Slow Hand Luke. Debbi Rawlins

anyway,” Luke whispered.

      “Gonna explain why you didn’t come to your granddaddy’s funeral, I suppose.” Chester settled back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee, his watchful eyes on Luke.

      His face darkened. “Now, don’t you start in on me, old timer.”

      “I ain’t startin’ in on you. I figure you had a reason and you might be wantin’ to get it off your chest.”

      “You know why I couldn’t come,” Luke said, lowering his voice and sliding an exasperated glance at Annie.

      Chester chuckled. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

      Annie quickly went back to the business of getting out the frying pan and plugging in the toaster. But it wasn’t as if she could pretend she hadn’t heard. She could at least pretend she wasn’t curious as hell.

      An awkward silence grew and then Luke said, “I’m gonna go put on a shirt, and then I’ll help with breakfast.”

      She turned to watch him leave, already mourning the loss of all that glorious tanned skin and well-developed muscle. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Chester watching her. “Do I have to do anything to the eggs?” she asked and when he frowned she added, “Before I cook them.”

      He laughed heartily. “Them are fresh eggs, missy. All you do is crack ’em and fry ’em.”

      “I knew that,” she muttered, feeling sheepish and annoyed. “I talked to Aunt Marjorie this morning. She sounds in good spirits.”

      “I know. I talked to her an hour ago.”

      “Oh.” Annie shouldn’t have been surprised. “She told me the doctor said they should be done with her tests by Monday and then they’d release her.”

      “Now if that don’t happen, don’t you fret. Your aunt’s an impatient woman.”

      She poured a little oil into the frying pan for the smoked ham she’d found in the refrigerator drawer. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Is there anything I should know that Aunt Marjorie isn’t telling me?”

      He took a thoughtful sip of coffee, saying nothing for a long uncomfortable moment. “Don’t believe I know what she told you.”

      “I’m a cop, Chester. I know when someone’s evading me.”

      “Respectin’ your aunt’s privacy is all I’m doin’.”

      “Look, I know I haven’t been around and have no right to ask to be involved but—”

      “Hold up there, missy. I never said that. I don’t feel that way neither.” Sighing, he pushed a hand through his thinning hair, so uneven he had to have cut it himself. “She’s been havin’ faintin’ spells lately.”

      “Okay.” She put the ham in the pan to brown, and took her mug of coffee with her to the table so she could look Chester in the eyes. “And?”

      “She won’t eat right.”

      “You mean she’s not eating.”

      His concerned expression got to her. “Your aunt, stubborn old mule that she is, won’t admit she’s got diabetes.”

      “What?” Annie set down her mug before she dropped it. “But she’s got packages of cookies in the cupboard and homemade fudge in the fridge and—for crying out loud, she’s got more sweets in this house than anything else.”

      “Yep. She’s got a sweet tooth all right.”

      “But she knows she can’t have sugar, right? I mean, this is totally treatable.”

      “She knows.”

      “God, Chester.” Annie’s gaze jumped to the outdated, scarred cupboards. “Does she have a death wish or something?”

      “Say what?”

      Annie sighed heavily, staring at the uneven yellow linoleum. “Is it about money? This place needs so much—She sent me money, Chester. For tuition. For Christmas, for…”

      She saw something move by the door. Luke stood there, about to enter the kitchen, the sympathetic look on his face more disturbing than if he’d accused her of being an uncaring selfish bitch.

      “You listen here,” Chester said, his back to Luke. “Your aunt wanted you to have that money. It was important to her that you had a good education. Especially after your mother ran off like that, and then your father—”

      “Do I smell something burning?” Luke asked, effectively stopping Chester.

      “Uh, thanks, the ham.” Annie’s eyes met his gaze as she rose from the table. The ham wasn’t burning. He knew she was uncomfortable with him listening.

      “I’ve got to make a phone call,” he announced, “and my cell battery is dead. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

      “Use that one.” Chester pointed to the brown old-fashioned wall phone.

      Annie saw the reluctance in Luke’s face. Obviously, he wanted privacy and she didn’t blame him. “There’s one in Aunt Marjorie’s bedroom. It’ll be quieter in there.”