Chapter 10

There was a note on the kitchen table when I got home.

Thank you for letting me do this. I started putting Robert’s journals in date order. Left everything on the dining room table. I think we need to go through this all together, though. Let me know when you’re free. Mac.

He’d brought in the remainder of the boxes and containers we’d unloaded in the garage and had started going through them. Sticky notes with the contents of each box were adhered to the tops. Everything was orderly and neat.

I thought about the shaggy hair many weeks beyond a trim, the battered sneakers with the tattered laces that had seen better days, even the pullover with the moth holes. Frayne took care with the things he thought were important, like these artifacts, but neglected himself. Why that facet of his personality was endearing, I couldn’t fathom, but it was. He reminded me of a wounded little boy who needed looking after, warm hugs, and lots of attention.

In my home office, I booted up my laptop and finally typed in a search of his name. Dozens of articles were listed, most centering on his writing work. I hadn’t known in addition to the biography of Emily Dickinson, he’d also penned three bios on eighteenth- and nineteenth-century American writers and poets plus one president. I narrowed my field of inquiry down to the deaths of his wife and daughter and started reading.

An hour later, I forced myself to stop.

I was no longer surprised about the loathing he exhibited for the judicial system. If what I’d read had happened to me, I would have been a nonbeliever in justice as well.

In my bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and then slipped back into my coat. Ten minutes later, I was at Inn Heaven. My youngest sister was in her kitchen putting the final touches on an elaborate wedding cake for the weekend wedding Colleen was in charge of and at which I was officiating.

“Hey. This is a surprise,” Maureen said when I kissed her cheek. “How are you doing? Have you eaten yet?”

“I’m good. Listen,” I said. “Is Frayne in?”

“Yeah. He was in the gym for a while. Sarah said she saw him go back up to his room a few minutes ago. Why?”

“I need to talk to him about something. What room is he in?”

“Blue-one.”

“Thanks. That, by the way”—I pointed to the four-tiered cake as I left the kitchen—“looks fabulous.”

I sprinted up the main staircase, which was reminiscent of Scarlet and Rhett’s red-carpeted one in the movie version of Gone with the Wind. Nanny referred to the color as harlot scarlet, and she wasn’t wrong.

I knocked on Frayne’s door, running over in my head what I wanted to say, and then lost the capacity to think at all when the door opened.

All thoughts of him resembling an emotionally damaged little boy dashed out the window when he stood before me with a towel secured around his trim waist, another in his hand, mopping the water drenching his hair and sluicing down his body.

And, Holy Mother of God, what a body.

Broad and thick shoulders connected to arms with biceps as wide as my thighs. His chest was a solid mass of muscle, scattered with thick, damp, curly black hair dropping all the way down to below his belly button and disappearing under the towel. Where in all creation had he gotten those abs? Perfect grooved trenches lined both sides of his torso and waist, and for a moment I had the ridiculous notion they were fake.

But they weren’t.

Who knew those baggy, worn pullovers and tattered jeans covered a body carved from marble and perfect in every way? The idea blew through my mind that this was how Lois felt the first time she got a gander at what was under Clark’s suits.

“Cathy?”

I had to drag my eyes back up to his face.

A look of befuddlement crossed his features as he rubbed the extra towel over his hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” Words wouldn’t form. By an unseen force, my gaze was dragged back down to his mind-boggling chest.

Frayne repeated my name.

“I wanted…”

His eyes widened, and he dropped his chin as he regarded me. “Yes?”

“Um.”

Okay, this had to stop. I was a lawyer, for pity’s sake. I made my living with my ability to form complete and convincing sentences.

I cleared my throat and then my mind. “I wanted to take you to dinner. I-I never got the chance to thank you for being so kind the other day. And you didn’t stay afterward, so I want to buy you a meal. Dinner. To thank you.”

Good gravy. One minute I couldn’t string words into a coherent sentence, and now I was talking like my mouth was having difficulty keeping up with my brain.

He slung the extra towel across his shoulders and neck and casually grabbed onto the ends. “You don’t have to. It’s not necessary.”

“No, it’s not,” I countered. “But I’d like to.”

A silent debate played over his face. His teeth clamped down on a corner of his mouth, and he’d cocked his head like he was going to ask me a question. Before he could refuse me again, because it sure looked like he was going to, I added, “Please.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and after a moment, he nodded. “Okay. Give me a few minutes to get dressed. I just got out of the shower.”

Yeah, that was obvious.

I told him I’d meet him downstairs whenever he was ready.

When the door closed behind him, I fanned myself to cool the raging heat of the desert storm cycloning through my system.

Mac Frayne might look like an absent-minded, desk-bound writer, but those shabby clothes hid the truth: the man possessed the hard, sculpted body of a god.

Who knew?

“Back already?” Maureen asked when I came into the kitchen again.

“I’m waiting for Frayne.”

She piped a row of creamy white seashell scallops along the bottom tier of the cake.

“You do that so fast,” I said.

Her shrug was careless. “Practice.”

I sat at the kitchen table and watched her work.

“Nanny called me a little while ago,” she said when she switched decorating tips. “Her scone supply has dwindled. Can you drop off a box from me? I’m swamped from now until Sunday with Colleen’s wedding party, plus my regular guests.”

“Do you have them ready? I’ll drop them off tonight before I head home.”

She pointed with her chin to a large bakery box sitting atop the counter. When I lifted the top, the delicious aroma of a dozen scones of varying flavors hit me and made my empty stomach growl with need.

“I heard that,” Maureen said, never lifting her head from her work. “I thought you ate.”

“I’m planning to in a few minutes. I’m taking Frayne with me.”

