The Lottery Winner (16 page)

“Why a motorcycle?”

“My dad had pictures of Brando, McQueen and Eastwood on their bikes hanging in our garage. I grew up looking at them and wishing I could be that cool. But it was too cold in Jersey, and I was too broke to have one.”

“Aren't detectives well paid?”

“I sent every dime I could down here to Eileen for Bethany. First thing I bought when I moved here was that baby outside.”

So he hadn't been a deadbeat dad. “I'm sure you're more Evel Knievel than Hollywood heartthrob.”

“You mean I'm not pretty enough for Hollywood? For the record, I'd rather enforce the rules than break 'em. You did good, Miri, especially for a first-timer.”

“Who says it was my first time?”

“You did, with the way your thighs trembled against me.”

The comment felt...
intimate
and made her heart turn over like the spinner she kept in her garden. A certain area between her legs tingled. She glanced around to make sure no one had overheard his comment.

He reached across the table and patted her hand. “We'll make a rider of you. Never know. You might end up wanting your own bike.”

She snorted and snatched her hand away. “Hardly.”

Then she looked up and caught Nell watching the exchange. But her friend said nothing of it as she slid a margarita glass rimmed in shrimp in front of each of them. “Moscato shrimp with apricot and jalapeño cocktail sauce.”

She hustled back behind the counter before Miri could beg her to stay.

“I take it you two like to fool around in the kitchen?”

The twinkle in Ignatius's eyes made the question sound naughty. “Nell and I like to experiment with recipes. It keeps our menus fresh and exciting.”

The prudish tone of her voice made her uncomfortable. But she wouldn't defend herself to the PI.

“I'm all for trying something new.”

She frowned and searched his face for double entendre, but the man's green eyes looked guileless. Too guileless?

“Do you cook, Ignatius, or do you get most of your meals from bars that serve free hors d'oeuvres?”

Her bitchiness made his eyes glimmer with mischief. “I know my way around the kitchen. I'll prove it whenever you find the nerve to let me.”

He was daring her, and she wanted to call his bluff so badly that she shoved a shrimp into her mouth to avoid his trap. It took several seconds for the food to capture her attention.

“Needs a little dill to cut the sweetness,” he said and she stopped chewing. Because he was right. “But it's good. I'd eat it again.”

Her thoughts exactly. She didn't like agreeing with him. Not even a little. She finished her appetizer, trying to determine the other flavors in the dish, but her focus kept drifting to her da—companion.

Nell appeared with their main course. “Halibut with tomato, orange and tarragon.”

She left them again. Like synchronized swimmers, she and Ignatius lifted their forks, flaked off a piece of the fish and tasted. Their eyes met, and she knew what he was going to say before he said it. “Needs dill,” they pronounced in unison.

She smiled and then tried to stop herself. She would
not
have fun on this forced outing. “I gather we both like dill.”

“You betcha. What else do you like, Miri?”

She blinked. How long had it been since anyone had asked? Jack had known. “What do you mean? To eat?”

“Eat. Read. TV. Movies. Music. What do you do when you're not in the kitchen?”

“I—” She didn't have an answer. She was rarely out of the kitchen these days. When she was at home she either tested new recipes, slept or puttered in her garden. When had she become so boring?

“Didn't realize that was a hard question. What did you like to do before Jack died?”

Hearing her husband's name on Ignatius's lips was...oddly disconcerting and felt disloyal. “Back in the day I was a pretty avid photographer. I used to love kayaking the backwaters or fishing the flats, watching the wildlife.”

“But not now?”

“It's not as much fun by yourself.” The admission made her squirm in her chair.

“Amen to that. Solo sucks in a lot of ways. Ever white-water rafted?”

“No.”

“You'd enjoy the challenge of the river and nature on both banks. If you ever decide to take a day off.”

And just like that he made her feel like her life was missing something. But it wasn't. She loved her job. She was a dedicated foodie. That was why the Fisherman's Widow was so successful. “There's nowhere to do that around here.”

“A few places, but the closest good ones are in Georgia and the Carolinas. You should consider it for your next vacation.”

She hadn't taken a vacation since Jack passed. She hadn't realized how much she missed their excursions. Were Sue and Logan right? Had she fallen into a rut?

“Miri?”

“Jack and I each used to secretly plan one week's vacation and surprise the other during the slow season.” She immediately wished she hadn't shared that private information with him.

