Fatal Inheritance (13 page)

“You saw that?”

He grinned wickedly.

“Argh!” She turned away and buried her face in her hands.

His strong, muscular arms encircled her. His scent enveloped her. “Hey,” he whispered, his breath lifting the hair from her neck. “Why are you embarrassed? I’m flattered. I want to read the rest. Find out what happens.”

She leaned back, and her head collided with the solid wall of his chest. “I was twelve.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Amusement flickered in his voice.

But what was the point in making a big deal about it if he’d already seen the worst?

“Fine.” She slapped the notebook against his chest. “Read to your heart’s content.”

She climbed back into the car and continued digging between the cushions for real clues.

“‘We’ll live in a big farmhouse like Gran and Gramps,’” Josh read, resting his forearms on the edge of the car window. “I like that.” He grinned.

She ignored him.

“‘We’ll have lots of animals, because we’ll take in all the injured ones God brings our way,’” he read on. As he turned the page, he added, “You and I rescued our share of animals over the years, didn’t we?”

Becki chuckled. Josh had never stopped—rescuing animals or damsels in distress.

“‘Josh wants to be a farmer. I like that, because I don’t want him to be away from home all the time like Daddy is.’” Josh’s voice quieted, and she wondered if it was from the reminder of his lost dream or the mention of her father. “‘We’ll have lots of kids. At least two of each. Jeffrey, Josh Junior, Jessica and Jenny.’”

His meadow-green eyes captured hers. “You named our kids,” he whispered.

“I was twelve.”

“I love those names.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “You do?”

He closed the notebook. “Except if we have a Josh Junior, we’d need to have a little Becki, too.”

“But of course.” She played along. It was just like old times, sitting around the campfire as kids, weaving far-fetched stories.

“We already have a three-legged dog, a bird with a broken wing and Bruiser.”

She laughed. “Yup, a steady supply of needy animals won’t be a problem with your reputation.”

His grin snagged her breath. He grazed his fingers along her cheek, the color in his eyes darkening, his expression growing intense.

He was
serious!

His gaze dropped to her lips, and he slowly stroked his thumb across them.

She held her breath, certain she must be dreaming. Certain any second she’d wake up to Bruiser licking her face.

He cradled her face in his hands, his fingers curling beneath her hair, and looked at her as if he couldn’t believe she was real. Had she been wrong? It wasn’t guilt that had him being so protective...so near so often?

He traced her lips with whisper-soft butterfly kisses. No, definitely not guilt.

She slipped her arms around his waist and kissed him back. He tasted of sweet meadows and babbling streams and an abandon that took her breath away.

FOURTEEN

J
osh waited for Hunter to drive his uncle’s Model T into the box trailer, then helped secure the holding straps. “You’re sure your uncle won’t mind my taking the car for tonight’s reception?”

“What’s to mind? You’re just transporting it. Anne and I will meet you there tomorrow.” Hunter double-checked the straps. “How’d Bec talk you into going on the tour anyway?”

“Let’s just say she can be very persuasive.” Josh strained to contain the smile tugging at his lips. He could still taste her kisses, feel the warmth of her arms encircling him. He hadn’t wanted to let her go. Ever. He sure wasn’t about to let her go on the tour without him.

Not that Hunter needed to know any of that.

Hunter laughed. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hunter slapped him on the back. “She’s already got you henpecked.”

Josh shrugged off Hunter’s hand. “I happen to admire her determination not to give in to this creep’s tactics.
And
I want her to nail this writing job as much as she does.”

“So she can afford to stick around, huh?”

This time Josh didn’t bother to rein in his smile. “You’ve got to admit she’s better than any neighbor you’ve ever had.”

Hunter hopped down from the box trailer. “Why don’t you just marry her?”

“What?” Josh stubbed his toe and grasped at the car’s fender. He missed and stumbled off the end of the trailer.

Hunter roared with laughter. “Oh, man, you should see your face.”

Josh turned his attention to shoving away the ramp. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t entertained the idea of marrying Bec. Entertained it a hundred times over since reading her journal. He’d even imagined what their children would look like with Bec’s adorable curls.

“I knew from the minute you called to borrow the cameras that she’d gotten to you.”

Josh slammed shut the trailer’s back doors. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. After the shooting, all the guys noticed that she wasn’t
just
a neighbor.”

“I was concerned about her safety.”

“And that Winslow might ask her out. And that she might not find a job here and would have to sell.” Hunter leaned against the trailer, his expression smug. “Marrying her would solve all your worries.”

“That’s crazy. She’s only been here a couple of weeks.” And already he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

“Sure, but you’ve known her all her life. Didn’t you say Graw told you he proposed to her grandmother after only three weeks? Look how well that turned out.”

True. And from what Bec had written in her journal, they’d always wanted the same things. If all this trouble didn’t scare her into running back to the city, maybe... He shook the crazy notion from his head. “It’s too soon. She hasn’t even found a job here yet.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you married her.”