For the first time, she stopped working on the cake. Turning, the piping bag suspended in her hands, my youngest sister’s eyes widened as she stared across at me.

“What?”

“Since when do you take a man out to dinner?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like that. He helped me a great deal with George. I simply want to thank him, and since he’s here all alone and you don’t cook dinner for your guests as a rule, I figured buying him a meal would be a nice gesture.”

She didn’t reply.

“Why are you looking at me like I have three heads?”

“A nice gesture?”

“Yeah. A way of saying thanks for the help.”

“Hmmm.”

Remember I said my little sister was the one who routinely kept her thoughts and emotions close? Who never let anyone see what she was thinking or going through? Well, right now, standing in her kitchen with a pastry bag gripped in her hand, the look on her face was as clear and transparent as fresh seawater pooling around a Caribbean island.

“Stop,” I commanded. “Just…stop.”

With a tiny tilt of her head, she asked, “Stop what?”

“The whole plot scenario I know is raging through your brain right now.”

One corner of her mouth tipped upward, and a tiny, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

“This is a simple thank you-for-helping-me-through-something-horrible meal. That’s all.”

“So the fact you’ve never invited a man out to dinner before—let me finish.” She aimed the pastry bag at me—tip first—when I opened my mouth to argue.

I clamped it shut.

“Or shown any interest, professional or personal, in any guy other than your husband, whom you’d known since the dawn of time, and I’m not supposed to think you’re feeling a little something other than gratitude for him? Especially a guy who looks like he does?”

“What do you mean, looks like he does?”

She waved the pastry bag in the air. “All haunted and Byronesque and…buff.”

“How do you know he’s buff?”

“Duh. He uses my gym every day. Pounds miles on the treadmill and lifts weights like nobody’s business. I’ve seen him in nothing but running shorts.” She fanned herself with her free hand and smiled. “Toned abs, hard thighs, and a tight ass. The very definition of buff.”

“Who’s buff?”

The smile on my sister’s face disappeared at the sound of Lucas Alexander’s voice as he walked into the kitchen.

“Why are you here?” she asked him over her shoulder.

“I was driving by and saw Cathy’s car.” He turned his attention to me. “Saved me a call. A buddy of mine up at the prison notified me that Cameron Compton was shanked in the dining hall this afternoon. It hasn’t been made public yet. Injuries are life threatening. He’s not expected to live through the night.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus. Seldrine—”

“I was on my way over to Angelica Arms to notify her, and when I saw your car, I figured you might want to come with me, maybe ease the blow a bit.”

“Yes, definitely.” I stood and grabbed my bag at the same moment Frayne walked into the kitchen.

He was dressed now, the ends of his hair still a bit damp. His tattered bomber jacket covered another pullover, and he’d forgone his jeans for a pair of black trousers fitting what Mo had described as hard thighs well. His glasses were tucked in the V of the pullover. “Cathy? Is everything okay?”

I quickly explained about Cameron.

“We don’t have to go,” he said.

“Yes, we do, ” I said. A quick look at Lucas, then my sister, and I added, “One stop at the nursing home for the notification. You can visit with Nanny while Lucas and I deal with this. I’m sure she’d love the company.”

“Especially if it’s male company,” Maureen told him with a smile. “Bring her these.” She handed him the bakery box. “She’ll be your best friend for life.”

With bemusement crossing his face, he accepted it.

“You can ride with me,” I told him. “Lucas, we’ll follow you.”

“Here.” Maureen handed Lucas a paper bag she’d pulled from the refrigerator. “I’m assuming you haven’t had dinner yet. This is some leftover soup from lunch, and herb bread for you and your dad.”

“You make the bread?” he asked.

She answered him by merely lifting an eyebrow.

I kissed her cheek. “Bye.”

“Hey,” she whispered before I could pull away. “A little buffness in your life wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’m pretending I didn’t hear that,” I whispered back. “Love you,” I said in a normal voice.

“Love you more.”

In the car, I jacked the heat up to high while I pulled out behind Lucas’s truck. “I’m sorry we have to make this stop.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Still.”

“What’s in here? The aroma is making my mouth water,” he said, holding up the box.

“A supply of Maureen’s breakfast scones. Nanny is addicted to them. As are her nursing home cohorts. Maureen bakes her a bunch once a week to share with her cronies.”

“I thought that’s what it was. I think I’m getting addicted to them, too. I’ve been eating more than I should every morning. Way more.”

“Good thing you’ve got Maureen’s gym to work off all those carbs.”

The minute the words came out of my mouth I wanted nothing more than to pull them back in. Just mentioning the gym had me thinking about Mo’s description of him in running shorts—toned abs, hard thighs, and a tight ass. I’d seen the proof of his abdominal muscles for myself. The thought of what it would feel like to be squeezed between those thighs made me press my own together to stop me from squirming in my seat. It did nothing to counteract my desire.

“She’s got a great facility,” he said. “I usually run outside, but with all the snow here and the frigid temps, I’d rather not.”

I said a silent prayer of thanks he hadn’t known what I’d been thinking.

Lucas turned into the nursing home entrance, parked his car directly outside, and I pulled up behind him. I figured I wouldn’t be ticketed because I was with him, and since he was the one who would ticket me—well, I wasn’t worried.

The three of us went straight to the dining hall, where I knew dinner was being served.

“It’s never good news when people show up at suppertime,” Nanny announced when she spotted us, “especially when one of them’s a law man. Number One, what in blazes are ya doing here?”

Lucas answered for me.

“Seldrine’s tidyin’ up me room,” Nanny told us, eyeing the box in Frayne’s hand.

I tilted my head to him, and he got the hint. We left him with Nanny and her friends while we went in search of Seldrine.