Green eyes held hers. “He must have been a special guy.”

She blinked at the unexpected response. “Did Logan tell you that?”

“No. You did.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Did I ever tell you I was an exceptional detective?”

“Your humility is impressive.” Her sarcasm wasn't subtle.

“I was good because I see what isn't said. Your face, voice and body language told me what I needed to know about your husband. He had to have been pretty special to make you leave Charleston and your family and move here.”

Speechless, Miri stared into Ignatius's somber, sincere eyes and realized he wasn't a dumb goon at all.

He leaned across the table, and her heart missed a beat. “And one day, Miri, when you're ready to try again, you might find a guy who'll treat you as well as he did. One who'll help you fill in all the gaps that losing him left in your life. If Jack loved you as much as you did him, he'd want that.”

Emotion welled inside her. She was afraid she'd burst into tears. Luckily, Nell broke the moment by bringing out the lemon custard—this time in a meringue cloud. Miri barely tasted it. She'd lost her appetite. And she could only blame the man sitting opposite her.

He was wrong, though. There was nothing lacking from her life. Not one darned thing.

Except sex. The thought broke through her mind like porpoises leaping from the water. She pushed the errant idea back beneath the surface. Jack had been her one and only lover.

And she was okay with that.

She didn't need a man.

Especially not the one across the table.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
HE
RETURN
RIDE
to her house was over all too soon. Miri sprang from the Harley before Ignatius had the kickstand down and quickly removed her own helmet. She didn't want a repeat of whatever it was that had happened when he'd taken it off for her earlier.

Standing awkwardly in her driveway, she admitted that, like it or not, she owed him an apology for her earlier rudeness. “Thank you for this morning. I'm sorry I was not the easiest person to deal with.”

It was strangely hard to get the words past the tension banding her throat like a too-tight turtleneck. “I enjoyed the ride. And lunch.” Except the part where he'd made her question herself.

“I did, too.” He hung both helmets over the handlebars. “I'll walk you to the door.”

“You don't need to do that.”

“My mama raised me to always see a lady to her door.”

“This wasn't a date.”

“Doesn't matter.”

The constriction around her vocal cords intensified, and she realized she was nervous. Silly, really, for a woman of her age, but there was no other name for the combination of stiffness and shakiness. She pivoted and stalked to her front door with the PI on her tail, then shoved her key into the lock. Facing him again, she parked herself like a barricade on the doormat and shrugged off her jacket, clutching it in folded arms.

She didn't know what she'd expected. But his big grin wasn't it. “Thanks for keeping me company, Miriam Louise. Any time you want a ride, give me a call.” He reached out and dragged one callused fingertip along her jawbone. “But, Miri, next time it will be a date.”

Then he touched two fingers to his forehead, turned and left. The audacity of the man. Her insides quivered. Her knees wobbled. She tried to scrub away the tingle his touch had left behind. She would not call him and would not go on a date with him. He'd bullied her into one outing. He would not get a second chance.

His engine growled to life then faded into the distance. A strange disquiet settled over her. She mentally kicked herself out of her stupor and entered her house. What had she expected? For the pushy baboon to try to kiss her?

Yes. That's exactly what she'd expected. And she'd been prepared to set him straight because she hadn't wanted him to. So why did she feel so...deflated?

As pushy as he was with everything else, why hadn't he tried?

He claimed he read body language. Well, so did she. It was the best way to know if customers were satisfied with their meals. And every twinkle in those watchful eyes of his had told her he'd enjoyed her company.

So why hadn't he tried to kiss her? The question reverberated in her head and doubts encroached. Wasn't she attractive enough? Admittedly, she hadn't made an effort to impress him. In fact, she'd done the opposite.

She shook her head. She didn't want to be attractive to him. So why was she wasting time dithering instead of getting back to her kitchen where she belonged?

* * *

L
OGAN
CHECKED
HIS
watch again. Miri was always at the Widow way before two o'clock. He hit Redial on his phone and circled the building to check the patio while Miri's home number rang until the answering machine picked up. Her cell phone did the same. He didn't bother leaving another message on either line.

Where was she and why wasn't she answering?

Her truck wasn't in the lot with Jessie's car. All the Widow's doors were locked. She hadn't answered his knock at home. He'd looked through all the windows and seen no sign of her or anything out of place. But he hadn't been able to see inside her garage. Was she in there? And hurt? Why hadn't he insisted on keys to the Widow and her house?

