: favored daughter, artist, love child of the sixties. Could the lover, the art professor, still be alive? Phoebe would eat up this part of the story.

An empty parking space waited in front of the hotel, and she eased her car along the curb. The day’s activities had raised more questions than supplied answers. Instead of the exhaustion she’d experienced earlier, nervous energy pinged through her limbs like an overload of caffeine. She couldn’t wait to sit down to a quiet dinner with a glass of wine and mull over what she’d learned. Maybe Goth-clad Penny could suggest a restaurant close by that would offer a quiet corner and good wine.

She lifted the canvas bag onto her shoulder, locked her car door and looked across the street. The White Wolf Spirit shop’s door stood open. Chance had worn a T-shirt last night with their emblem. The window displayed books on American Indian folklore and history. Below that, various art and jewelry pieces sparkled, not all American Indian. The store looked eclectic and interesting. She’d have to take some souvenirs back to Phoebe and Hazel; maybe get Mark something for his trouble in researching the Austrian deed. His bill would most likely be light since he’d had a close relationship with her parents. She decided to take a quick look in before heading to her room.

Cars meandered down the narrow street, and she darted between them.

When Chief greeted the customer coming in the door, Chance glanced over his shoulder, jerked with recognition and turned. “Hi, Lacy.”

“Hello, Chance.” She came to stand beside him and smiled at Chief. “Good evening.” She glanced around the shop. “Your store looked so intriguing, I had to come in and explore.”

“Thank you. Lacy is it?” His friend regarded her with obvious appreciation of her beauty and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lacy. I go by Chief.”

“Chief, nice to meet you.” She sauntered closer and offered her hand to the old man, giving Chance a whiff that reminded him of spring flowers on the peaks.

“You seem to turn up everywhere.” She gave him a sideways glance.

“Small town, I guess.” He leaned his forearms on the counter to bring his face level with hers.

“I’m not so sure that’s it.” She tilted her head and smiled. “There’s a reason our paths keep crossing.”

Her directness, the glittering green of her eyes, struck him so he had to straighten and put some distance between them. “You suppose?”

“Maybe we should have dinner together and figure it out?”

His hesitation wiped the smile from her face.

“Oh, unless you have other plans.”

“No, I don’t.” Only plans to avoid the feelings she provoked. But he had to eat. He’d sought her out this morning. One more step forward wouldn’t hurt him. “Sure.” He looked at his watch. “When did you have in mind?”

“Actually, now. I’m famished. But what’s good for you?” Her fingers drummed on her purse. Expectant eyes regarded him.

“I can do now.”

“Do you want to finish your shopping while I grab my sweater from the car?”

“Shopping?” He glanced at Chief behind the counter. “No, I’m just keeping ol’ Chief here company.” He tapped the counter, signaling a finish to their conversation. “I’ll walk with you.”

Chief’s glance turned toward the door of the store. His eyes twinkled and a mischievous smile lit his face. “Hi, Kitty.”

Oh hell. He bit his reaction, took a deep breath and faced his sometimes companion.

“I thought I might find you here, Chance honey.” She threw a cursory glance at Lacy and sidled up, draping her arm along his waist.

Lacy shuffled sideways, frowning.

He turned toward Kitty, but took a step back. “What brings you downtown?”

“You mean besides you?”

Her hazel eyes swept his face, prodding a reaction. He didn’t intend on fueling her flirtations.

When he didn’t respond, she chuckled. “I had a few errands, thought I’d stop in and say hi to Chief. Hi, Chief.” She winked at the old man. “But since you’re here, why don’t we go get a bite to eat?”

“Sorry, Kitty, I have plans.”

Her mouth fell to the pout he knew all too well. She always wanted more than he could give, or wanted to give. He’d never made her any promises, yet in spite of that, this could be awkward.

He nodded in Lacy’s direction. “Lacy Dahl, this is Nora Katz, better known as Kitty.”

The two women looked at each other as if they’d seen a ghost. Neither of the women spoke, and his observation passed from one to the other, twice. Noise from cars on the street drifted in the open door, the old grandfather clock in the corner of the store ticked and Chief made a noise in his throat.

“Lacy Dahl?” Kitty spat, breaking the standoff.

“Oh, my gosh!” Lacy stuck her hand out to Kitty. “Are you Carol’s daughter?”

Kitty barely touched Lacy’s palm. “Yes, I am. And you’re Kaya’s daughter.”