“I have to admit,” Lucas said as we walked up the stairs to the second story, “I won’t shed a tear if Cam dies.”

“I don’t think his wife will either.”

Twenty minutes later, after leaving a shocked Seldrine with Lucas, I made my way back down to the dining hall. Nanny and Frayne were nowhere to be found.

“That lovely man took Fiona to the solarium,” one of the residents told me.

I found them huddled together on a sofa in the sunroom. They were both laughing, and Nanny had a hand flirtatiously placed over Frayne’s forearm. His laughter, rich, deep, and husky, was a sound I could have listened to all day long. Hell, all year long. A tingling sensation tripped up my spine when his eyes narrowed, practically disappearing from his face as he smiled. He threw back his head and howled at whatever my grandmother was saying.

It was delightful to see him relaxed and happy, and I have to admit, my heart stuttered a bit when he brought Nanny’s gnarled hand to his lips and pressed a sweet kiss against her knuckles.

“Number One, all done, are ya?” Nanny asked.

I came into the room, a grin tugging on my lips. “Nanny, what tall tales have you been telling Mr. Frayne? I could hear the both of you laughing from the hallway.”

“Ah, lass, nothing bad, to be sure. Merely sharin’ a few simple stories about me time touring.”

“Oh, good Lord.” I knew exactly what she’d told him. Nanny’s days as a concert pianist were legendary in our family. Legendary and naughty. She’d had affairs with at least two dukes, one baron, and a smattering of lesser-titled men throughout the royal houses of Europe before coming back to Heaven and marrying her second husband. And then her third. And fourth, who was, thankfully, the last.

“Your grandmother has led an extraordinary life,” Frayne said, the light in his eyes bright and clear. “Tales of her touring life would make for a terrific book.”

“Salacious, more than anything,” I said.

“Don’t be gettin’ any notions to write about me escapades, young man.” She swatted his arm with a grandmotherly thwack. “If I ever decide to write about me life, I’ll be doing the tellin’, not someone else.”

“I’d be thrilled and honored to be your scribe,” Frayne said. “Anytime. Simply say the word.”

“Ah, go on with ya.” She swatted his arm again. “I expect the two of ya will be off to dinner now. Seldrine okay?” she asked me.

“She’s fine. Lucas is with her, taking her through everything she needs to be prepared for.”

“She’s a strong lass. Well…” She sighed deep and, because this was Nanny, theatrically. “Off with ya both now. Go enjoy a good meal and you”—she pointed at Frayne—“don’t be forgetting I want a full report on Robert when you’re all done with your research.”

“That’s a promise,” he told her.

“Good. Now, give us a kiss and run along.”

I wasn’t surprised when Frayne bent and bussed her cheek.

“And you,” she said when I bent to do the same. “I want to hear all about this event Olivia told me you’re signed up for. I want all the deets, as the kids say.”

I nodded, my cheeks scorching.

“Your grandmother is a remarkable woman,” Frayne said once we were back in my car.

“That’s one word for her,” I said, slanting him a side eye. The grin on his face was equal parts heart stopping, sexy, and adorable. “Pathetic.” I shook my head.

“What is?”

“You and your whole gender.”

He turned in his seat to look at me. “What have I and my entire gender done to be labeled pathetic?”

I cocked my head his way, then turned my attention back to the road. “A little wink, a few arm taps, and a girlish giggle and you fall like a ton of bricks.”

“What?”

The sigh I exhaled was almost Nanny-worthy in its theatricality. “You have a crush on my ninety-three-year-old grandmother.”

Complete bafflement filled his face. A half second later, his eyes widened, and he tossed out another of those deep, throaty laughs. The lower half of my body turned molten-lava hot.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” I turned the car onto Glory Road and spotted a parking spot on the street right outside the place where I wanted to eat. This was another one of those reasons I loved living in a small town: you never had to search for parking.

“You’re not. God. You’re not.” His head shook back and forth while his smile turned into a wicked grin.

I put the car in park and got out. Over the hood, I said, “See? Pathetic. Every man I’ve ever known falls for her the moment she shines those twinkling blue eyes at him. I swear she casts a spell with a glance.” I shook my head. “I hope you like pizza because I’ve been craving it for days.”

I walked toward the front door of Paradise Pizza, but Frayne stopped me in my tracks. With his hand circling my arm, he turned me around to face him. Gone was the playful expression, the laugh a mere memory. “Cathy.”

Talk about casting a spell. I’d never really liked my name, thinking my parents had chosen one plain and common and not exotic or fancy because they wanted it to be easy to remember. It was way better than being called Number One any day of the week, though.

But still.

“Y-yes?”

He moved in closer, his hand still gripping my arm. Through my coat, and even the suit jacket underneath it, the heat from his hand singed my flesh. The back of my throat suddenly clogged and my tongue turned the consistency of sandpaper when I rubbed it against the roof of my mouth.

“What…what were you going to say?”

His pale eyes did that little tilting thing down to my lips again before coming back up to settle on my own. The hint of a grin kicked up one side of his gorgeous mouth. “I love…pizza.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, good.” I reached to push the door open, but he beat me to it. “Then you’re gonna love this place. Best pizza in the state.”

The pungent aromas of fresh garlic, basil, oregano, and a dozen other mouthwatering spices filled our senses when we walked into the establishment.

“Hey, Counselor,” Sal, the owner of Paradise Pizza called out from behind the counter. “How you doin’?”

“Good, Sal.”

“Grab a seat. Gina’ll be right with ya.”

We shucked off our outerwear and slid into a booth, facing one another as we had at the diner.

Frayne opened the menu on the table and slid his glasses on.

Was there ever going to be a time I didn’t get a little hot and bothered when he wore them?

