Promise Forever. Marta Perry

nodded in acceptance. “I don’t regret anything.” A smile blazed across her face. “I have Sammy.”

      He nodded, the photo seeming to burn a hole in his pocket. Maybe he’d better get to the point before he brought up any more touchy subjects. “I’ve been thinking about that picture of him.”

      “I’ve already told you, I didn’t send it.” She snatched the basket and ducked under flapping sheets to the other end of the yard.

      He followed, evading damp linen. He needed her on his side in this. “I know you didn’t send it. Don’t you want to know who did?”

      “Yes, of course.” She stopped, eyes clouded. “I’ve worried and worried, and I still don’t have an idea.”

      “There has to be a way to find out. Why don’t we talk to Sammy about this?”

      “Absolutely not.” She shot the words at him, shoulders suddenly stiff.

      “But he may have noticed who took the picture.”

      “I mean it, Tyler.” Her soft mouth was firm. “I don’t want him questioned about this.”

      “That’s ridiculous. If we can find out—”

      “It’s not ridiculous,” she snapped. It looked as if they were back on opposite sides. “If we talk to Sammy, he’s going to ask how you got a picture of him.”

      “We can say—” He stopped. What would they say?

      “I don’t want him thinking that some stranger is going around taking pictures of him, manipulating his life.” A shiver seemed to run through her. “It’s bad enough thinking that myself.”

      “All right.”

      Miranda looked at him suspiciously, and he raised his hands in surrender.

      “I promise. I won’t say anything to him.”

      The tension went out of her, and she reached up to unpin a dry sheet. He caught the end of it, and she let him help her fold it.

      “Why? That’s what gets me,” she said. “Why would anyone want to interfere in our lives like that?”

      “I wish I knew.” He had to hurry to keep up with the deft way she flipped the corners together. “No one’s said anything to you about it?”

      “Nothing.”

      He finished the last fold, then put the sheet into the basket as Miranda moved on to the next one. She was right—the sheet did smell like sunshine.

      “Stop a minute and look at it again.” He drew the photo from his pocket and handed it to her.

      She studied the picture, absently twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Her gaze lifted, startled, to him. “This looks like—”

      “What?”

      “Come with me.” She dropped a clothespin into the basket and started around the inn at a trot. He had to hurry to keep up with her.

      “Look.” She stopped at the corner of the veranda, pointing.

      He stepped closer, looking over her shoulder at the photo, then at the scene in front of them. An ancient, gnarled live oak filled the corner of the yard, its branches so heavy they touched the ground in places. From this angle, they formed a kind of archway through which he saw a corner of the dock. It was exactly the same in the photograph.

      “Whoever he was, he took the picture here,” he said.

      This time he was so close he felt the shiver that went through her.

      “Here. And sometime within the last six months.” She touched the photo with one fingertip. “I bought that polo shirt for Sammy when school started in September.”

      “Stands to reason it was fairly recent. If he wanted to send it to me, whoever he was, why wait?”

      Miranda’s breath seemed to catch. “Tyler, we have to find out who did this.” She swung around, apparently not realizing how close he was. She was nearly in his arms.

      He caught her arm as she bumped against him. Her smooth skin seemed alive with memories—visions of holding her close, of promising to love her forever. The fresh scent of her surrounded and overpowered him.

      This was bad. This was very bad. He’d never dreamed those feelings still existed, ready to be awakened. It was as if the very cells of his body remembered her.

      He’d wanted Miranda’s cooperation. He’d gotten it, but in the process he’d found out something very unwelcome about himself. He was still attracted to her.

      Chapter Four

      Miranda couldn’t move. Tyler held her elbows, steadying her, and her hands pressed against his chest. She felt his heartbeat through her palms, up her arms, driving straight to her heart. It had been years since they’d stood together like this. It might as well have been yesterday.

      She curled her fingers, pulled her hands away from him. She couldn’t look at his face. Instead she focused on the placket of his white knit shirt. Two of the three buttons were open, exposing a V of tanned skin against the white.

      That wasn’t any better than looking into his eyes. She took a hurried step back, and he released her instantly. If he guessed her reactions—

      He wouldn’t. Tyler was too focused on the task at hand to have time for any other considerations. At the moment he was totally consumed with finding out who’d taken the photo of Sammy.

      She wanted to know that, too, but somehow she also had to find a way of keeping her balance where Tyler was concerned. That meant not finding herself in any more moments like that one.

      Tyler glanced from the photo to the scene before him. He frowned, and she sensed that, as far as he was concerned, the moment when they’d touched might never have been.

      Well, good. That was what she wanted, too.

      “So, we know the picture was taken within the last six months, and by someone standing in just about this spot.” He seemed to measure the distance from the driveway to the street. “How unusual would it be for someone you don’t know to come this far onto the property?”

      She steadied herself. Tyler didn’t feel anything. She wouldn’t feel anything, either.

      “Not unusual at all, I’m afraid.”

      “Why not?” He shot the question at her with that intent, challenging stare of his. “If someone’s not a guest at the inn, why would he be here?”

      She pointed to the small placard attached to a post near the end of the driveway. “The historical society put those up a few years ago. I worked on the project, as a matter of fact. We designed a walking tour of historical houses. Visitors can pick up a brochure anywhere in town and follow it. In nice weather we often see people, brochure in hand, taking pictures.”

      “There’s no way of tracing them?”

      “None. People don’t buy tickets or sign up. They just follow the map.” A shiver ran along her arms, and she rubbed them. “Sammy wouldn’t think anything about it, even if he noticed someone with a camera.” She took another step away from him. “I should get back to the laundry.”

      “Wait a minute.” His hand twitched as if he thought about touching her and changed his mind. “We haven’t finished talking about this.”

      “I don’t know how to find the person who took the picture. There’s nothing else to say. I want to take down the sheets before it’s time to start dinner.” And I want to put a little distance between us.

      “Fine.” He seemed to grind his teeth. “I’ll help you with the sheets, if that’s what it takes. We can talk and fold at the same time.”

      She’s forgotten how persistent he could be when he wanted