right. Lucas. Call him up and tell him to come for scones.”
“I don’t think so, Bea.”
“Why not?”
“He’s busy.”
“How do you know that he’s busy if you haven’t called him?”
“I—”
The doorbell rang, interrupting the argument. Thank goodness.
“I’ll get it.” She ran to the front door, pressing her eye to the peephole. The police hadn’t found the guy who’d attacked her. She didn’t expect to see him on the other side of the door, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
A man stood at the far corner of the porch, his face hidden by a Stetson, what looked like a very big dog at his feet.
“Who is it?” she called, but she knew. She recognized the breadth of the shoulders, the easy way he held himself. She even recognized the fuzzy outline of the dog at his side. Lucas.
“It’s me.” He stepped in front of the door, and her heart leaped. He looked good. Better than good. He looked like everything any woman could ever want in a man.
She fumbled with the lock, her fingers tripping all over themselves. It seemed to take forever, but she finally managed to open the door.
“Lucas! What are you doing here?”
“I’m working your case, remember?” He smiled, taking off his Stetson. “Do you have a couple of minutes?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
“Do you mind if Henry comes, too?”
“As long as he doesn’t eat my aunt’s dog, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Henry only takes chunks out of bad guys who refuse to cooperate.” He patted the big dog’s head and stepped into the house.
She closed the door, catching a whiff of spicy cologne and chilly winter air.
Bea shuffled out of the kitchen, her walker tapping on the floor. “Lucas Harwood!” she exclaimed. “Is that you? And you brought a dog! Fluffy! Come quick. You have a visitor.”
Bea’s little white puffball of a dog had probably seen her “visitor,” because she refused to make an appearance.
“How are you, Mrs. Daphne?” Lucas grinned at Bea, his dark hair ruffled. He had grown into his height, his shoulders filling out and his face losing the almost-too-pretty look of his youth. Now he had an edge of hardness and strength that Emma had to admit was appealing.
“It’s been too many years, young man,” Bea chastised, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d seen each other.
“It has been too long,” Lucas agreed before Emma could remind her aunt that they’d seen him the previous day.
His gaze shifted from Bea to Emma. He took in everything with one long sweeping look. Her hair...which she knew was sticking out in a million different directions, her faded oversize sweats and baggy T-shirt, her bruised and swollen cheek.
If she’d been a different kind of woman, she might have cared that she was a mess. She didn’t. Much. She touched her hair but resisted the urge to smooth down the wild strands.
“I’m making tea and scones. You want to come in the kitchen while I work? We can talk there.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, just hurried into the kitchen. She felt comfortable there. At home. She knew what to do with eggs and flour and sugar. She knew how to cook a roast and fry an egg. What she’d never been very good at was dealing with emotions and people and all the stuff that went with relationships.
Lucas followed Emma into the kitchen. She looked tired, her eyes deeply shadowed, her skin pale, the bruise on her cheek deep shades of purple and red. She’d left her hair loose and it fell to her shoulders in wild waves and curls, covering the stitches he knew were behind her ear.
“You should be lying down, not making scones,” he commented.
She looked up from the counter she’d been sprinkling with flour. “I tried that. It didn’t go well.”
“Why not?”
“It’s hard to rest when your brain is going a hundred miles an hour.”
“What’s on your mind, Em?” Lucas asked as he pulled a stool over and perched on it, watching while she measured flour into a bright yellow bowl. Henry raised his nose, sniffing excitedly.
“Down, Henry,” he commanded, and the dog collapsed onto the floor in a pile of lush soft-looking fur.
“What isn’t on my mind? Every time I close my eyes, I think about the guy who attacked me. The diner. I’m supposed to open soon, and I’m stuck here.” She gestured around the large kitchen. “With the way things are going, I’ll probably be stuck here for the rest of my life.”
“The rest of your life is a long time.” He grabbed a raisin from a box she’d opened, and she swatted his hand.
“Those are for the scones!”
“Sorry.” But he wasn’t really. He’d been at the office almost all day, tracking leads, looking through surveillance footage. He hadn’t eaten lunch, and all he’d had for breakfast was a bagel and a cup of coffee.
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right.” He laughed. “How about I make it up to you?”
“How?”
“The diner has been cleared as a crime scene. My boss gave me permission to let you go back there.”
“Really? That’s fantastic!” She looked up from the bowl she’d been scooping sugar into, a hint of color in her cheeks and a broad smile on her face.
“Yes.”
“Great!” She whirled away from the counter. “I’ve got to get cleaned up so I can go over there. The scones will have to wait.”
She darted toward the kitchen doorway, but he snagged her arm and pulled her to a stop.
“Hold on, Emma.” His palm rested against the smooth, warm skin of her forearm, heat racing through his blood at the contact. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m already a day behind myself. I have a schedule, and—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, cutting off the words. “We have video footage from a surveillance camera near a downtown bus stop that Henry tracked your attacker to.”
The excitement faded from her eyes, and she tensed. “Do you think the guy is in it?”
“It’s possible. Three men boarded the bus about ten minutes after you were attacked. One looked too old to be our guy. The other two fit the description