“Anything you order is going to be delicious. Don’t feel you need to get pizza simply because I am.”

He peered at me over the top of the menu. His eyes were huge from the magnification.

My toes started to tingle.

“I told you I love pizza. Why don’t we split one? As long as you don’t like crazy toppings.”

“What do you consider crazy?”

His tugged the glasses down a bit so he didn’t have to look at me through the lenses.

I had to press my knees together to keep my feet from tapping up and down.

“Vegetables,” he said. “Vegetables on pizza are crazy. And just plain wrong.”

“Agreed.”

“Meat is good,” he said, considering. “Pepperoni or ham. Sausage. Extra cheese is even better.”

“But no vegetables.”

That corner of his mouth ticked upward again. “No vegetables.”

“Got something against them in general, or just not feeling them as a pizza topping?”

“In general.”

I couldn’t stop the smile from blooming across my face. “Good to know I’m not the only adult who doesn’t like them. Despite the persistent efforts of my mother and grandmother when I was kid, I’m still not a fan.”

“Hey, Counselor. Good to see you.” Gina, Sal’s wife, set two tall glasses of water down in front us, along with cutlery. She pulled her order pad from her apron pocket and asked, “Know what you want? Sal’s got his veal parmigiana on special tonight.”

“As mouthwatering as I know that is,” I told her, “I think we’re going to split a pie.” I looked across the table at Frayne. “Extra cheese over meatballs sound okay?”

He nodded.

“You want salads or something other than water to drink?”

“No on the salad, and I’ll take a large ginger ale.”

“What about you, hon?” she asked Frayne. “You want a beer? A glass o’ wine maybe?”

The tops of his cheeks turned pink, probably because she’d called him hon. Aww. Really, this guy was a walking advertisement for endearing and sexy. If he’d been a dog, he’d be a sexydoodle.

I mentally blanched. Okay, I really needed some food in my system if I was starting to concoct new dog breeds.

“Water’s fine, thanks,” he told her.

“Okay. Be about ten, twelve minutes.”

When she left us, Frayne tucked his glasses back into the collar of his sweater.

“Can I—”

“Listen, Cathy—”

We both stopped.

“Sorry,” Frayne said. “You first.”

In the car, I’d debated how I could ask him what I wanted to know without making him defensive or angry. What I’d discovered about his family was horrible and went a long way in explaining why he wore his emotional pain like a full body jacket. The few minutes he’d spent with Nanny had erased those mournful shadows, and I was reluctant to ask something that could bring them back. In a perfect world, he would be the one to open up and tell me about their deaths without prompting. The likelihood of it happening, though, was dim.

I tried a different tack. “I want to thank you for allowing me to buy you dinner. I felt bad you didn’t stay the other night after…well, after everything with George.”

He folded his hands together and leaned his elbows on the table. “I didn’t stay because I thought it would be better if you were with your family. I didn’t feel right about horning in.”

“You wouldn’t have. Goodness, you helped me through one of the worst days of my life. George was the child I’ve never had, and even though I knew I was going to lose him, I still wasn’t prepared.”

Frayne gazed dropped down to his hands. “I don’t think we’re ever prepared to lose the ones we love.”

As an opening toward asking him about his family, this was a pretty good one. Still, I didn’t know how’d he react if I pressed.

The decision was torn from me when he added, “I know I wasn’t.”

Lawyers employed many varied skills when eliciting information from witnesses, clients, whomever. One of those skills was the open-ended response. “Oh?”

He lifted his gaze back to me and cocked his head. The shadows were back. “I…lost…my wife and daughter a few years ago.”

I reached across the table and placed my hands over his folded ones. “I know it sounds trite to say it and offers no comfort at all, but I truly am sorry.”

“Thank you. ”

Gina returned then with our drinks and a plate of cheese sticks.

“Sal says these are on the house, Cath. He appreciates everything you’ve done for Seldrine, says he’s happy she’s got you in her corner for the legal stuff.”

Frayne pulled his hands back and rested them under the table in his lap at her words.

“Thanks, Gina. Tell him I’ve got his niece’s back.”

“He knows that. Hell, everyone in this town knows that. You’re the best lawyer we know, better than your old man even, which is saying a whole lot.”

Frayne’s breath hitched as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Gina squeezed my shoulder and left to check on her other customers.

When I turned my attention back to him, those painful shadows were gone and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

Nanny’s voice filled my head with gird your loins, lass. I took a mental breath before I said, “Can I ask you a question?”

His nod was curt.

“The reason you dislike lawyers and the legal system is because of what happened to your family, isn’t it?” I held my breath as I waited for his answer.

“You know what happened?”

“Yes.” Before he could ask me how, I offered the truth. “I did a Google search.”

“On me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

It took everything in me not to confess the agony in his eyes touched my heart and I wanted to eradicate the pain. “It’s been my experience when someone has such an intense response to something, there’s usually a real, legitimate, and unsettling reason for it.”

He stayed silent.

“You were denied justice for what happened to your family. In your shoes, I’d feel the same way.”

“I find that hard to believe since you work for the judicial system. Justice means nothing to lawyers. It’s all about winning at any cost. No matter who gets hurt or left in the wake.”

The lawyer in me wanted to set him straight. The woman in me, though, could appreciate his anger. “While I understand why you feel the way you do—because believe me, I’ve heard stories about lawyers who take advantage of loopholes in the law to benefit themselves and their clients—I can only defend myself. I work for my clients, yes, to guide them through government red tape, even defend them when I need to. But I value the letter of the law above all else, and I believe with all my heart and soul in the legal system.”

His hot gaze raked across my face.

