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AS SOON AS SHE SPOKE the words, Morgan regretted voicing them. Detective Detweiler—Randy, he’d told her to call him last night—had promised not to reveal her secret to anyone, but she didn’t know him. She’d been forced to take him at his word, that he wouldn’t say anything.
If two people know something, it’s not a secret anymore.
“You mean, can we be discreet?” Cole said. “It comes with the job. What we see on the job stays on the job. Unless we have to testify in court.”
She knew that might or might not be the full truth. She envisioned the cops sitting around the station, sharing and rehashing what they’d seen, not really thinking they were speaking out of turn. They were cops, all facing the same job stresses. They’d talk. It was human nature.
“What about when you’re doing your unwinding thing at The Wagon Wheel,” she asked. “You don’t talk shop?”
“Never with names if there are civilians around. Why do you ask?”
Before she got deeper into the discussion, Dr. Shannon approached. “Miss Tate. Come on back.”
Cole shot her a questioning glance.
She tilted her head toward the door, and he followed her and Dr. Shannon to the room where Bailey lay in a kennel—more like a cage, she thought—with a bright blue gauze bandage holding an IV in place, and two more bandages covering his injuries. Two other dogs occupied similar kennels, one making a quiet mfff sound when Morgan approached.
Mozart’s “Magic Flute” played softly in the background. Much nicer than Cole’s preferences—and better for the dogs, too.
“Hey, Bailey.” Morgan crouched beside the cage. “How’s my big, brave dog today? When you’re feeling better, I have a whole bunch of surprises for you.” She poked a finger through the grate and scratched him behind the ears.
Bailey’s ears perked up and his tail thumped. He remembered her. Morgan was sure of it.
She turned to the doctor. “How soon before I can take him home?”
“We’ll take it a day at a time. I’d ballpark two days, maybe three. I want to keep an eye on his renal function, and since we’re letting his lacerations heal naturally, I want to watch that, too. His bandages are medicated and infused with honey, and it’s better if we handle it here.”
“Honey?” Morgan asked.
Dr. Shannon smiled. “It’s a great natural antibacterial and anti-inflammatory.”
“How long can I stay?” Morgan asked, looking at Cole. She didn’t think he’d want to spend his whole day off at the clinic.
“Half an hour,” Dr. Shannon said. “You can come back again after two.”
That was all? Two thirty-minute visits? Morgan nodded, hoping her disappointment didn’t show.
“Do you mind waiting?” she asked Cole. “I’ll come back myself this afternoon.”
“Not a problem.” He squatted and rested the back of his hand against the metal bars. Bailey sniffed and gave a feeble doggie kiss. “You’re going to be one spoiled dog, fella.”
He rose and said, “I’ll be in the waiting room while you finish your visit.”
Morgan nodded her understanding.
Dr. Shannon excused herself to see more patients, and told her Derrick, the tech, would be there to answer questions.
Morgan hadn’t noticed the young man in blue scrubs working at the back of the room. He turned at the mention of his name and gave a quick wave. “Bailey’s doing fine. He’s an excellent patient.”
Morgan didn’t leave her place by the dog’s side.
Derrick gave another dog an injection, checked the IVs, and spoke in happy tones as he tended to them.
She hummed along with the music, interspersing the melodies with the same soothing words she’d used yesterday. Bailey’s eyes closed, but he seemed to be smiling. At least that’s what Morgan told herself.
When her cell rang, Derrick shot her a disapproving look. The display announced Mr. Hathaway’s office calling, and Morgan stepped to the far corner of the room. Could he have good news? Had he gotten approval for her to live elsewhere while she fixed the house? He’d said it could take a long time. Had he pushed things through?
“This is Morgan Tate.”
Lois Braithwhite came on the line. Morgan listened as the woman gave her the news.
~~~
COLE LOOKED UP FROM the magazine he was reading when Morgan came into the waiting room. Had it been half an hour already? The article about personality traits of different breeds of dogs hadn’t been that interesting.
“Bailey’s asleep,” Morgan said. “The tech said he’d be out for longer than my thirty-minute allotted visiting time, so we can go.”
There was more, and it probably had nothing to do with Bailey. Cole set the magazine aside and stood. “On with New Life on Elm Street?”
She adjusted her purse on her shoulder, and he followed her to the door.
“The lawyer’s office called,” she said once they were underway.
“Good news?” he asked.
“I got a budget for the repairs and renovations, which should help. How far can I get on thirty-five-thousand dollars? Are we talking paint and basic repairs, or can I turn it into a comfortable home?”
