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Here was another new side to Mr. Charm. Loyalty, willing to stand up for a friend.
“I didn’t mean that as an insult. Leroy does a good job, but he’s short-staffed, and a growing town stretches him to the limit. He could have missed something.”
She raised the camera and snapped. A line of woods and a small creek flowed to the south of the houses. “This location is beautiful. I see the appeal. Do kids play in that creek?”
“Sure. It’s very shallow. Perfect for tadpole fishing.” He paused. “Ever been?”
She glanced at the sky, a pretty blue dabbled with cotton-ball clouds and with an egg-yolk sun perched halfway between morning and noon.
She wouldn’t play his game. They were not friends having a chitchat.
“The only thing I’m fishing for is clues.”
“You don’t like to fish? To cast a lure in the water and get mocked by big, fat bass that swim around your line and laugh?” He made a casting motion and began to reel. With his left hand, she noticed. “And maybe, just maybe, if you hold your mouth right, you catch one off guard and—” He yanked back on his imaginary rod, pretending to battle a fighting fish. Suddenly his shoulders dipped and he relaxed. “Rats. Lost him.”
She bit back a laugh.
Sawyer Buchanon was fun. No wonder women loved him. Caution would be her friend around this man.
“I haven’t been fishing in years,” she said. “Not since my brothers and I used to go to the lake on weekends. We’d rent a boat at the marina and play all day.” Just the three of them, away from the stress of home. She smiled a little at the memory.
“Good memories, huh?” Sawyer’s focus was on her face, interested. And she liked the feeling. “Do you water-ski?”
“I haven’t in a long time. Do you?”
He tapped his chest. “King of the waves. Until Brady decides to make a sharp U-turn and dump me in the brink.”
“That’s mean.”
“No, that’s fun. The trick is to pay close attention so he can’t lose me and, of course, to maneuver with my mad skills and precision—” He laughed to lessen the brag. “Challenge is the Buchanon way.”
“I see what you mean. It sounds like fun.” And she’d not allowed herself much fun in a long time. Oh, she went out with friends, had dinner and saw movies, but the outdoors had been her love as a kid. “You and your family spend a lot of time together? All of you?”
“Lots of time. We’re our favorite people.” His gaze slid over her. “I imagine you were good. At water-skiing, I mean.”
“As a matter of fact, I was. Light and quick.” She twitched an eyebrow and crossed her arms in a teasing challenge. “I think I could handle Brady’s devious moves.”
“I think you could, too.” He grinned, his eyes all happy dancing. “Next time Brady takes the boat out, you should come with us. Two masters competing with the boat-rocking Brady.”
The invitation was like ice water. What was she doing? Flirting with a client? With the kind of man she couldn’t afford to like? And during an investigation, of all the inappropriate times.
She dropped her friendly stance and stiffened. “I think we should concentrate on the investigation. Which of these homes is next on our list?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but a tiny pucker appeared between his onyx eyebrows. After a long, thoughtful pause, he pointed to a pretty cream-colored brick. “That one.”
They walked toward the house in silence. She was annoyed with herself. She was here to pry into his life, not let him pry into hers. At least she’d learned some useful information during the conversation. Nothing earth shattering but his family was close, he adored his brothers and he liked to fish and ski. He was an outdoors person. Like her.
She shut that line of thinking off so fast, she got a headache. Knowing more about him was a means to an end and part of her job. Nothing personal. Nothing personal at all.
Chapter Four (#uf53c2fd0-216e-5019-b7a7-57eb13835e64)
Much later, when they’d made the rounds of the Huckleberry Addition, Sawyer drove them back toward town. The private investigator intrigued him. One minute, when they’d discussed fishing and he’d done his best to be his usual enchanting self, she’d actually smiled. A second later, she’d bristled like a feral tomcat.
She didn’t want to like him. He’d figured out that much, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t the bad guy here.
He opened the pickup door for her and helped her up into the high cab. She didn’t like that either, but his mama had raised him with manners, especially around ladies. Most women ate it up like a hot fudge sundae. Jade looked as if she wanted to throat punch him.
As he drove, he answered questions all the way. She was the most inquisitive woman he’d ever encountered. But every time he’d tried to ask about her, she’d shut him down.
The sun had moved to high overhead and his belly reminded him of the long gone popcorn and doughnut. He aimed the truck down First Street and pulled in front of the Buttered Biscuit Café.
Jade leaned forward, glaring out the windshield as if he’d driven her to a nudie bar. “What are you doing?”
“Eating. Private investigators eat, don’t they?”
“I can grab something later.”
He got out of the truck and went around, opening her door anyway. “You won’t find a better lunch than the Biscuit’s. Come on. I’ll buy.”
“I don’t need anyone to pay for my meal.”
A grin twitched his lips. “We’ll fight over the check after you taste Jan’s coconut cream pie.”
She hesitated. “Homemade?”
He had her now. “With meringue three inches tall.”
She didn’t smile but she did capitulate. “Sold.”
Score one for his team.
She let him help her down, another victory of sorts, though Sawyer didn’t understand why they were in a battle.
