let any of the old-timers hear you say that.” The tiny lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as his face relaxed in the first genuine smile she’d seen. “They leave such things to outsiders.”
“Outsiders.” That seemed to echo what she’d been thinking. “You mean people like me?”
He shook his head. “They make a distinction between outsiders and visitors. Outsiders are people like the candle-makers and potters who want to turn the place into an artists’ colony. The old guard understands that, whether they approve or not. But visiting lawyers—visiting lawyers must be here for a reason.”
“So that’s why everyone I passed looked twice.”
He shrugged. “In the off-season, strangers are always news. Especially a woman and baby who come to call on the bachelor police chief.” His mouth twisted a little wryly on the words.
She’d clearly underestimated the power of the grapevine in a small town. But his apparent concern about rumors might work to her advantage.
“No one will know why I’m here from me. I promise.”
She almost put her hand out, as if to shake on it, and then changed her mind. She didn’t want friendship from the man, just cooperation. Just his signature, that was all.
“Thanks.”
He took a step closer…close enough that she could feel his warmth and smell the faint, musky aroma of shaving lotion. Her pulse thumped, startling her, and she took an impulsive step back, trying to deny the warmth that swept over her.
She must be crazy. He was tough, arrogant, controlling—everything she most disliked in a man. Even if she had been remotely interested in a relationship—which she wasn’t—it wouldn’t be with someone like him.
But her breathing had quickened, and his dark eyes were intent on hers, as if seeing something he hadn’t noticed before. She felt heat flood her cheeks.
Business, she reminded herself. She’d better get down to business. It was the only thing they had in common.
“Have you thought about signing the papers?” She knew in an instant she shouldn’t have blurted it out, but her carefully prepared speech had deserted her. In her plans for this meeting, she hadn’t considered that she might be rattled at being alone with him.
Whatever friendliness had been in his eyes vanished. “I’d like to talk about this.” His uncompromising tone told her the situation wasn’t going to turn suddenly easy. “About the woman, Tina.”
“Do you remember her now?” She didn’t mean the words to sound sarcastic, but they probably did. She bit her lip. There was just no good way to discuss this.
“No.” Luckily he seemed to take the question at face value. “Do you know when she was here?”
“Emilie was born in June. Tina said she’d been here the previous summer and stayed through the fall.” He could count the months as easily as she could.
He frowned. “Tourist season. They come right through the autumn colors. That means there are plenty of transient workers in town. People who show up in late spring, get jobs, then leave again the end of October.” He shook his head. “Impossible to remember them all or keep track of them while they’re here.”
She’d left her bag on the pie-crust table. She flipped it open and took out the photograph she’d brought. A wave of sadness flooded her as she looked at the young face.
“This was Tina.” She held it out to him.
He took the photo and stood frowning down at it, straight brows drawn over his eyes. She should be watching for a spark of recognition, she thought, instead of noticing how his uniform shirt fit his broad shoulders, not a wrinkle marring its perfection. The crease in his navy trousers looked sharp enough to cut paper, and his shoes shone as if they’d been polished moments before.
He looked up finally, his gaze finding hers without the antagonism she half expected. “How did you meet her?”
She bit back a sharp response. “Isn’t it more pertinent to ask how you met her?”
His mouth hardened in an already hard face. “All right. I recognize her now that I’ve seen the picture. But I never knew her name. And I certainly didn’t have an affair with her.”
That was progress, of a sort. If she could manage not to sound as if she judged him, maybe he’d move toward being honest with her.
She tried to keep her tone neutral. “How did you know her?”
“She worked at the café that summer.” He frowned, as if remembering. “I eat a lot of meals there, so she waited on me. Chatted, the way waitresses do with regulars. But I didn’t run into her anywhere else.”
His dark gaze met hers, challenging her to argue. “Your turn. How did you get to know her?”
“She answered an ad I’d put on the bulletin board at the corner market. She wanted to rent a room in my house.”
His eyebrows went up at that. “Sorry, Counselor, but you don’t look as if you need to take in boarders.”
“I didn’t do it for the money.” She clipped off the words. Her instincts warned her not to give too much away to this man, but if she wanted his cooperation she’d have to appear willing to answer his questions. “My husband had died a few months earlier, and I’d taken a leave from my job. I’d been rattling around in a place too big for one person. The roomer was just going to be temporary, until I found a buyer for the house.”
“How long ago was that?” It was a cop’s question, snapped at her as if she were a suspect.
“A little over a year.” She tried not to let his manner rattle her. “I knew she was pregnant, of course, but I didn’t know she had a heart condition. I’m not sure even she knew at first. The doctors said she never should have gotten pregnant.”
“What about her family?”
“She said she didn’t have anyone.” Tina had seemed just as lonely as Anne had been. Maybe that was what had drawn them together. “We became friends. And then when she had to be hospitalized—well, I guess I felt responsible for her. She didn’t have anyone else. When Emilie was born, Tina’s condition worsened. I took charge of the baby. Tina never came home from the hospital.”
His strong face was guarded. “Is that when she supposedly told you about me?”
She nodded. “She talked about the time she spent in Bedford Creek, about the man she loved, the man who fathered Emilie.”
He was so perfectly still that he might have been a statue, except for the tiny muscle that pulsed at his temple. “And if I tell you it was a mistake—that she couldn’t have meant me…?”
“Look, I’m not here to prosecute you.” Why couldn’t he see that? “I’m not judging you. I just want your signature on the papers. That’s all.”
“You didn’t answer me.” He took a step closer, and she could feel the intensity under his iron exterior. “What if I tell you it was a mistake?”
