Home by Dark. Marta Perry

said she knew exactly what he was thinking. “I did not forget to lock the door, and I double-checked it when I left. You learn that much, living in the city.”

      Before he could answer, Mandy wedged herself between them, reaching for the door. “Let me go in, please, Mommy. I want to get a drink for Duke.”

      Rachel grasped her daughter’s shoulders in a quick, protective movement. Obviously his idea was backfiring.

      “I’ll bet there’s an outside faucet somewhere near the flower beds,” he suggested. “Why don’t you use that one? You don’t want Duke’s muddy paws in your house.”

      Duke’s paws weren’t really muddy, but maybe that would distract the child from getting in before he’d had a chance to check the house.

      “That’s a good idea,” Rachel said, seconding him before Mandy could object. “Remember the faucet and bucket where Benj washed the brushes? You can use that one.”

      “I remember.” Mandy darted off the porch with Duke lumbering after her. Poor old boy was getting more exercise than he’d expected, but at least it got Mandy out of the way.

      “I suppose Benj might have come over.” Rachel reached for the door, obviously intending to see for herself.

      Colin grasped her hand to forestall her and felt an almost visceral jolt at the brief contact. Rachel’s gaze met his, her blue eyes seeming to widen before she dropped her gaze.

      “Let me,” he said. Before she could argue the point, he pushed open the door and stepped inside the entrance hall. He stood for a moment, listening, effectively blocking the door so that Rachel couldn’t rush in behind him.

      Nothing. The staircase, with its mahogany railing, wound upward in silence; the rooms to either side of the hallway stood empty and still. The house seemed to be holding its breath, waiting.

      He shook off the fancy. “Doesn’t look like anything’s disturbed.” He moved to the console table, letting Rachel come in behind him. “Except this.” He gestured to the table, where a paper-wrapped sheaf of pink roses lay next to a basket of fruit, their fragrance perfuming the air.

      Rachel stared at the roses as if they hid a snake. “Someone’s been in here.”

      She still seemed upset out of proportion to the cause, and he reminded himself to proceed cautiously. The little he knew of her life in recent years didn’t encourage him to think it had been free of trouble. Experience had probably convinced her that surprises were usually unpleasant.

      “Maybe one of the other doors was unlocked,” he suggested. “Anyway, people bearing fruit and flowers rarely have malicious intent, ain’t so?”

      His use of the familiar Pennsylvania Dutch tag was intended to break the tension, and it seemed to. Rachel’s lips softened a bit, even if she didn’t manage a smile.

      “I guess you’re right. Denke, Colin. I’m being silly. I—”

      The sound of a footstep in the kitchen cut off whatever she’d been going to say. With a quick, instinctive movement he closed the space between them.

      And then felt foolish when the swinging door to the back of the house opened to reveal Jeannette Walker, holding a milk-glass vase in one hand.

      “Rachel, there you are. Hello, Colin.” Jeannette came toward them quickly, apparently oblivious of having caused any alarm. “I stopped by to say welcome.” She gestured with the vase. “Just looking for something to put the roses in. A bed-and-breakfast doesn’t look welcoming without flowers, I find.”

      “They’re beautiful, Ms. Walker.” Rachel recovered her powers of speech. “It’s so kind of you to bring them.”

      “Not at all. I know Amanda let the flower beds go terribly in recent years.” Jeannette was at her most gracious—the successful innkeeper welcoming a newcomer who would be no competition at all.

      While the women fussed over the arrangement of roses in the vase Colin scrutinized Jeannette, wondering what her agenda was. Prior experience of Jeannette Walker told him she always had an agenda. Whether it was a question of the right Christmas decorations for the village stores or the advisability of allowing a billboard at the edge of town, Jeannette rammed her wishes through with such subtlety that few people even realized they’d been manipulated.

      The iron fist in the velvet glove—that was Jeannette. She wore her usual uniform of tailored slacks and sweater set with pearls—apparently what she considered proper attire for her position, winter or summer. She was only in her mid-forties, probably, but her tightly permed curls and carefully outlined lips made her look older.

      Jeannette turned toward him as if she’d read his thoughts. “Colin, I’m surprised you’re not working today. But then, I suppose the real estate business is rather slow at the moment.”

      He just smiled, inured to Jeannette’s petty barbs. “Or I might be so busy that I needed a day off. Hard to tell, isn’t it?”

      Jeannette gave a slight sniff, dismissing him, and turned to Rachel. “Now, I want you to feel free to call on me anytime for advice. It’s so complicated to set up a B and B—all those tax rules and safety regulations, the advertising, the record-keeping. And there’s the difficulty of maintaining a web presence, because of course that’s how everyone shops these days, even for vacations. And setting up online reservations can be such a nightmare. Believe me, I know how overwhelming it can be for someone with little experience.”

      If Rachel hadn’t been overwhelmed before, she looked it now after Jeannette’s recital of the tasks ahead of her.

      “Just ask me for advice anytime,” Jeannette reiterated on her way to the door. “I’m here to help.”

      Rachel stammered out a goodbye, and the door closed behind Jeannette.

      “Help herself, more likely,” he commented, his tone caustic.

      “She was being nice,” Rachel said. “Do you always have to be so cynical?”

      That wasn’t the first time she’d accused of that particular fault. “Didn’t you see what Jeannette was doing? You...”

      He stopped, seeming to hear an echo of Ronnie’s voice in his words. Ronnie, berating Rachel for something left undone on that one occasion he’d visited them after they’d married. Ronnie, turning his caustic wit against the woman who was working a menial job to help support their little family.

      “Sorry.” He really did have to watch what he said. “I guess you got enough cynicism from Ronnie to last you a lifetime.”

      Rachel’s chin lifted. “You can keep your sympathy to yourself. You don’t know anything at all about our marriage.”

      “Don’t I?” His temper flared at that. “I know what I saw. You working like a slave to keep food on the table and Ronnie using that sharp tongue of his to cut you to ribbons, blaming you...”

      He stopped, knowing he’d gone too far.

      Pain and embarrassment chased each other across Rachel’s face, but then her shoulders squared. “If that’s what you thought of us, I’m not surprised you never came back for another visit.”

      He reached out and grasped her wrist, feeling her pulse beating hard against his palm. “I didn’t come back because if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to knock Ronnie’s block off. And maybe a little healthy cynicism would be good for you.”

      For a moment they stared at each other, and it seemed to him that the very air echoed with the beat of her pulse. Then she wrenched her hand free, the color coming up in her cheeks.

      “You—”

      The front door swung open to admit child and dog. “Duke had his drink. And I wiped his paws off, honest I did, Mommy.”

      With a fulminating look at him, Rachel turned to her daughter. “That’s fine,