He tried Sue again, but she wasn't answering, either. Had the women gone somewhere together?

As he headed back to the parking lot he told himself not to panic, but Miri was as close to a parent as he had. His father didn't count. He should have called her last night, but he'd been too rattled by the encounter with Jessie to want to talk to anybody. He'd call 911 and ask an officer to meet him at Miri's house to do a well check.

But just as he headed back to his car, her truck turned in to the parking lot. She climbed from the cab as if nothing was wrong. He surveyed her to make sure she wasn't injured. When he saw nothing amiss, relief rushed over him, quickly followed by anger because she'd scared the hell out of him. “Where have you been?”

She startled at his raised voice then turned, squinty eyed. A frown puckered her brow. “What's it to you?”

Her defensiveness surprised him. “I've been calling all morning. You didn't answer.”

“I can't find my cell phone. I think I left it here last night.”

“You didn't answer at home, either, or return my messages.”

She glanced down the street. “I've been out this morning.”

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

He couldn't betray Jessie's confidence—not if he was considering breaking his dry spell with her. “I was worried when I couldn't reach you.”

“I do have a life, Logan, even if some people don't think I do.” There was a sharp edge to her voice. Jessie was right. Miri wasn't acting like Miri.

“All I said was you needed some time off.”

“And I took it. Now you're giving me grief.”

Right. He was. “I'm sorry.”

He followed her inside. She went straight to her office. Her cell phone was on her desk. She clicked through it. “You called seven times?”

“I was worried. You always answer your phone.”

Her sour expression softened. “I'm fine. And you're right. I do need to start taking some time off. Beginning next week I'll close on Wednesdays.”

The about-face surprised him. “Great.”

“Just because I'm giving in first doesn't get you out of your end of the deal. I'm taking time for me. That means you need to start dating.”

He grimaced. “I'm working on that.”

“Where's Jessie? Her car's outside.”

He winced. “I need to pick her up.”

She lowered her phone. “Why?”

His ears burned. “She has a dead battery. I gave her a ride home last night and promised I'd pick her up today and jump-start her car. I was so concerned about you I forgot. I'm late.”

“Then get going. I need my best waitress to help open.”

“She said Monday's her last day.”

Miri sighed. “I hate it, but it's true. She only agreed to help me until I could hire new waitresses, but I couldn't find any who met my standards. I had to call an employment agency. The gals who're coming are experienced. They'll shadow with Jessie and Sue Monday to learn our system.”

And then Jessie would be fair game. When he didn't move, Miri made a shooing motion. “Go get her.”

His pulse picked up speed in anticipation of seeing Jessie again. He turned for the door then paused. “I'm glad you're okay and that you're going to start taking some time for yourself.”

“Don't try to butter me up.”

He smiled for the first time that day. Miri was back to her old sassy self—if anything had been wrong in the first place.

* * *

J
ESSIE
PACED
THE
end of her driveway Thursday afternoon. Sweat trickled down her spine. If she'd known Logan was going to be late, she would have worn a hat and sunscreen. Yesterday's rain had given way to a cloudless blue sky and there was no shade by the gate. Maybe she should have waited inside, but she was trying to be smart and proactive by avoiding being alone with him in the house.

Where was he? He should have been here thirty minutes ago. Had he talked to Miri? Was she okay? Or was he late because something was wrong? She'd known the woman less than two weeks, but she cared about her.

She reached into her pocket for her phone and bumped the roll of bills. Anxiety returned full force. Would the buyers take the picture or ask for a refund?

She kicked a rock and released a pent-up breath. She'd spent the night tossing and turning—not just because of that kiss. And she'd decided that the world would not end if she lost this sale. If the buyers didn't pick up the painting, she'd mail it to her mother for her birthday gift.

Logan and the gallery owners had said she had talent. Strangers believed in her. It was time she believed in herself—and time to let her family know how important her art was to her. What better way than by sending them what she considered to be her best work yet?

One of her grandmother's favorite sayings had been that if anyone can discourage you from following your dream then your dream wasn't strong enough. Jessie's dream hadn't been strong enough before. Now it was, and because of the lottery win she could afford to pursue it. But she'd keep teaching...just in case.

