Her Mr. Right?

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave.”

His sandy hair blew in the breeze. He was dressed in a tan-and-black striped Henley shirt and wore khakis. She spotted the sandy chest hair at the top button of his shirt. His three-quarter- length sleeves were snug enough that she noticed muscles underneath. His eyes were taking her in, not as if she were a grubby Little Orphan Annie, but as if she were Miss USA! Was there interest there? Couldn’t be. She felt mesmerized for a moment, hot and cold and just sort of mushy inside.

Feeling defenseless on the ground with him looking down on her, she put one hand on the grass to lever herself to her feet.

He offered her his hand. “Let me help.”

She would have snatched her hand away, but she probably would have tumbled back down to the ground in a very unladylike position.

His hand was large, his fingers enveloping and she felt like a tongue-tied naive teenager with a crush on a football player.

As soon as she was balanced on her feet, she pulled out of his grasp and saw his hand was now covered with dirt. “I’m so sorry.” She caught a towel from her gardening basket and handed it to him.

He just wiped his hands together. “I’m fine. But I can see I’m interrupting you. Can you take a break?”

Actually she was finished but she didn’t know if she wanted to tell him that. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

“I didn’t like the way our meeting ended. You were upset and I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I wasn’t upset,” she protested.

“Okay, not upset, angry. Everyone seems to be angry—if not downright hostile. We’re not going to get anywhere like that. I know I’m asking pointed questions, but I have to get to the bottom of the rumors and complaints. If there is insurance fraud, don’t you want to know? If you cooperate, wouldn’t that be better for both of us?”

“I am cooperating.”

The corners of his mouth definitely twitched up in a semblance of a smile. “If that was cooperation, I’d like to see resistance.”

She felt her face getting hot, and not from the midday sun. “I feel as if you’re trying to entrap me or the staff. As if you want to catch us in some little discrepancy—”

“I want the truth.”

There was something about Neil Kane besides his sex appeal that got to her. Maybe it was the resolve in his eyes that told her he was sincere.

“I stopped by today to see if we could discuss everything more calmly over lunch.”

“You’re asking everyone you question to lunch?”

This time, a dark ruddiness crept into his cheeks. “No, but I don’t get the feeling you’re hiding anything. You seem to want to be careful so no one gets hurt. I understand that.”

“In other words, you think I’m a pushover.”

He laughed and it was such a masculine sound, her tummy seemed to tip over.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he explained. “Although you try, you really don’t watch every word you say. I get the feeling you’re a straight shooter. So am I. I thought we could make some progress together.”

Having lunch with the enemy wasn’t a terrific idea. On the other hand, Neil Kane wasn’t going to go away until he was satisfied with the answers he got. No one would have to know she was talking to him and maybe, just maybe, she could do some convincing of her own.

“I found a place I like,” he coaxed. “You can probably go like that if you want.”

At first she thought he was laughing at her, but then she realized he wasn’t. He was serious. Where was he going to take her—to a hot-dog stand?

“I’d like to change and wash the dirt off my face.” She crouched down, gathered her gloves with the small gardening tools and plopped them into her basket.

Neil picked up a hoe and a rake lying beside the garden.

“You don’t have to—” she began.

“Someone could trip over them.” Now he was smiling at her.

She couldn’t help but smile back. “You can just leave them on the porch.”

“I can wait there.”

“That’s silly. No, come on in. My dad’s watching TV. He might ignore you, but at least you can find a comfortable chair.” She started up the stairs and he kept pace with her. As he propped the tools against the wall, she said, “Mr. Kane, about my dad—”

“Do you mind if we drop the formality? My name’s Neil. We might feel less confrontational if we can at least call each other by our first names.”

“Isobel’s fine.”

Their gazes caught…met…held. Until finally he asked, “What about your dad?”

Whenever she looked into Neil’s eyes, she lost every coherent thought in her head. She made the effort to concentrate. “If he seems to ignore you or is grumpy, it’s just him, not you. Please don’t feel offended. He had surgery on his shoulder two weeks ago and he’s not happy about it. He’s limited as to what he can and can’t do, and that frustrates him.”

“It would frustrate anyone.”

Neil seemed to understand and that was a relief.

As they crossed the foyer and went to the living room, her father didn’t say a word, just kept his eyes glued to the TV where a biography of Dwight D. Eisenhower played.

“Dad, I want you to meet—”

“Not now. Shhhh.”

She felt her cheeks flush and was about to apologize to Neil when he said, “My father told me he visited the Eisenhower farm when he was a boy.”

Isobel’s father swung his gaze to Neil. “No kidding. How’d that happen?”

“My grandparents apparently knew a friend of the family.”

“You’re from Pennsylvania?”

“No. I was born and raised in Massachusetts, but we took a couple of vacations there when I was a kid. I was interested in history so the Gettysburg Battlefield fascinated me. I enjoyed it almost as much as Hershey Park.”

To Isobel’s surprise, her father laughed, and then his gaze went to her, expecting introductions.

“Dad, this is Neil Kane. He’s…he’s…”

“An investigator for the state Attorney General’s Office,” Neil filled in.