“It’s not a perfect system,” I said. “Not by any standards. And, yes, mistakes get made every day. Mistakes, like the one in your wife and daughter’s case, which have far reaching and injurious consequences.”

“And yet you still work for the system.”

I shook my head. “I work for my clients and their rights.”

“What about my wife’s rights? My daughter’s?” His voice hadn’t risen, but the controlled fury spitting through his lips made it seem as if he’d bellowed in an empty room. “Their rights to be protected against the person who killed them? Their right for justice? What about that?”

“I agree, they were denied those rights—”

“You can agree all you want; it doesn’t change anything. My wife and daughter are six feet under, and the teenager who killed them because she thought texting her friends while driving was more important than keeping an eye on the road is out free and clear. And alive. She has her family intact. I’ve got nothing.” The fury in his voice finally vaulted, and he must have realized it, because, abruptly, he stopped.

He lifted the water glass in front of him, his hand shaking, and chugged half of it down in one draft. I wanted to reach across and cover his hands again, but they’d drifted back to his lap after he put the glass down on the table.

The justice system had failed Frayne, and nothing I could do or say would change that, make him feel better, or despise the system less.

“Again, telling you I’m sorry does nothing to eradicate your pain or change the outcome of what happened. Nothing will ever bring back your family, and nothing I say will ever make the loss less devastating.” I stopped and considered how to erase the fury in his eyes.

His gaze connected with mine again. All the fight suddenly went out of him. His shoulders relaxed, his back slumped a bit, and a huge sigh blew from deep within him. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly.

“For what?”

“Getting angry.”

“You have a right to your anger,” I told him. “Every right.”

He leaned his elbows on the table and folded his hands together again, while he stared down at them. “I shouldn’t displace it on you, though. Or anyone else not directly related to what happened. It’s that girl’s fault and her lawyer’s. Maybe even the judge who presided over the case. No one else’s.”

“Again, you have every right to feel the way you do. I know what it means to be filled, even consumed, with rage after someone you love is taken from you during a senseless act.”

He lifted his gaze to mine, a question burning in his eyes.

“My husband, Danny, was a career soldier. He was killed while on a tour of duty a little over three years ago.” I shook my head. “Almost twenty years without a mishap and then one day he couldn’t outrun a sniper’s bullet.”

The line popped up between his brows again. “That’s…horrible.”

I nodded. “At the time, I was filled with immeasurable rage. But I couldn’t give in to it. I had to get his mother through her own grief and fury, had to bury Danny, and then deal with all the stuff that came afterward.”

The line thickened, and he cocked his head in his familiar way. “Your sisters said you’re the one who takes care of everyone in a crisis.”

I nodded again.

“Why?”

A good question and one I’d debated with myself for most of my life. “The easiest answer is I’m the oldest and have always been what my parents termed the ‘responsible one.’ ”

“That doesn’t seem…fair.”

“Fair?” I shrugged. “Maybe not. As the oldest, I assumed responsibility more times than not, as a kid. It stuck through to adulthood.”

“Why?”

I was charmed when the tips of his ears went florid.

“I ask because family dynamics are intriguing and alien to me. As an only child, I don’t have any kind of firsthand knowledge about”—he flipped his hand in the air—“sibling pecking order and such.”

It was another good question and the answer one I’d never discussed with anyone. Why I was compelled to with him, though, seemed right.

After a moment to collect my thoughts, I leaned back in the booth and stretched my hands out on either side of my plate. “When the twins were four, my mother decided to go back to work a few days a week. Nanny was touring again, and my parents figured it would be fine if I was left in charge of watching my sisters for an hour or two after school. Mom didn’t need to work. My father made more than an adequate income but”—I shrugged—“I guess she needed some time away from kids, crying, and sister drama. Be with adults, you know?”

He nodded.

“Anyway. I hated being in charge of them. Colleen was okay because she was only a few years younger than I was and she never caused any trouble, but the twins were rambunctious. And wicked spoiled. They never listened to anything I told them, and I finally started ignoring them, left them to watch television or play by themselves. One afternoon, I was doing homework when I should have been minding them. They were screaming they wanted to go to the park, but I was tired and I had a test to study for, so I banished them to their room and forgot about them. Eileen, somehow, managed to get outside. She was always a little Houdini when it came to crawling out of her crib or high chair, but I never for a moment thought she’d be able to unlock the door and leave the house.”

The terror I remembered feeling when Colleen ran into my bedroom to tell me Eileen was missing wormed its way up from my memory and made my body start to shiver.

“Good Lord. What happened? Did she get far, or get hurt?”

I shook my head. “Luckily, a neighbor boy out walking his dog spotted her, right as Colleen and I sprinted down the road to search for her. The minute I saw her, I started screaming, which made her cry. Even Colleen was bawling. Maureen, who Colleen was holding, started up then. Mitchel Kineer, the poor kid who found her, was so uncomfortable with all of us standing in the road sobbing our eyes out, he beat a hasty retreat. When we got back to the house, I sat them down in the living room and read them the riot act. In truth, I think I was more frightened than they were. Colleen recovered quickly since she wasn’t in trouble and told me I was lucky Eileen hadn’t been hit by a car, or worse, and that our parents were going to be angry when they came home and found out what happened.”

“As a parent, I can understand that feeling.”

“It was the ‘or worse’ that got to me. My baby sister could have been taken by some psycho, or even wandered off into the woods and been lost forever. She was only four. She had no survival skills, no sense of right or wrong. Right then and there, I vowed never to complain about being left in charge or being the responsible one again.”

“You were a kid, Cathy.”

Was I ever just a kid?

