Live and Let Love (22 page)

“There’s an offer I can’t refuse.” He slung an arm around her, leaned in, and spoke
softly, as if the admission was hard to make, “Sorry about this, Willow. The doctor
says the dizziness should go away in a day or two.”

Shane’s breath warmed her neck but not her heart. His arm was solid on her shoulder.
He smelled clean, like hospital soap, but Willow felt uncomfortable around him. The
vulnerable look he gave her should have made her melt into emotional mush. Only …

She couldn’t explain it, but it seemed put on, as if he was acting a part, overacting
maybe, trying to play on her sympathy. It was crazy, but since Con came to town Shane
had been acting differently. A little too possessive. A little too much in competition
with Con in all aspects. It was almost as if Shane was trying to make Con jealous.
Which made no sense. But then, what men did often didn’t seem sensible.

Jack had always teased her that she was a sucker for a wounded animal. Somehow, Shane
had picked up on this, too. She couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t quite as helpless
as he seemed.

She adjusted his weight on her shoulders and helped him down the sidewalk to the house.
“We’ll take it slow.”

“With my arm around you, slow’s just fine.”

Half the women in Orchard Bluff would have gone weak in the knees just then from his
nearness and the tone of his voice. But Willow’s land legs were just fine.

Inside the house, the dogs went wild, barking and growling as she and Shane approached
the kitchen door. Thank goodness the dogs were back to normal.

Shane called out to them jovially, “It’s me, you big fools. Calm down in there!”

“They sound happy to see you. You think it’s safe to go in? Or will they plow us over
with enthusiasm?” Willow hoped her relief at their complete recovery didn’t show.
“Your boys are a little too exuberant sometimes.” She unlocked the door. “Brace yourself.”
She pushed it open.

Duke and Bud barked happily, charged Shane, and jumped up on him, nearly toppling
them both.

Shane stood his ground, pulled Willow to him, and stared into her eyes, trailing his
gaze to her lips. “Told you I’d protect you.” He cocked his head and lowered his lips
toward hers.

Willow stepped back. “Better give Duke and Bud a little affection. I think they’re
jealous, and that’s the last thing I need.”

A look of anger flashed across Shane’s face. He covered it, but not quickly enough.
He laughed, but it felt forced, and released Willow to play with the dogs. He seemed
just a little too steady on his feet all of a sudden.

Shane roughhoused with them a minute, then looked up at her, a frown on his face.
“Do Duke and Bud seem different to you?”

“No, why?” Willow tried not to panic, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake by not taking
the dogs to the vet. “What do you mean?”

“They seem … subdued.”

She laughed. “You call this subdued? They nearly knocked us over.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. They
should
have bowled us onto our butts.”

“They look fine to me.”

“They must be hungry. I didn’t get a chance to feed them yesterday.” He scratched
Duke’s ears.

Shane looked over at their dog dishes. She followed his gaze. Both of them were licked
clean, just as they’d been when she’d arrived with Con last night. They dogs had eaten
every last crumb she’d given them, thank goodness!

She breathed an inward sigh of relief. There was no reason to tell Shane she’d fed
them and they’d been drunk and sluggish. Because he hadn’t left them enough water
and they’d gotten desperate.

She grabbed Shane’s elbow. “Let’s get you settled in and then I’ll come back and feed
them.” The dogs were really going to love her once she gave them an actual morning
meal. “Where would you rather be—upstairs in your bed—”

“I’d love you to put me to bed.”

She ignored his innuendo. “Or down here on the sofa? I say sofa—it’ll be more convenient
once your admirers start arriving. You’re going to have a stream of visitors once
the festival closes up for the day. I hope you have plenty of room in your freezer
for all the casseroles coming your way.

“Ada told me she sold out of your favorite apple fritters nearly the minute she opened.
Be prepared to put on a few pounds.” She paused. “So what will it be?”

“You’ve convinced me; the sofa it is.”

“Good.” She helped him into the living room.

He stopped suddenly just inside the door and frowned. “Someone’s been in here.” He
turned to look at her. A subtle shade of anger and fear colored his tone.

