The Lawman's Honor. Linda Goodnight

his garage.”

      He hiked an eyebrow, amused and flattered and knowing very well what she meant. “Does she now?”

      This time Cassie laughed, her scarlet mouth wide beneath dancing green irises. “Haven’t you noticed the number of times she’s been to the courthouse this week?”

      He hadn’t. Man, he must be losing his radar. He hitched his chin toward the bakery. “Were you going in there?”

      “Lunch. Want to come? Evie makes good sandwiches from her own homemade bread. Fresh baked this morning.”

      “Best invitation I’ve had all day.” Since he’d been here actually. The school didn’t expect him for another hour, so he radioed his location to dispatch and exited the car. The ankle screamed at the first step, causing an involuntary hiss that infuriated Heath.

      Cassie paused, watching him. “You’re still in pain.”

      “No, I’m fine.”

      She made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. “You remind me so much of my brother.”

      “Must be a great guy.”

      She took the statement as the joke he’d intended. “The best. You should meet him.”

      “I’d like that.”

      “Come to church Sunday and you will.”

      Heath reached for the antique door handle. The scroll on the amber glass was equally antique as was the rounded arch transom above the door shaded by a red fringed awning.

      “If I’m not on duty, I might do that.” He needed a church, not that he’d ever had time to attend much, but he believed, and church was important in a small town.

      With his ankle throbbing, he somehow held the door open for Cassie and limped inside a small business that smelled better than Grandma Monroe’s kitchen on Thanksgiving. Though he wouldn’t be sharing that information with Grandma. The smells of fresh breads and fruit Danish mingled with a showcase of pies and homemade candies.

      “A cop’s dream,” he muttered, only half joking.

      A middle-aged woman—Evie, he supposed—who obviously enjoyed her own baking, created their orders while maintaining a stream of small talk with Cassie. When she put his sandwich in front of him along with baked chips and a glass of tea, she said, “This one’s on the house, Mr. Monroe, and dessert of your choice. Welcome to Whisper Falls.”

      “I can’t let you do that.”

      “You don’t have a choice. Go sit down and eat.” She smiled. “And enjoy.”

      “Don’t argue with her, Heath. Trust me, she’ll get her money back from you.” Cassie took the lunch tray before he could and led the way to a table. There were only three and all had a sidewalk view.

      “Chief called me a wimp today. I’m starting to feel like one.”

      “How bad is your leg? I mean really. No bluffing. Any other injuries besides that?”

      “Just the ankle. Sprained. And a couple of bruises here and there.” Bruises that ripped the air out of his lungs. “Annoying. But I still have all ten toes.” He bit into the thick, fragrant sandwich.

      “I’m relieved to hear it. When do you want your mani-pedi?”

      Heath choked, grabbed for the tea glass and managed to swallow. “My what?”

      The thought of Cassie touching him again gave him a funny tingle. A nice tingle, come to think of it. Did she have any idea the thoughts that go through a man’s head at the most inappropriate times?

      “You don’t remember our conversation?” she asked. “Is the concussion still bothering you?”

      “Slight headache if I get tired. Nothing to worry about.”

      “Are you following up with Dr. Ron? He’s a really good doctor.” She pinched a piece of lettuce from her plate, holding it between finger and thumb. “And the only one in town.”

      “Next week.”

      “He’s terrific. You’ll like him.” She nibbled the lettuce and then bit into the sandwich packed with vegetables and turkey. Between bites, she chattered about plans for a community storm cleanup, the Easter sunrise service at the Baptist Church—which she deemed “not to be missed” though Easter was several weeks past—and filled him in on the small, useful details of Whisper Falls.

      “Some of this sounds familiar,” he said after a long, cool drink of sweet tea. “Did you tell me this in the car?”

      “I thought you didn’t remember.”

      He never said that. He remembered bits and pieces. Like her silky voice and dogged efforts to keep him awake. “It’s starting to come back to me.”

      “I’ve talked enough about Whisper Falls anyway. No use repeating myself again. Tell me about you. You’re from Texas, not married, no kids. Any other family back in Texas?”

      “Two brothers and a terrific mom.”

      “No sisters? Your poor mother.”

      “She had her hands full.”

      “I imagine so! Tell me about the brothers. Older or younger? What do they do?”

      “Holt and Heston. Both younger. Both in law enforcement. Sort of. Holt is a private investigator. Heston’s a street cop.”

      She tilted her head in a cute way that bunched her hair on her shoulder. He spotted a small sparkly earring. “Did they follow big brother’s path or is law enforcement in the genes?”

      “In the genes, I guess. My dad was a cop.” His hand went to his pocket, to Dad’s badge. “A great cop. He died in the line of duty.”

      Her perky expression fell. “That’s awful, Heath. I’m sorry.”

      “Long time ago. Now we Monroe boys do our best to keep the bad guys off the streets.” He faked a grin. Time to move this conversation to softer ground. “Tell me about you. Besides making the women of Whisper Falls beautiful, what do you do?”

      She returned his grin, though hers said she knew he was changing the subject and empathized. She was a nice woman.

      As he chewed his ham and provolone, Heath recognized that he was sharply drawn to Cassie Blackwell, to her bright mouth and alabaster skin. His reaction puzzled him. She was friendly to the max, but didn’t flirt, yet Heath found her astonishingly attractive. Pulse-bumping attractive. Not that he worried about it much. He was accustomed to fast, brief relationships that went nowhere. Whether from duty or boredom, his interest in Cassie would burn out like the rest.

      * * *

      Cassie dipped the paintbrush into a tray filled with baby-blue color while her sister-in-law, Annalisa, worked her way around the small bedroom with a roll of masking tape and a straight edge, making sure every vertical stripe on the nursery wall was perfect.

      A slight breeze drifted in the open window, a natural ventilation source, though Cassie had set a box fan in the doorway to help extract the paint fumes. The fan also kept the pack of dogs, particularly her apricot poodle, out of the way—much to Tootsie’s annoyance. Even now, the spoiled mutt lay in the hallway, gazing in with a wounded expression.

      Cassie had offered to paint the room alone, but Annalisa had insisted on helping. After all, this was her baby, her project, but working together was fun. Cassie was grateful to her sister-in-law for allowing her to be part of transforming the old guest room into an adorable nursery for her brother’s baby. It was something she’d never get to do otherwise. Like her marriage, the dream of babies had died with her husband.

      “The walls are looking gorgeous, Cassie.” Annalisa sat back on her heels, blond ponytail dangling, to admire their handiwork. Latte-brown already covered the upper half of the nursery