“When my parents came home, I confessed what happened. Of course, Colleen added her own sense of drama to the situation. If I wasn’t distraught enough about the whole incident to begin with, the looks of disappointment my parents gave me solidified the fact I was a horrible and irresponsible child. My mother quit her job soon after that. Like I said, she didn’t need to work. It took a long time before they trusted me again.”

I didn’t add I’d gone out of my way for years to prove I was a good, trustworthy, worthwhile daughter. I did chores before I was ever asked to, got straight A’s in school, helped my sisters in whatever way they asked or needed, all without being told or asked to by my parents.

“Didn’t you ever feel…I don’t know? Resentful, maybe?”

I was sure he wasn’t only talking about my status as the oldest sister. “Honestly, no.”

His brows were almost touching now, the skin around his eyes tight. “You’re a much better person than I am.”

“Better? I don’t think so,” I said. A smile bloomed quickly before I told him, “Nanny claims it’s because I’m a control freak like my father. Falling apples and trees, you know?”

My heart did a little stutter dance when the corners of his lips twitched.

“The same has been claimed about me a time or two.”

We ate our cheese sticks in silence for a few moments. I’d have given anything to know what he was thinking. The fact I couldn’t read him, read his mood and his thoughts, was frustrating. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was also wildly appealing.

“How did you get through it all?” he asked. “How did you get past it? The anger? The all-consuming fury after your husband was killed?”

“Day by day. I know it sounds clichéd, but it was really the only way I could. When it looked as if everything was going to settle down and I could give myself permission to vent my anger, Eileen got sick.”

“Cancer.”

“Yes. Before I knew it, we were all wrapped up in her care. Taking her to chemo treatments, staying with her when she was ill so Maureen could run the inn. Then at the end, sitting vigil. The year after Danny’s death flew by, and by the time I could actually let myself feel anything again, I realized I couldn’t change what had happened. Danny was dead. I was a widow, and nothing was going to alter that reality. Acknowledging it, knowing it, I finally laid it all to rest.”

“I wish I could do that. There are times I can forget what happened.” He blew out a breath thick with pain. “I’ll get involved in a project or with writing, or even go for a long run and not think about it at all. But the anger is always there, waiting to creep back in.”

“Have you talked to anyone about it? Anyone who can help you through it?”

“Like a therapist?”

I shrugged. “Or a friend? Family? Talking with my sisters and Nanny made everything…easier, somehow, on me.”

He lifted his glass and took another sip of his water. “You’re lucky. My relationship with my family isn’t like yours. My parents are…older. Both of them are in their eighties now, and they have their own problems to deal with. We’re not…close. Never have been.”

That sounded so sad to me.

“After the case was dismissed, I went…well, I went a little off the rails. Started doing things I shouldn’t and lost myself for a year or so.”

I reached across the table again and slid my hand over his. I had a pretty good idea of how he’d gone off the rails after my conversation with Seldrine, but I wasn’t about to reveal that. When my hand came in contact with his, he startled again, glanced down at it, and then back up at me when I gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I started drinking,” he said. “A lot. A whole lot, to be honest. I wanted to forget everything, block it all out, forget it ever happened. Being drunk helped. Stupid, I know.” He shrugged. “I missed a few deadlines for a project I’d been commissioned to do but didn’t care. My agent, Marci, was the one who realized what was going on. She got me checked into rehab, and after a three-month stay, I was better, physically. I still go to AA meetings. They…help. Some.” He took another big breath, and I let go of his hand. “Nothing helps with the pain though.”

“It doesn’t. It’s always there, right under the surface.” I leaned back against the booth back. “I know that’s true for Maureen. While she’d never admit it because she wants everyone to think she’s fine, I know she’s still processing everything. Losing a sister is tough. Losing a twin…well, it has to feel like a part of yourself is gone. They were the best of friends, did everything together, even attended the same college so they wouldn’t be separated.”

Frayne’s eyebrows rose.

“The one area they differed on was cooking. Eileen hated it. To Maureen, cooking is an extension of her heart, you know what I mean?”

He nodded. “I’ve seen it firsthand at the inn. She’s always willing to make anyone something to eat, no matter what time of the day or how busy she is.”

I nodded. “I’ve always thought feeding people is her way of coping with what happened to Eileen. If she feeds us all, we’ll stay healthy. We won’t get sick because we’re well nourished.”

This time, Frayne nodded.

Finally, because my curiosity got the better of me, I said, “I read there was a third person killed in the car.”

He stared across the table at me. A streak of anger slashed in his eyes, hot and swift. Just as quick as it came, his gaze shut down, his expression blanking like a clean slate. When he stayed silent, the notion he’d make a good lawyer blossomed in my mind again. The ability to wait the other person out before giving a knee-jerk response was one most people didn’t possess. Frayne did.

But so did I. He stared at me, and I stared right back, hoping against hope the expression on my face was one of open acceptance.

It must have been, because Frayne’s shoulders relaxed again. “Thomas Roadman. He was a family…friend.”

I thought he might be a little more than that.

“Well, more Cheyanne’s friend than mine. He and I had a professional relationship since he was my editor.”

“Were they…close?”

A harsh cry shot from between his lips as he threaded his hands through his hair. “If that’s a polite way of asking if they were lovers, the answer is yes.”

Saying I was sorry sounded ridiculous. Once again I kept my mouth shut.

“Apparently, they had been for some time,” he continued. “I found out the night of the crash when I got to the emergency room. His wife told me. They’d been separated for a few months, and Tracy explained Cheyanne was the cause.”

I shook my head.

“I was clueless. Had no idea at all. There was a bit of a rough patch after our daughter was born. Cheyanne was resentful because she didn’t want to put her career on the back burner, but I thought we’d worked through it.” He dragged in a deep, heavy breath. “Obviously, I was wrong.”