She froze and her heart raced. She’d been in here with Con, but they hadn’t touched
a thing. Shane was beginning to look like a paranoid nutcase.

“What? What’s wrong? How can you tell? Is something missing?” She pointedly looked
around the room, which was, frankly, a mess, the same as it was the night before.
“It looks to me like Old Man Terrence’s ghost escaped from the bomb shelter and played
poltergeist.” She laughed.

“Yeah, I need to pick up. Never mind,” Shane said, shaking his head. “You’re right.
Must be the drugs and the concussion messing with my head.”

She relaxed.

He studied her. “On second thought, I think I’d like to lie down in my bed and sleep
awhile. Help me up to my room?” Anxiety had crept into his voice.

He did look suddenly pale. Something was off with Shane.

“Sure,” she said. “Do you think you can make it?”

“With your help.”

She helped him up the stairs. He paused at the entrance to his bedroom and studied
it.

“Are you okay?” she asked him again. Because it looked to her as if he suspected someone
had been in his room, too.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure? You look as if you expect to see Old Man Terrence’s ghost in here now.”

He laughed. “Spooks don’t scare me.”

He sounded almost as if he was trying to convince himself. Spooks scared her, but
not the kind he was thinking of.

“Well then, let me just fluff your pillow and pull back the covers.” She led him to
the bed.

He wasn’t paying attention to her. Instead, he scanned the room as she opened the
bed for him. He walked to the window, which was closed and latched. A small wad of
paper lay on the floor beneath it, a smashed wad of paper.

Shane picked it up, smoothed it out, and glanced at it while she pretended to be busy.

She caught only a glimpse of it. It was a geometrical design of overlapping circles.
She’d seen the pattern before in an art book—the pattern was called the Flower of
Life.

Shane crumpled it and, in a flash of anger, hurled it against the wall.

She looked at him, startled. “Something wrong?”

He turned and looked at her. “No, just a note to myself that I misplaced and ended
up on the floor. Something I was supposed to do and forgot. Too late now.” He smiled,
but it looked forced. “No big deal.”

She patted the bed. “Come. Lie down.”

He sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. He winced as she helped him into a reclining
position.

He took her arms in his hands before she could straighten and pull away. “Come back
later? Stay with me awhile and keep this invalid company?”

She smiled back at him. “That’s a tempting offer. I’d like to, but I have too much
to do. I’ve got so much caramel to make, I can’t even tell you. I completely sold
out yesterday. But don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. Your neighbors, the Buckleys,
will be stopping by later to see if you need anything.

“I’ll make you a tray with your medicine and some snacks before I go.”

She did have too much to do, but it wasn’t making candy. She had to find out whether
Con was her husband or not. Much too much to do.

*   *   *

Jack’s newspaper crossbow was a thing of beauty. And had proved absolutely worthless
to him since he’d constructed it. In fact, he’d almost crumpled it up in a fit of
anger as he watched that bastard the Rooster act an invalid and lean on Willow for
help into the house. Watching a terrorist make a pass at his wife was really more
torture than a dead man should have to endure.

He flashed to a memory of the Rooster in Ciudad, and the elated look on his face as
he detonated the charge that blew Jack through the second-story window of the building.
Of landing on his face, smashing it to hell, and passing out in the street below.
Of his last conscious thought for nearly a month—
I’m a dead man. Willow, forgive me for leaving you.

As Jack watched the house, Kennett finally appeared in his bedroom window, holding
a piece of paper and looking scared and angry. Jack got out his high-powered military-grade
spy binoculars and took a look. He wanted to know what was on that paper. No good.
The light shone through it and he couldn’t get a read. He whipped out his superzoom
spy camera and snapped a shot, hoping for better luck reading it later.

Willow left ten minutes later. Jack stayed and watched Kennett’s house for several
more hours, but the bastard refused to step outside for even a split second all day.
Jack couldn’t get a shot off at him. Worse, a fellow farmer came over to help sell
apples for Kennett and people were trooping through without end.

Jack went back to the guesthouse disgusted and tried to read that note that had upset
Kennett. No luck. He would have to question Willow about it, subtly of course. Jack
hadn’t seen her. And happily, she didn’t return to Kennett’s.