“Don’t go blurting that to her this weekend. Your mouth has already gotten me into enough trouble.” Then again...Josh tossed his truck keys in the air and caught them. Maybe this time Hunter would be doing him a favor. “I’ve got to run. She’ll be waiting for me.”

* * *

“Give me a sec to grab a wrap,” Becki called out the front door as Josh drove into her driveway, his truck window open. Her insides bubbled at his lopsided smile and the anticipation of feeling that smile on her lips again. The way he looked at her warmed her clear down to her toes.

She lifted the long skirt of her gown and turned back to the foyer. What was she after?

Oh, yes, a wrap. Now, where did she see some?

She flipped up the lid on the bench where Gran had always kept a supply of winter hats and mitts. Her eyes lit on a silk scarf. Ooh, that would make a gorgeous wrap. She snatched it up, and an evening glove tumbled out. Something pinged across the tile.

Bending to take a look, she stopped short at the sight of a gold-and-ruby earring. She turned it between her fingers. The design was old, older than anything she’d ever seen in Gran’s jewelry box. Old enough to be a museum piece.

Her stomach pinched. It couldn’t be. She quickly searched the scarf. No other pieces were wrapped inside, not even the matching earring.

She breathed a relieved sigh. Gran must’ve worn the earring during one of the car rides and didn’t realize it caught on her scarf. The match was probably sitting in Gran’s jewelry box upstairs.

Becki studied the piece again, ignoring the churning in her stomach. Okay, she was 99 percent sure that she hadn’t seen anything like this the last time she’d checked Gran’s jewelry box, but that didn’t mean the earring was a museum piece. A visitor who’d borrowed one of Gran’s scarves for a ride could have lost the earring.

Becki set it on the hall table so she’d remember to look for its mate when she got back and, spotting a long white glove that had also tumbled from the scarf, scooped that up.

A necklace spilled out.

Her breath caught in her throat.

This couldn’t be what it looked like. Becki slumped to the floor. Gran must’ve taken the necklace and earrings off while away and stored them in her gloves for safekeeping, then forgot about them.

Except...Becki held the glove by two of its fingers and gave it a shake.

Cuff links, a pair of earrings and a matching necklace and bracelet tumbled to the floor.

No!
Becki lifted one of the black onyx cuff links. An
M
was monogrammed on it in tiny diamonds.
Montague.
The name blazed through her mind along with the image of this very piece—the image she’d seen in the newspaper article about the jewelry theft.

The sound of Josh’s truck door slamming cut through the air.

Her heart hammered. She couldn’t let Josh see these before she figured out what to do. She stuffed the cuff links back into the glove, then scrambled to scoop up the other items.

The front door burst open. “I grabbed your mail. Are you just about—”

Becki’s gaze snapped to Josh, her fingers tightening around the fistful of stolen jewelry.

“Are those—”

She sprang to her feet and backed away from him. “I was going to tell you.”

He slapped the mail onto the hall table and halved the distance between them. “Where did you find these?”

“This can’t be what it looks like.”

“Where did you find them?” he repeated.

She pointed mutely to the deacon’s bench. Before she could stammer out a word, he started pulling out hats and mitts and scarves.

“They were inside the evening glove.”

“Where’s the other glove?”

She scanned the pile he’d emptied from the bench, shook out the scarf. “I don’t know. Gran usually kept the gloves with her costumes in the trailer or in the cedar chest in her room.”

Josh commandeered the single glove and jewelry and motioned her to the kitchen. He laid the items out on the table. “Why would you hesitate a second to tell me you found these?” He sounded like a father scolding a six-year-old, but apparently the question was rhetorical, because without waiting for an answer, he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contact list.

“We can’t turn them in yet,” she blurted.

“Why on earth not? Don’t you realize what this means? Your attacker must have been after the jewelry all along and may be more desperate than ever to recover it.” He put the phone to his ear. “We turn them in. The media reports they’ve been recovered, and he’ll have no more reason to bother you.”

“No.” She snatched away his phone and hit the power button. “If we turn them in before we figure out how they got here, the police will blame Gran and Gramps for the robbery.”

“Bec, I’m a police officer. I can’t
not
turn them in!” He pried the phone from her fingers.

Okay, she was upset and, yeah, probably being unreasonable, but... “How can you let Gran’s and Gramps’s reputations be destroyed?”

Josh stroked his thumb across her knuckles. “I promise we’ll figure out a way to clear their names. I’ll ask the investigating officer to keep the source of the recovery quiet. Chances are no one around here would ever learn of your grandparents’ connection anyway.”

“They’re not connected! See, even you’re talking as if they stole them.”

“Bec, you know I don’t want to believe that, but how do you explain their being in the house?”

“Maybe the guy who broke in planted them.”