He lifted his gaze back to mine. The hollows and shadows were back, full force. “I’m not like you,” he said. “I can’t let the anger go completely. I’m mad at Cheyanne, at Tom, at the teenager who was driving. I’m angry at the entire judicial system. There are still days I can’t contain it, and all I want to do is have a drink and forget everything that’s happened.”

“Do you?” I asked, even though I pretty sure I knew the answer.

“No. No, I do what was suggested at rehab and find a meeting. That…helps get past the anger for a time.”

“That’s a good thing.”

He dragged in a big breath, and when his gaze settled on me again, some of the shadows had lifted. “That girl who works at the nursing home with your grandmother? The one you represent? Seldrine?”

“What about her?”

“I spotted you dropping her off at the church a few mornings ago. I’ve…we’ve both been attending the same meetings. She recognized me the other night when we were with your grandmother but pretended she didn’t. Anonymity, and all.”

I stayed silent.

He continued to stare at me, his head tilted. Finally, he shook it, a ghost of a grin pulling at his lips. “I get the feeling you’re an exceptional lawyer.”

Surprise warred with elation. I wasn’t exactly sure it was a compliment, though. “Why?”

“Aside from the fact you have a great poker face?”

Still not sure I was being complimented here, but…

“Without divulging too much of what’s been said, your client thinks the world of you. She’s lucky to have you in her corner.”

It broke my heart he had no one in his.

“I’ve said some horrible things to you about lawyers. Hearing how you’ve helped her has made me rethink a few things, so I want to apologize again for what I’ve said. I know you’re not anything like the lawyers I’ve had to deal with.”

Elation turned to a warm, all-consuming joy at his words. “For the record, most lawyers are more like me than not.”

He took another breath and nodded.

For a few moments, we ate in silence.

“Did you ever consider filing a civil suit against the girl?” I asked. “Was the option presented to you by your lawyer?”

His brows pulled together again as he regarded me.

“Justice comes in many forms,” I added. “It would be a way to make the girl—and her family—assume responsibility for what happened. I’ve found when a monetary punishment is sought, if the offending party complies, then some sense of justice is afforded to the complainant.”

“Isn’t that a little like putting a price on the lives of my wife and daughter? Reducing them to dollar signs?”

“No, not the way you’re thinking,” I said quickly, fearful he wasn’t understanding my point. “It’s not the money you’re seeking. It’s righting what you feel is an injustice by making the driver take responsibility for her actions in the eyes of society. Whether it’s one dollar or ten million, she would have to face—legally, ethically, and financially—what she’d done, in a court of law and in the court of public opinion.”

I went on to tell him about a case I’d studied in law school about a father who’d lost his daughter in a car crash where his son-in-law had been driving. The man had fallen asleep at the wheel on the way home from dinner and lost control of the car. A subsequent investigation had proven he’d had a drink at the restaurant. While not legally drunk, his action combined with fatigue had caused him to grow groggy on the drive home. The court had ordered the husband to send the father one penny every day for twenty-five years.

“That’s an unusual…sentence.”

“It was a way to make the husband remember the consequences of his actions every single day for the foreseeable future. His wife’s father wanted him to know, although his behavior hadn’t been deemed criminal, a life had been lost.” I shrugged and added, “It’s something to consider.”

He went silent again. In all truth, I was happy he wasn’t railing at me for suggesting another legal maneuver.

I tried to figure out a way to get him to open up a little more, share more of himself, and decided on a topic that might get him to do so.

“In case you haven’t noticed, my grandmother is a talker,” I said. “She can drone on for hours on end, barely drawing breath, and she’s a big believer in talking about people we’ve lost. Sharing happy memories, she feels, can lessen the pain of their absence by keeping them fresh in our minds. I know she’s right because when my sister died, talking about her helped us all get through the grieving period. So…” I took a breath, reached over for another cheese stick, and said, “Why don’t you tell me about your daughter?”

Surprise drifted across his face. “Mabel?”

I grinned and nodded. “Can I just tell you how much I love that name? It’s so old-fashioned and…girly.”

My smile pulled a small one from him.

“That describes her perfectly.” He mimicked my actions and pulled a cheese stick onto his own plate. “Mabel was an old soul wrapped in a five-year-old’s body. Wise beyond her years. And”—he shifted his gaze to me—“extremely girly.”

His whole expression changed while he talked of his daughter. I got him to tell me of her love of reading, and her desire to be a writer like her father while we finished off the appetizer. The shadows in his eyes flew while he spoke, the hard lines from the corners of his mouth to his jaw softening as he remembered her. He’d loved his daughter deeply.

“Was your wife a writer, too?” I asked as Gina brought our pizza to the table. With a quick nod and a query if she could get us anything else, she left us to eat.

“No.” Frayne shook his head and laid his fork down next his plate. He took a deep breath and said, “Cheyanne was a graphic designer. We actually met when she was in charge of my first book cover.”

“So a writer and an artist. Was Mabel talented as well?”

He nodded. “Our apartment walls are filled with pictures she drew. I can’t—won’t—take them down.”

“That’s just lovely.” My voice went a little wistful. Frayne must have heard the change.

“You and your husband never had any children, did you?”

“Just George. And he was more mine than Danny’s.”

“Did you want kids?”

“Always. We talked about it all the time when we were first married. We’d planned on it as soon as I was all done with school.”

“You said he was career army?”

I nodded.

“But you live here, in your home town. I always thought families of career soldiers lived on a base or in a military community. Am I wrong?”

“No. The answer is simple. I never wanted to leave Heaven. I love it here and couldn’t envision living anywhere else. In my opinion, this is the perfect place to raise a family. Danny accepted that.”

“And yet you never had kids.”

“Unfortunately, we didn’t.”