He led the way inside, nodding to friends and a cousin as he found an open table. The café, as usual, was jammed and noisy with townspeople, most of whom he knew by their first names.
Jade walked alongside him, gazing around the small space with her usual intensity.
“Memorizing Jan’s signs and slogans?” Every inch of wall space was crammed with signs or plaques, most of them snarky and clever.
She pointed at one. Plenty of people have eaten here and gone on to live nearly normal lives. “Pretty funny.”
Then why didn’t she laugh? “Jan’s got sass but she sure can cook.”
He pulled out a chair for her and stood, patient as Job himself. She could be stubborn. He could be patient.
Her full mouth flattened but she didn’t yank away the chair and make a scene. Satisfied, Sawyer took the seat across from her and folded his arms on the laminated tabletop. He enjoyed seeing her straight on. She was nice to look at.
“Anything in particular sound good to you?” he asked.
Jade took a paper napkin from the metal container and shook it onto her lap. “You have recommendations?”
Sawyer studied the tiny mole—just one—to the left of her nose. He’d never noticed how appealing one single little beauty mark could be. “Plate lunch special.”
She blinked. “What is it?”
“I didn’t read the sign, but whatever it is will be good.”
“Okay by me.”
Nice. A woman who wasn’t picky about her food, though Jade Warren was picky about everything else. Well, maybe not everything and maybe the word was prickly instead of picky.
Charla, an African American waitress with every bit as much sass as Jan, slapped two plastic menus on the table. “Hiya, Sawyer.”
“Hey, Charla.” He waved the menus away. “Don’t need those. We’ll have the special.”
“Good choice. Roast beef and mashed potatoes. Jan’s recipe.” She retrieved the unused menus. “Drinks?”
“Iced tea for me.” He shot a questioning look at Jade. “You?”
“Iced tea is good. Sweet, please.”
Charla scribbled on her pad. “Who’s your new friend, Sawyer?”
Now, that was a dilemma. He didn’t particularly want the whole town to know he was being investigated by order of his own father. “Jade Warren, meet Charla Fredrick.”
The two women exchanged greetings before Charla dashed to answer the call of “Order up.” A new waitress, probably Abby’s replacement, moved much slower.
Sawyer made small talk about the town and the people in the café until Charla returned with their tea glasses.
“We sure miss Abby around this place,” Charla said. “Have you heard from her?”
“Yep. They’re having the time of their lives.”
“Good. She deserves that. You tell her I got her postcard from Venice. Such a pretty place. Is little Miss Lila doing all right with her grandma and grandpa?”
Abby’s four-year-old daughter was staying with Sawyer’s mom and dad while the newlyweds honeymooned in Italy.
“They’re spoiling her, but you know Lila. She’s a ray of sunshine and easy to spoil.”
“She miss her mama much?”
“They Skype every night. I think Abby is the one suffering separation pangs. Lila’s in her element.”
“Abby’s a good mama.” Charla tossed her head, swinging giant pink earrings as if she dared anyone to argue.
“The best, and we Buchanons are all suckers for Lila.”
“She does that to people. Precious child.”
The waitress scooted away, returning in minutes with two steaming plates that she slid with expert ease onto the table.
“Tender roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and hot buttery biscuits.” Sawyer rubbed his hands together. “Food of the divine.”
Charla perched a hand on her ample hip. “Y’all need anything else?”
“Pie later.”
“Coconut?”
Sawyer flashed a victory sign. “Two.”
“Got it.” She hustled away again.
Jade stared, wide-eyed, at her plate. “I’ll never eat all of this.”
“Take a carryout box home with you.” He reached for the salt and pepper. “Where are you staying anyway?”
“The Red River Roost.”
Oh, not so good. “You okay there?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“The River Roost isn’t in the best area of town.”
She got that look on her face again. The one that said he should mind his own business. “I can take care of myself.”
He shrugged. So she said, but if she was his sister, he’d be concerned. Not that he considered her a sister. Not even close.
He frowned at the fluffy white insides of a steaming-hot biscuit.
She didn’t like him, was suspicious as all get-out, but he was fascinated by her.
Now, what did that say about him?
* * *
Jade thought she should probably tell him to mind his own business, but Sawyer knew Gabriel’s Crossing and she didn’t. Forewarned was forearmed. If there were problems, she needed to know.
“What’s so bad about that part of town?”
“Kind of run-down. More crime. The Roost is the type of motel where—” He leaned back in his chair and scrunched his face. “How do I put this delicately?”
“No need. I understand your point.” She lifted a fork, not letting him see that his words troubled her. Not for herself, but for that lonely teen and her baby. “I was a police officer before becoming a private detective. I’m well trained, and like I said, I can take care of myself.”
Sometimes she’d made a mess of things, but she’d survived and grown wiser from the experience. She didn’t need or trust anyone’s protection but her own.
Sliding her fork into the potatoes, she prepared to enjoy what appeared to be a delicious meal. Sawyer, she noted, had yet to begin. She shot him a questioning look. “Something wrong?”