Yeah, he checked the tracking on her car. After leaving Kennett’s, she’d gone directly
into the city while Jack had gotten a sample of hair and replaced it for his in Willow’s
memory box. If the address recorded on the GPS tracking device was any indication,
she was no doubt buying that DNA collection kit Drew recommended.

Monday was even worse. Every woman from Orchard Bluff over the age of twelve showed
up bearing a casserole, a pie, or a thermos of soup for the poor, unfortunate accident
victim.

It was hard to stage an archery accident with so many women fluttering around.

Jack retired to the guesthouse, frustrated. He checked it for guns in the oven, aerosol
cans on the heater, and any other hazards he could think of, even though Kennett wasn’t
likely to have been out of sight of one woman or another longer enough to do any damage.
Jack even unscrewed the showerhead and checked it for poisonous powder before he jumped
in and cleaned up for his dinner with Willow.

He’d meant to have killed Kennett and been gone by now. But since that hadn’t gone
according to plan, he may as well have dinner with his wife. Though he was walking
on dangerous ground and he knew it.

He showered with a different soap than he’d used when he was with Willow, used a different
shampoo, shaved with a different brand of shaving cream, and splashed on a brand of
cologne he knew she detested to throw her off and act as a kind of Willow repellent.

As he combed his hair on the opposite side, he caught a glimpse of the temporary tattoo,
eamus catuli, Go Cubs,
painted on his left arm to throw Willow off. He’d always loved baseball. But being
from Seattle, he preferred the Mariners. He donned the slacks from another of the
stupid sissy outfits Malene had sent for him to wear—a sweater, slacks, leather jacket,
and, mercifully this time, Italian leather boots.

One of the hazards of going on a date undercover was risking having his gun discovered.
As Con, he wouldn’t be carrying. As Jack, he never left the house without protection.

Conversely, conceal his gun too well and there’d be no way to reach it in an emergency.
He could wear one under a sports coat. Maybe. But he’d look damn odd never taking
the coat off once during the evening. Especially if things got hot at Willow’s. Which
he had to make sure they didn’t.

He had a tiny microrevolver that fit into a belt buckle. But that only worked if he
was dressing like a cowboy.

Good job, Malene.
He strapped on an ankle holster with his NAA Black Widow mini-revolver in it and
put on black dress socks and the metro boots. The boots covered his little piece nicely.

He studied his shirtless self in the mirror.

Not bad.

Even his scars looked better. He used to have a hairy chest. But the explosion did
a number on him and left him with too much scarring. Now he was the hairless wonder.
It had also done a good job of obscuring any scars Willow would recognize with the
ravages of burns and skin grafts. The plastic surgeons had done a fantastic job on
his face, which had been smashed to bits but remarkably unburned.

He’d regained his muscle tone and fitness. He’d worked like a demon to rebuild his
frame and strength, but his chest would never be real pretty to look at again.

He flexed his biceps and grinned at his own folly.

Good thing he’d never gotten a real tattoo.
Willow Forever
tattooed in a heart on his biceps would have been hard to explain. Which was exactly
why tattoos were against Agency policy.

He didn’t expect Willow to ever see him shirtless. But again, Jack prepared for every
contingency. She’d be suspicious about the burn scars, but he had a story for that.

He put on his shirt and sweater. The sweater would hide a holster and a bigger gun
than the one strapped on his ankle. But unless he missed his guess, Willow would hug
him and feel him up for weapons.

Instead, he packed the drinking glass he’d stolen earlier and gotten Aldo to drink
from and a bigger gun, a compact service pistol, in the man bag Malene had sent. He
just had to make sure Willow never dug through it.

He ran through the sleight-of-hand procedures and tricks agent Lani Silkwater had
taught him during the past year. In case he needed them to switch the glasses after
dinner.

Lani had worked undercover as an assistant to the famous magician Rock Powers for
several months. Much to the chief’s chagrin, Lani had married the great illusionist
against orders, run off on him, and begged Emmett to keep her deep undercover and
out of Powers’ sight. Marital regret is such an ugly thing.