A car turned down her road before she could dial Logan. She couldn't make out the model. She blinked her gritty eyes, vowing to find new contacts tomorrow. She had in her last pair and they were beginning to irritate her eyes. As the car neared, she recognized Logan's vehicle, and her heart rate accelerated.

Kissing him had been wrong. There would be no more of that.

He pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway. She opened the passenger door and slid in before he could get out. “Did you talk to Miri yet?”

“Not until a few minutes ago.” He turned the car around and headed for the highway. “She didn't answer her cell or home phones this morning. I searched everywhere I knew to look for her and couldn't find her until she arrived at the Widow acting like nothing was wrong. That's why I'm late. I'm sorry.”

Wow, a man who could apologize. Impressive. Not that she needed anything else to like about him. “I understand. Thanks for the ride. But I won't have time to deal with my car before clocking in.”

“Give me the keys. I'll take care of it.”

Did she have anything in her car that could reveal her identity? The lease agreement was in her brother's name. But could Logan use that to identify her? Did it really even matter if he did? She didn't think he was a threat. But what if he said something to someone else? Her brother had said this morning that her new security camera had caught someone snooping around her house, which was troubling to say the least. It was best to continue keeping her identity under wraps. She'd have to get the paperwork out before handing over her keys.

“Thanks.”

A long line of oncoming traffic held them up at the stop sign. Nervously, she glanced at him and found him looking at her. Heat simmered in his eyes. Her breath caught and her mouth dried. The memory of the kiss sat between them like another passenger. She forced herself to look away.

“Are you all right? Your eyes are red.”

She searched for an answer. None came. She'd have to tell the truth. “My contacts are bothering me.”

He pulled onto the highway. “You wear glasses?”

She didn't, but she didn't want to tell yet another lie. “Not if I can help it.”

He smiled. She gulped and tried to ignore the flutter in her tummy.
Focus on something besides how good he looks.
“Did Miri say what was bothering her?”

“No.”

“I haven't known her long. Is she often moody?”

“Never. She's the most even-keeled person I know.”

Jessie frowned. What could have caused her to be so irritable? “I'll try to talk to her today—not that she has any reason to tell me anything, but...”

She felt his gaze on her but kept her eyes on the blimp flying above Cudjoe Key. “I'd appreciate you making the effort. And I'll ask Sue if she knows what's going on.”

Logan's cell phone rang, breaking the tense silence that had descended on the car. He hit a button on the steering wheel to answer. “Logan Nash.”

He listened then disconnected. “That was Sue. Miri's fallen and hurt her knee bad enough to need an ambulance.”

* * *

“M
S
. E
VANS
,
YOU
have a comminuted fracture of your patella. I'll wire all four pieces of your kneecap back together using a purse string–type technique and pins or screws, if necessary.”

Miri tried to make sense of the doctor's words through the haze of pain medication and the throbbing of her knee. “Then I can return to work?”

The surgeon, who couldn't be more than forty, glanced at Logan before turning his attention back to Miri. She didn't like his extremely patient expression—like she was stupid or something.

“No, ma'am. You'll be totally immobile for six weeks post-op, then—”

“But I have a restaurant to run.”

“Please let me finish. I'm afraid you won't be resuming your regular job duties for at least three months, possibly more, depending on your healing time and progress with physical therapy.”

Frustration boiled over. “You're not listening. I
have
to work—I want my clothes and another doctor who understands my situation.”

She threw back the thin sheet and tried to swing her legs off the emergency room gurney. A nauseating bolt of pain shot up her leg.

Logan blocked her escape. “Forget it, Miri. You're not leaving. Dr. Jenkins is the best orthopedic surgeon for a fractured patella, and he can do the surgery first thing in the morning. Sue, Hal, Jessie and I will handle the Widow.”

“Jessie's leaving—”

“I spoke to her a little while ago. She's agreed to stay. Also, the doctor says you can return to work at six weeks
if
you agree to sit and direct from your wheelchair.”

Wheelchair? “What if I refuse the surgery?”

“Then, Ms. Evans, your right leg will be permanently disabled. Your kneecap will become arthritic. You'd never be able to walk normally again, and being on your feet all day would definitely be impossible.” He paused, letting his dire prediction sink in. “So...if you'll sign the consent forms, we'll get you on the surgery schedule. If you'd prefer another doctor, then expect to wait a few days for an appointment to discuss surgery. And you can expect more delays while you wait for an OR slot. It's up to you. Either you start the mending process immediately or wait a week or two.”