Spring In The Valley. Charlotte Douglas

vein pulsed in the slender column of her throat.

      “I was desperate,” he said.

      “Desperate for what?” she demanded. “To embarrass the living daylights out of me? Everyone in town will hear about this and jump to all the wrong conclusions.”

      I was desperate to convince myself you’re as magnificent as I remembered, he thought. To persuade you to know me better.

      “To get in touch with you.” He couldn’t believe how calm he sounded when his heart was racing, not only from his sprint down the hall but from the sight of her in all her outraged glory. “You didn’t return my calls.”

      “I’ve been busy.” This time she avoided his gaze, and he knew she lied.

      “You have to eat,” he said.

      “What?”

      “All I ask is that you have dinner with me, to let me thank you for your help the night of Jared’s illness.”

      “You’ve thanked me already. Dinner isn’t necessary.” She pivoted on one foot and headed toward the parking lot.

      He fell in step beside her. “Are you always this rude?”

      She stopped again and turned on him. “Me? Rude? You’re the one who interrupted Mrs. Shepherd’s class.”

      “I didn’t interrupt. In fact, I contributed to the discussion.”

      “With a request to speak privately with me?”

      “How else was I supposed to get in touch with you, when you won’t return my calls?”

      “Did it ever occur to you I have good reason not to return your calls?”

      “Name one.”

      “You’re married.”

      “I’m not.”

      She stopped suddenly. “Divorced, then.”

      “Not guilty.”

      Her features spasmed with regret. “You’re a widower?”

      He shook his head.

      Puzzlement replaced regret on her lovely face. “But you have a son.”

      “Jared’s not my son.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “Then why is he with you?”

      “I promise you, I haven’t kidnapped him.”

      He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. He’d thrown her a puzzle, one her investigative curiosity couldn’t resist. He wasn’t at liberty to divulge everything and would have to be careful not to reveal his true motives for coming to Pleasant Valley. If they became known, they could spoil his chances for success.

      “Come to my place for dinner tonight, and I’ll explain everything.” Well, almost everything. “Lillian, by the way, has finally arrived and is an excellent cook, so you’ll be well fed.”

      “Who’s Lillian?”

      “Eight o’clock?” he persisted.

      She folded her arms across her chest, drawing his attention to the sweet curves that even the severe cut of her uniform couldn’t hide, and leaned her head to one side, as if considering.

      “If I accept your invitation, will you leave me alone?”

      Her request shocked him. “I’m not a stalker.”

      “Then how did you know where I was?”

      He jerked his thumb behind him to the building across the street. “I stopped by the police station, hoping to run into you. The dispatcher told me I’d find you here.”

      “If I have dinner with you, will you leave me alone?” she repeated.

      “Brynn, I just want to show my thanks—”

      She cocked one eyebrow in clear disbelief.

      “Okay,” he admitted. As a police officer, she probably had a built-in B.S. detector, so he settled on honesty. “I’d also like to have you as a friend. I don’t know anyone in town, and since I’m going to be here awhile…”

      Honesty apparently was the best policy. Her expression softened and the fire in her eyes cooled. “I suppose one dinner wouldn’t hurt.”

      He relied on his courtroom face to keep his elation from showing. “Dress casually and warm. It’s cold on the river at night.”

      “Eight o’clock tonight,” she said with a nod and walked away.

      And didn’t look back.

      BRYNN PULLED a pair of wool slacks from her closet, held them against her in front of the mirror, then tossed them in exasperation on the growing pile on her bed. Casual dress, Rand had said, but somehow her usual jeans and sweatshirt didn’t seem appropriate for dinner at River Walk.

      Why had she accepted his invitation in the first place, she wondered with self-disgust.

      Curiosity, her image in the mirror answered. You’re dying to know why your initial assumptions were off base. Rand Benedict is neither married nor divorced, and Jared isn’t his son. You want to know the real scoop.

      “Why should I care?” Brynn dragged a long denim skirt from the closet.

      He’s a mystery. And if there’s one thing you can’t resist, it’s a mystery.

      “Okay.” She was talking to the mirror again, a sure sign she was losing her mind. “I can’t stand a mystery, but I can definitely resist him. He’s still a Yankee lawyer.”

      A delectably handsome Yankee lawyer with a smile that makes your knees wobble. And he’s deliciously tall. You’re five-eight and he towers over you—

      “Oh, shut up,” she snapped at her reflection.

      She yanked a white turtleneck, an embroidered denim vest and black Italian boots from the closet, added them to the long denim skirt, and dressed hurriedly. Her selection would have to do. She was just going for dinner, for Pete’s sake, not an audience with the queen.

      Because her friends and family would pester her to death for details and jump to all the wrong conclusions, she hadn’t told anyone she’d accepted Rand’s invitation. Except Todd Leland, the dispatcher. And she’d fibbed to him a little, saying she was just going out to River Walk to check on Jared. Between her off-duty gun and her skills at hand-to-hand fighting, she wasn’t concerned about her safety, but having her whereabouts known was always a wise precaution, in case of emergencies.

      Half an hour later, she turned her SUV off Valley Road onto the long drive that curved through banks of deep glossy green rhododendron. At the final bend of the road, River Walk shone through the darkness in all its glory. Built in the late sixties as a summer getaway for an Atlanta millionaire, the magnificent log mansion stood three stories high on a bluff above the river. Walls of glass extended to the peaks and gables of the undulating roofline, and welcoming light streamed through the panes onto the surrounding decks, a series of tiers that descended to the river, with the final level extending over the rushing waters below.

      Vacant for decades, the expensive property had been an occasional seasonal rental until placed on the market last year. And Rand Benedict had been the lucky buyer. The man had to have more money than God to afford such a place, just one more area where she and the attorney had absolutely nothing in common.

      Then why was she here, she asked herself for the one hundredth time.

      Pure, unadulterated nosiness, the fatal kind that dooms curious felines.

      Parking on the wide flagstone landing beside the front steps, she hoped the answers she found tonight would quell her runaway curiosity. Just thinking about Rand stirred too many unfamiliar feelings she didn’t want to deal with, emotions she’d previously been able to sublimate in the cool objectivity