Cole hadn’t priced materials, much less labor, in a long time, but he wouldn’t be the bearer of bad news. Then again, if Morgan had money of her own, she could supplement the budget. “We can go over my list and you can prioritize everything. Since you have a dollar figure to work with, a good contractor will be willing to work with you.”
“Would the firefighter group be the way to go? Would I get more for my dollars with them?”
If she hired them, and they’d let him fill in, that would mean more opportunities to see her. That wasn’t a fair reason to push for her to use them. It had to be her decision, based on facts and practicality, not based on hormones.
“Why don’t you make an appointment, show them the place? I’ll be happy to sit in and make sure they treat you fairly,” Cole said.
She nodded. Cole couldn’t read her expression, but it seemed as though she had to give serious thought whenever he offered to help.
After a moment, she said, “I’ll check with my neighbor for contact information and let you know.”
At least she hadn’t removed him from the equation. “Sounds good.”
“Can you drop me off at the inn? That way I’ll have my own car, and you won’t have to taxi me back and forth. Or, we could go over your information at the inn and save you a trip to the house.”
His hormones overpowered his attempts to downplay his involvement. “It would be better if we could walk through the house so I can show you what I’m talking about.”
“Makes sense.”
He pulled into the Castle’s lot.
“I’ll meet you at the house.” Morgan got out of his car and hurried to hers.
He waited for her to pull onto the road, then followed her to Elm Street. A dusty white panel van sat near the porch. Morgan pulled in behind it and ran toward a beefed-up, dark-haired man, dressed in coveralls, swaggering from the porch toward the van.
Cole left his car on the street and jogged over to join her. From the way Morgan had rushed over, it was someone she expected, but most legitimate companies drove vehicles with company identification. He felt for his gun, tucked into its holster at the small of his back.
“You’re early,” Morgan said to the man. “I’m glad I caught you.”
Cole looked more closely. The guy’s coveralls had the name Rich embroidered in red above the breast pocket. The pocket itself had a patch saying Rich House Cleaning. No law saying he had to have a logo on his vehicle. He looked young. Early to mid-twenties. Didn’t seem old enough to have his own company.
“You asked this guy to come?” he asked Morgan.
“Yes. He was supposed to come after lunch. By the time I’d buy everything I’d need to give the house a decent cleaning, not to mention do all the work, it would be cheaper and faster to hire out.”
“Had a cancellation, and took a chance on coming by early, getting a head start,” Rich—if that was his name—said.
“We have things to deal with in the house,” Cole said. “Hope you can work around us for a while.”
“Not an issue.” Rich walked to the back of the van, Cole at his heels, and opened the doors.
Cole wrapped his hand around the grip of his gun as he peered inside. Cleaning supplies. Buckets, stepladder, mops, vacuum cleaner. Cole relaxed his hand.
While Rich unloaded his supplies, Cole went to his car for his measurements and drawings. Morgan had opened the front door and stood on the porch. He joined her.
“You didn’t tell me you’d called a cleaning service,” he said.
Her brows lifted. “I didn’t know I was supposed to. Like I said, it seemed sensible to hire out.”
“Which is fine,” he said. “But you didn’t ask him for ID. His van wasn’t marked, and he didn’t show up at the agreed upon time.”
Her lips flattened. “His coveralls matched the company name. Maybe he’s just starting out, hasn’t been able to afford to customize his van. Maybe the company van is in the shop and he’s using a loaner. There are a dozen more reasons I could think of.”
“It’s easy enough to get coveralls personalized,” he said. “Did you check his website? See if his picture was on it? Is he insured?”
She yanked on a curl. “Anyone can put up a website. Besides, what’s he going to steal in here? A couple of secondhand lamps?”
Cole lifted his palms in surrender. “I’m too used to seeing the wrong side of everything. Next time, ask for ID and proof the company is licensed and insured, okay?”
Glowering, she stepped aside.
Cole turned. Rich carried a large industrial vacuum cleaner up the porch steps. Cole moved to let him pass.
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll take a quick look, lay out my battle plan,” Rich said, straightening so his two-inch advantage over Cole was obvious.
Cole ignored the posturing. Detweiler towered half a foot above Cole, and he’d adjusted to interacting on an even plane despite height differences.
And, Cole admitted, he had been playing the alpha dog card. Byproduct of his job.
Be honest. You were protecting Morgan, whether she needed—or wanted—to be protected.