The bitterness puzzled him.

Lacy hesitated, obviously affected by Kitty’s tone. “That’s right.”

“So, you two practically know each other.” He thought he might have to referee and had no idea why.

“Not as well as you two do, apparently.” Kitty tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “How do you know each other?”

She’d always been forward, yet this display caught him off guard. Chief ran a hand over his face, stifling amusement. He shuffled and wondered how much he should say, considering the audience they had. Heat rose on his neck.

Lacy took a deep breath, tipped her chin up and gave him a bright smile. “Chance sort of rescued me from a would-be assailant last night, and I owe him dinner for that.” She turned her smile on Kitty, but her expression looked more fiery than friendly.

Kitty clenched her jaw. “How nice for you. Chance is that kind of guy, always there to help a stray.” She turned her back on Lacy, put her palms on his chest and spoke quietly as if the other two didn’t exist. “You know where I’ll be after you have your obligatory Good Samaritan dinner. Your Modelo is still in the fridge.” She stood on tiptoes and brushed his mouth lightly with a kiss.

His lips remained dead to her caress. He’d have to set her straight later, call her and explain their relationship. He should’ve taken care of this sooner, but he hadn’t foreseen a beautiful tourist in his future, however brief the encounter would be. A tinge of guilt flickered near the surface. He’d never promised her otherwise, still, he might have used her as much as he figured she used him. Kitty had been a willing, occasional companion. He hadn’t intended on anymore than that, but her bared claws meant she saw it differently.

He looked directly into her eyes, hoping he could communicate more with his mind than his words. “I’ll call you later.”

She turned, a triumphant sway to her hips. Chance sighed. This wouldn’t be an easy fix.

“Enjoy the rest of your stay.” She stopped next to Lacy. “When are you leaving anyway?” Her tone, however, said, “Get out of town.”

“I’m not sure anymore.” She flicked a glance at him through long lashes before she turned back to Kitty. “I’m finding Flagstaff quite intriguing.”

The three silently watched her sashay out the door. Chief released a chuckle as Kitty rounded the corner. He shot his friend a deadpan glance.

****

Outside on the sidewalk, Lacy paused. Indignation flushed hot on her neck. Carol couldn’t hold a candle to her rude daughter, Kitty. She hadn’t known Chance long enough to understand his temperament, yet she’d sensed a struggle raging inside at Kitty’s blunt remarks. If she hadn’t seen a hint of that, she’d have marched out of the store with apologies. The woman’s attitude raked across her nerves, revealing a stand and fight mode she never knew she possessed.

“You don’t have to go to dinner with me if you need to...if it will cause you any trouble.” She glanced sideways while they waited for a car to pass by. His face remained neutral. The man held his emotions close, heightening the sense of mystery that intrigued her.

“No trouble at all.” He took her arm, walking her across the street to the Grand View. Once on the opposite sidewalk, he guided her to face him then released her. “Kitty’s a friend. Nothing more.” His expression hadn’t changed except for his eyes, soft and inviting.

She swallowed, his admission sending flutters across her chest. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

He shrugged. “But you two have a connection?”

“How about I explain it over dinner?”

“Now you have me.” He quirked an eyebrow.

Phoebe would have had a comeback for that. “Here’s the car.” She pressed the remote unlock and made a movement to open the door.

He beat her to the handle and picked her sweater from the seat. Independent woman or not, his gesture touched her.

“Thank you.” She took it from his hand and let the khaki bag fall from her shoulder. “I’m tired of lugging this around. I think I’ll lock it in the trunk.”

“Where would you like to eat?” he asked as he lifted the trunk lid.

“Unless we go for Mexican at the Kachina, I’ll have to leave the decision to you. You said you hadn’t been there in a while. We could go there. I wouldn’t mind Mexican food again.”

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.” His brow wrinkled and his attention drifted from her. “I used to eat there all the time with my wife.” He closed the trunk and faced her.

“Oh, no, that’s fine. I just thought, well, it’s close, but if you have another idea...”

“There’s a new place just across the tracks I haven’t tried yet. It’s gotten great press.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’s about four blocks. Do you want to drive?”

Lacy glanced up at the sky, now sporting breaks in the clouds. “Can we walk?”

“I hoped you’d say that.” He nodded in the direction they should take. “’Course, that’ll make it that much longer until I get the story.”

“I don’t know the whole story myself, Chance. Maybe you can help me fill in some blanks.”