I didn’t bother revealing the reason we hadn’t. Especially since I hadn’t known the real one until the day Danny walked out for his last tour. Up until then, I’d thought he wanted them as much as I did. I was wrong. More wrong than I’ve ever been before about something.

“If you like pizza, you’re gonna love this,” I said, tugging a slice from the platter and quickly changing the subject. “Sal does something ridiculous to the dough. It makes all the taste buds in your mouth stand up at attention and beg. It’s a top-secret recipe, and no one, not even Nanny, who’s an excellent interrogator, has been able to wrangle it from him. Gina claims even she doesn’t know what he does to it.”

I practically inhaled my first bite, not caring a whit when the roof of my mouth protested against the piping hot sauce. My eyes automatically closed, and all my other senses went dormant, shutting off everything but my taste awareness.

I moaned the moment the sweet sauce and tangy cheese dissolved in my mouth. When Frayne’s quick hiss split the air around me, I figured he’d burned the roof of his mouth as well. When I opened my eyes, the thought proved true. He was burning all right, but he hadn’t taken a bite of the hot pizza.

My brain shut down and left me paralyzed, unable to do anything but stare at him. Those pale eyes were almost obliterated by his dilated pupils and were laser focused on my mouth. One hand rose in slow motion and inched toward my face.

That paralysis? Yeah, it was a real thing. I couldn’t have moved if someone had screamed “Fire!”

He dragged his index finger across my bottom lip in a slow, torpid slide from one corner to the other.

Then he slid it back again.

The burning sensation on the roof of my mouth was nothing compared to the cauldron of heat in his eyes.

His finger was still on my bottom lip and with a tiny bit of pressure he pushed my lips apart. For a hot second, I almost sucked his finger into my mouth to…feast on him.

Good Lord.

Where the thought came from, I don’t have the foggiest, but the only reason I didn’t pull Mac’s finger into my mouth and give in to the erotic fantasy spinning in my mind was because the front door opened, setting the bells above it off, the noise jarring me back to reality.

My immobility flew, and I pulled back until I was plastered against the booth cushion. I shook my head like a dog shucking water from its fur. Frayne’s hand stayed outstretched for a second, then, he too, pulled back and slammed into the seatback. With his eyes scrunching in the corners, he looked first at his index finger and then lifted it for me to see.

“Sorry.” He shook his head as I had. “You had…sauce…on your mouth.”

“You kids doing okay?” Gina’s sudden appearance startled me. “Want anything more to drink? More water? Another soda, Cath?”

I mumbled a yes. Frayne shook his head.

He cleared his throat as if he were going to say something, and my phone pinged at the same time. Olivia Joyner’s name crossed my screen.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to take this.”

While the matchmaker reminded me of tomorrow’s event, I snuck a peek at my dinner companion. He lifted his shoulders and bobbed his head right and left as if working out a kink in his neck.

“You have an appointment tomorrow?” he asked after I ended the call.

I cleared my throat, as he was wont to do, and said a silent prayer my voice would sound controlled and mature. “A morning wedding at the inn and then tomorrow evening I have an…event, I promised I’d go to.”

No way was I sharing what the event was. Forget awkward. I would have felt sixteen levels of mortified saying it aloud.

“Will you have any free time for me to come over and go through some of Robert’s things? There are still three boxes I haven’t gotten to.”

I nodded. “The wedding starts at ten. I should be home by eleven thirty. I can text you when I’m free.”

“Since you’ll be at the inn, I’ll know when you’re done.”

“You’re not going to the museum tomorrow, then?”

“No. I’ve gotten as much as I can from the public files. But I’d really like to delve back into the stuff at your house.”

Talking about his project and the reason he was in Heaven went a long way in dissipating the tension that had blossomed between us. His face was calm again, his features relaxed, his voice animated as he began telling me about the entries he’d already read in Robert’s journals.

We finished our pizza without any further interruptions or uncomfortable moments.

Back in my car with the heat jacked up to ward off the arctic chill in the air, Frayne said, “You were right about the pizza. It was amazing.”

Since it was, I smiled.

We were silent on the ride back to the inn, but it wasn’t a strained silence like it could have been.

“I’m not going in because I’ve got to get home and prepare for tomorrow’s vows,” I told him when I pulled up to the front on the inn. “If you see Maureen, could you tell her Nanny says thanks for the scones?”

The quickness and power of his grin made me gasp. In the darkened cab of my car, the brightness of it lit the entire space up as if he’d turned on a spotlight.

“I will,” he said, adding, “and I’m requesting a batch to keep in my room for when I’m working. Think she’ll let me keep some there?”

“All you have to do is ask. It’s a guarantee.”

The grooves at the corners of his mouth deepened as his grin widened. I couldn’t help but smile back at him. It was the little things in life, Nanny commented often, like the taste of Maureen’s scones, that gave us all the most pleasure. She wasn’t wrong. I was going to add Mac Frayne’s smile to my list of simple pleasures.

For a moment we sat there, silently grinning. The thought he might kiss me bloomed when his gaze slid down to my mouth and lingered for a moment. It wasn’t my imagination or wishful thinking either when he moved a little closer to me from his seat. His gaze came back up to my eyes and dawdled for a few seconds before a sigh pushed from him and he said, “I’d better let you get home. You’ve got things to do.”

What would he have done if I’d admitted I wanted to do him?

He alighted from the car, then dipped his head to look at me again. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Because I didn’t trust my voice right then to scream for him to stop, get back in the car and kiss me, I took the safe way out and gave him a quick head bob.

After he’d closed the front door of the inn behind him, I let out the breath I’d been keeping prisoner and shook my head a few times before driving home to my cold, empty house.