Josh cocked an eyebrow. “
Planted
them?”

“Okay, that doesn’t make sense, but he searched the car first, right? So he must’ve put them in there, and when he couldn’t find them, he figured Gramps had taken them inside. Gramps probably found the scarf in one of the door pockets and figured Gran had just forgotten to bring it in.”

“Sounds reasonable. I’ll suggest as much to the investigating officer, and he’ll look into it.”

“No, he won’t. He’ll pin this on Gran and Gramps because it saves him work. It lets him close the case in a neat and tidy package.” The twitch in Josh’s jaw confirmed her fear. Budgets were stretched to the snapping point these days. If they could close a case, they would.

“I doubt the detective will keep quiet about the source, either.” Becki twisted the necklace between her fingers. “The robbery made network news. The recovery will, too. They always sensationalize everything.”

“We’ll make sure the truth gets reported.”

“When? Three weeks later when the news stations have moved on to the next major story? No one will hear that Gran and Gramps have been cleared of any wrongdoing unless we prove it before we turn in the jewelry.”

Josh shook his head. “We can’t hold on to stolen goods. I understand your fear, Bec, but it’s illegal.”

“I don’t care!” Why did he have to be so...responsible?

“You could go to jail. Is that the kind of legacy you want for your grandparents?”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then if I figure out who stole these before I turn them in, it won’t matter what they do to me.”

“You’re being reckless. This is not some elaborate childhood scenario we’ve concocted around a campfire. These are real stolen goods. There’s a real thief out there looking for them. You have no concept of the risk you’d be taking.”

“I am not a child!”

He clasped her hands. “Your grandparents wouldn’t want you to put your life at risk to clear their names.”

The tenderness of his touch, the pleading in his eyes, clutched at her heart, but she couldn’t let him change her mind. “I need to do this,” she whispered. “Don’t you see? They were the only people who ever accepted me just as I am.”

His grip on her hands tightened, his expression pained. “Not the only ones, Bec.”

She gave her head a violent shake and yanked her hands free. “You don’t understand.”

“I do. I want to clear their names as much as you, but I care more about keeping you safe.”

She surged to her feet. “I am not some bird with a broken wing that you can lock away in a cage for my own good.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Yes, it is. It’s what people have done to me my whole life. I’m tired of everyone else deciding what’s best for me. I’m doing this.”

Josh caught her arm. “I can’t let you.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “Can’t or won’t? Because I thought you were someone I could count on.”

After a long pause, he shook his head. “Has anyone ever told you how obstinate you are?”

She quirked a half smile, certain the resignation in his voice meant he’d play this her way.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” he huffed.

“But you’ll help me?”

“Yes, just not the way you’re asking.” He snatched a Baggie from the kitchen drawer and swept the jewelry into it.

“What are you doing?”

“Turning in the recovered property. I’m a police officer. That’s what police officers do.”

For a moment, she couldn’t utter a word, just stared at him in disbelief. “If you do this, I’ll never speak to you again.”

* * *

“Real mature,” Josh said, as if Bec were still the kid she was behaving like. She’d used the same I’ll-never-speak-to-you-again line on him dozens of times, usually just before he tossed her into the swimming hole.

She planted her hands on her hips. “I mean it.”

Yeah, she used to say that, too. He never should have argued with her this long. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay inside and keep the dog with you.” He turned away and forced himself to open the door and keep walking. There was no reasoning with her when she got like this.

As he unhitched the trailer from the truck, he second-guessed his decision a dozen times. He climbed into the truck and slammed the door. He had no choice. Hopefully, by the time he returned, she’d be cooled down enough to keep the truck cab from overheating for their trip. Then they could discuss how they might go about clearing her grandparents of any suspicion.

Not the conversation he’d hoped to have during their drive this evening.

Her rant about being tired of everyone else deciding what was best for her roared through his mind as he sped off.

He had a bad feeling she wouldn’t get over this as easily as being thrown into the swimming hole.

* * *

What was she supposed to do now?

From the living-room window, Becki frowned at the trail of dust still swirling from Josh’s hasty departure. The man was downright infuriating.

She snatched up the mail he’d tossed onto the table. At the sight of the insurance company’s return address on the top envelope, she sucked in a breath. Her hands shook as she slid a thumb under the flap. She unfolded the paper and her gaze stopped on the second word—
regret.

“No!” She slumped onto the bottom step.

Bruiser rested his head in her lap and nosed her hand with an apologetic whine.

“It’s okay, boy. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s...” She crumpled the letter in her fist. “Why, Lord? I don’t want the money for me. I want to help my sister.”

Bruiser retreated to the doormat.

Becki stared up at the ceiling as if God might actually answer, but no answer came.

After a long while, she lifted the skirt of her gown and trudged upstairs. The last thing she felt like doing now was attending the evening reception. She hung the gown back in Gran’s closet and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.