Her Lone Star Protector

And he was definitely horny, he decided with a frown. Otherwise, why would he find it so difficult to tear his gaze from her rear end?

Rob sat opposite Rebecca in a booth, watching as she nervously shredded a napkin she’d plucked from the dispenser at the end of the table. Not once during the walk to the diner had she made eye contact with him. And though he’d tried making idle conversation, he’d finally given up, frustrated by her monosyllabic replies.

Determined to resolve the question of her innocence, he braced his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “I know you’re probably anxious to get home, so let’s get this over with. Was the morning you found Eric the first time you’d been to his house?”

Her fingers closed around the shredded napkin, balling it within her fist. “No. I’ve been caring for his plants for a couple of months.”

“The morning you found him, was the house locked when you arrived?”

“No.”

“Was that unusual?”

“Yes. Normally he would already have left for work by the time I arrived.”

“Did you know, prior to entering the house, that Eric was at home?”

“I thought he might be. His car was still in the driveway.”

“Yet you entered anyway.”

“I knocked first. When he didn’t answer, I tried the door and found it unlocked.”

“Since you’re in his house on a regular basis, I assume that you would notice if anything was out of place.”

“Yes, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.” Her eyes rounded as if she’d just remembered something. She laid her hand on the table and leaned forward, her expression hopeful. “It did seem unnaturally quiet, though.”

His investigative instincts sharpened. “How so?”

“The radio. Usually it’s playing. Eric always listens to the weather and traffic reports while he eats his breakfast, then leaves it on to keep Sadie company while he’s away. Is that important?”

“If the coroner hadn’t already established an approximate time of death, it might be.” He lifted his hands. “As it is, it’s just another detail to add to the file.”

She drew her hand from the table, looking downcast. “Oh.”

“The report stated that you found him in the bathroom.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, as if haunted by the scene. Was it an act? he wondered.

“Yes. He…he was on the toilet seat. A necktie was wrapped around his neck.” She lifted her hands as if to demonstrate, then, with a shudder, dropped them to her lap.

“Did you attempt to resuscitate or touch the body in any way?”

She shook her head. “No. I knew he was dead. His face was white and his—” She gulped, tried again. “His…his features were distorted. Swollen. His eyes open and staring.”

A choked sound had Rob glancing to his left, where their waitress stood, a coffeepot in hand. Laura Edwards, he remembered from other visits to the diner. Her stricken look surprised him, but he attributed her reaction to her having overheard Rebecca’s rather graphic description of Eric’s body.

She shoved the pot toward them. “C-coffee?”

Rob turned over the cups on the table. “Sure. Thanks.”

After filling their cups, she darted away.

Puzzled by her strange behavior, Rob mentally filed it away for later consideration, then turned back to Rebecca. “So you knew he was dead,” he said, picking up the thread of their conversation. “What did you do then?”

“I called 9-1-1.”

“From the bedroom?”

“No. The kitchen.”

“Then what?”

“I went outside and waited for the police.”

“Did you reenter the house at any point?”

She shook her head. “No. I…couldn’t.”

“What about your supplies? Surely you must have had something with you, some kind of equipment or tools, if you’d originally entered the house to tend his plants.”

“Yes. I had my tote bag that I carry my supplies in. One of the policemen brought it out to me. The one who questioned me.”

“What about the cat? Sadie, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Sadie. I don’t remember seeing her when I first entered the house. She must have been hiding somewhere. Under the sofa, perhaps. She does that sometimes. But when they brought Eric…the body out,” she amended, wincing, “she slipped out the door. I caught her and held her to keep her from jumping into the ambulance with him.”

He could see the tears building, the strain in her features, and wondered if this was all part of the act. In hopes of throwing her off balance, to trick her into slipping up, he changed the line of questioning. “You said you were fairly new in town.”

She wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, as if needing the warmth to chase the chill from her body. “Yes. I moved here about six months ago.”

“And immediately went into business for yourself.”

“Yes.”

He heard the pride in the single-worded response. “Had you ever owned a business before?”

She shook her head. “No. But I’d always dreamed of owning my own floral shop.”

“So why move to Royal to open a business? Seems it would’ve made more sense to go into business in a town where you were known.”

She fidgeted and he knew immediately that the question had made her uncomfortable.

“I was recently widowed,” she explained slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “I wanted a fresh start. Someplace new, without…without any memories.”

“I would think being surrounded by memories would be a comfort. Unless they were unpleasant ones,” he added, watching her.

She stared at him, her face paling, her blue eyes filling with an anguish that had his gut clenching.